Four walls and a roof make a house, but it is the heart which makes it a home.
Home is a place where one can spend hours together but still not get bored. For me, my home is my identity. The very thought of home reminds me of my family, my mother, father and brother. They are the ones who are the intrinsic part of my life and make me feel at home. Where ever they are, my heart is there and that place becomes my home.
A home is the collection of uncountable memories which are attached with every stage of one’s life. The mere thought of home reminds me of the various stories and experiences which I shared with my family and friends there and thus it is very close to my heart. Childhood is a very memorable stage in one’s life. It is truly said that one realises the importance of childhood once one has passed it. The same is true for the home. When I had an opportunity to stay at home, I never realised its true worth. But now, when I am away from my home, I really miss it and crave to go there and be a part of my family once again.
Home is a place where I feel safe and secure. It is a famous saying that “Every dog is a tiger in his home” I think the same happens with human beings also. I still remember that night when I was returning back to home after my coaching class for eleventh standard got over. It was late in the night around 10:30 pm. The road was lonely with very less frequency of vehicles. I was driving my scooty when I suddenly realised that in my rear view mirror, there was another bike which was following me since quite some time. I became cautious and scared at once. That time, the mobile phones were not that pervasive and hence I was not having any means of communicating to my home. I thought rationally and the only aim was to reach the premises of my home by any means. I was so assured that once I reach my home, I will be safe. My dad and brother will take these people to task. This sense of security is the strong bonding and feeling which is attached with home and family. Once I was home, I had no fears and felt an overwhelming feeling of protection and security as an invisible warm blanket wrapped around me.
I had to move out of my home for the first time when I joined my graduation college in Ghaziabad. Initially, I was very enthusiastic and joyous about staying in the hostel. The main reasons which my mind perceived at that time constituted of freedom to stay awake late in the night (which was not allowed at my home) and experience of being completely independent. At home, everyone is pampered and we get the things in the way we want them to be. Parents give us a small heaven so well knit and comfortable that we relish our lives at home. These things started becoming even more evident as the time passed by in the hostel. The initial charm faded away when the food provided to us by the hostel mess was much below the expected standards. Although there was variety in what we got to eat every day, but the taste was more or less the same. I used to remember the delicious food which my mother used to cook for us. As days passed by, I started losing weight due to the lack of proper nutrition. It’s amazing how during our early life stages we crave to go out to hotels and satisfy our hunger pangs. Home food was a bore back then, but now eating at the mess has messed up my entire body structure and I absolutely regret the times I refused to eat anything which my mother cooked. I realised the importance of home and I am craving for that food which is cooked by my mother every day.
As time passed by, at the hostel I began missing something. Something was there which reminded me that it is not my home. I could never sense the same level of comfort and easiness as I used to feel in my home. There were all the possible amenities provided including the furniture, electricity and security but still there was hollowness in all this. The hostel was a hostel no matter how much we decorate it with our favourite posters or make new friends. It was then that I realised how much I was missing my family. I used to share everything with my mother without any fear. With friends, I could not do that. I could not trust anyone so easily and secondly, the way of putting forward the things in itself is somewhat modified. I missed playing games with my brother and those petty fights which we used to have. Moreover, I remember that we never stopped talking to each other just because of these fights. It all was so natural. But in a hostel with friends, a petty argument can strain a relationship forever and with all the girl talk that follows you hope that the world would open up and swallow you at that very instant. The perception that my father is the strongest person on this Earth and he will protect me from anything and everything was assuring unlike the studs I found in my college, who act as though they can move a mountain or fight Osama Bin Laden single handily but in reality even a cockroach can scare the living hell out of them. I was missing home terribly now.
For the first time when I went home after my stay at hostel for around two months, it was more than a casual trip. I was so happy to be at home. I felt like I have come back to my own place. Every small thing which was earlier insignificant was a source of happiness for me now. The gate, the garden in front of my house and my dog, all were welcoming me. I had never had such an experience before. I rushed inside and my mother was waiting for me. The aroma of good dishes which were being prepared for me made me feel so important. The kitchen, the bedroom and my room all were exactly the same as I had seen them before. Nothing had changed except my perception about them. Perhaps I now realised their worth. My table was exactly at its place, my old books were lying in the bookshelf, my soft toys were nicely arranged and my favourite bed sheet was spread on my bed. “Wow! This is called home”, I told myself. I jumped into my bed and my happiness knew no bounds. We sat together at the dinner table and ate all my favourite food and talked about so many things. When I was leaving for the college again, I wished that my home should shift in the city where my college was. But I was happy that I had been at home and had many new memories to carry this time.
Things moved on and I graduated and then joined a software firm. Again, I was posted in some other city than my hometown, this time even far away from the city where my college was. Inspite of spending four years away from home, I was not accustomed to staying away from home. But some things cannot be changed. So, I had to go to Pune. My life was at the cusp of another change.
From the cottage houses style of living in Kanpur, I was now exposed to this concrete jungle at Pune. I made a group of 6 along with some of my colleagues and took a three bedrooms, hall, kitchen, flat also known as 3 BHK. From the beginning to searching for a house and contacting brokers was a totally new experience. For the first time I encountered a complicated financial deal face to face with the broker, owner, lawyer, landlord and what not. That brought back memories about my home and how my father had performed all these responsibilities so casually without the purview of any apprehensions and tensions. We shifted our luggage and moved in. The flat was very different than the hostel room. In the hostel, our food, cleanliness and the security part was well taken care of by the college. But here, we were on our own. We bought the essential things for survival including the curtains, broomstick, the kitchen items, the toilet cleaner etc. Then I realized the importance of keeping stock of your inventories at home and how easily my mother did all this. We had almost taken a day to decide on what all to purchase and even after that visited the same shop 5 times as each time we forgot something or the other. We started living there and this was definitely much better than the hostel. We had more space, more luxury; we could cook food for ourselves and much more. But with all this came greater responsibilities. We used to keep track of the various monthly rentals including the electricity, water and society maintenance charges. It was a miniature model of home. I learned a lot from this experience and with everything, the image and high worthiness of the home kept increasing.
In this new setting I was getting accustomed but then again I still missed home. The festivals were one main source of reminder. Prior to this, I went home on every festival being closer to hometown, but now it was not possible every time with the nuances of leaves being available at a premium. Festivals are a time when the family gets together and there is happiness in the air. The mood is set and the decorated homes make you feel the essence of the festival. It was Diwali the biggest festival of the Hindus which is associated with lights and crackers. Unfortunately the monopoly of leaves didn’t work in our favour and I ended up staying away from home that Diwali. To cheer us up, all of us decided to imitate the things which we do at our homes during the festivals to feel like home. We brought crackers, decorated our flat with the candles and worshipped God that day. For each other’s happiness we did all this but deep inside our hearts, every one of us knew that still something was missing. I wished my parents and my brother on phone but longed to be there with them. I tried to show that I am enjoying myself and told them about the various arrangements I did. But my mother sensed the hollowness in my voice. She only said three words which filled my eyes with tears. They were, “We miss you”.
It is not only when I am sad, scared, not getting proper food, feeling to share things with a best friend that I miss home but also in the good times. When I need to share my achievements or during festivals also that I miss home. When I miss being myself, I miss being at home. The voices like the barking of a dog, vegetable sellers shouting out loud, milkman being scolded by my mother early in the morning of more water content than milk and the beggars coming door to door asking for the alms, all these are no longer a noise to me. They all have become an intrinsic part of my home and I miss them.
Hence, home is a wonderful place which is gifted to us by birth and we should thank God for this wonderful gift. It is not the brick and the mortar which is necessary for making a home, but it is the feelings of love, sharing and caring which bind a home. Home is a place where the even the silence is more comfortable than the words of many.
All my previous experiences have taught me that whatever I do, where ever I go, I will not find the replacement of just one thing in my life and that is – My Home!
