Din..

I turned down the volume of my headset; the noise is disturbing my thoughts. Few people are discussing about a database performance, not to my interest. But the rules of the job are that, I am supposed to listen, understand, and ask questions. But my mind today is drifting away to farther lands. It does not want to do the routine tasks of getting the kids to school, driving 20 miles to work, going through emails that run over a hundred a day. Somehow, the movie websites I visit are failing to capture my curiosity. The news websites are full of election news and polling and how movie stars came out to vote. No, this is not where my mind is today or wants to be.
Do I know where I want to be today? Well, actually no! Are you thinking 'Women'? Why it is that woman are so confused? I sit because they have too many choices or too many responsibilities? I would pick the latter. We make so many decisions a day, small decisions and the not so small decisions. So there is a lot of room for confusion. After long thinking, my confused mind tells me to take the day off. Drive down the roads of downtown, way past Fall Creek Parkway and to the public library. The rains outside, will lighten my spirit of boredom and refresh the energy in me, like the ground. Old tunes from Bollywood movies choreographed in the rains, will add a touch of romance. Alighting from my car with an air of romance, I would pick up a book of my favorite author and find a place near the window, so that I can watch the rain lash by. Reading the lines would take me back to my footprints that I left in the sand. I would sit back for a few moments, watch the rain and drift back to yester years and smiles. The innocence of youth, brashness of thoughts and freedom to touch the sky. Times, when I would follow my heart and not bother about another soul in this world. Carefree! These thoughts would make me happy one moment and sad the next, almost pushing me to get back to my book listening to the splash of the rain.
Alas! I look at the screen staring at me, and the numbers on bottom right corner have a cruel look. They force me to come back to reality and tell me that I have another two hours to complete the monotonous tasks for the day, before I rush back to all the roles I play, apart from being me.
My fingers are now dialing the next call I need to be on. Again there are noises disturbing my thoughts....

The place I call Home ~

Home - Merriam Webster says, Home is one's place of residence, or a social unit formed by a family living together. It could be a place of origin, but what I like most is "a familiar or usual setting". Home is a place, where I can identify myself, every object reflects upon me, what I am. The linens, furniture, the food and lights. Some thinkers say by being materialistic, we are possessed by our possessions. For now, let us think we possess our possessions. Each piece of object tells me its own story about how we met and how we blended into each other's lives over the span of years. Recently, when I bought my new sofa, the old one looked at me with a sad face, 'are you giving me away?’ My cookware tells me the tale of the discount shop I hunted down looking up Google maps, to save a few bills. My clothes speak volumes of the affection people have for me, when they presented them to me. The tailor who, carefully mended them. The closet in my son's room, takes me 4 years back into my life, when he was kicking inside me and I was putting away the little mittens I bought for him. Like I said earlier, each object tells me a story and weaves a memory. All these objects kept in a particular fashion, that invites me every evening to this man-made structure of brick and walls, is home.

The second aspect is the people. My son, his smile, his authority over everything in the house and the warmth he has for me. Then my baby, his way of welcoming me home every evening when I get back from a long day at work. All the attempts to draw a circle with bright crayons on the walls. His small feet which cover the house from one end to the other, one step at a time. Every waking moment that we spend together. Their food spills, books, cartoons, clothes, tantrums and much much more. Ever joke that is shared, every meal that is cooked together; the movies watched together; the friends who visit often and integrate into the house as if they were family.
A place that brilliantly accommodates each day of life is home.

Last aspect is 'freedom'. There is a connecting factor between 'home' and 'freedom'. The freedom to do the things you like, the freedom to say the things you want, the freedom to live without fear. If you cannot do the things you want in your house, then it’s probably not your house and you are a mere visitor. Scream, yell, talk, sing, cry, laugh, laugh out loud are all different ways to emote. If you can emote without fear, you are at home. A place where you can be what you are, is home...