A letter to my home.

Dear home,


I never thought I would miss you this much. Though it was very clear that one day I’m gonna leave you after getting married.

It’s not your walls or your spacious veranda that’s making me home sick. It’s those visible stains of my childhood on your walls and the soothing sunlight which makes my stomach churn with nostalgia. At times, it’s so intense that it pricks my eyes.


Almost everything is same here, from sunrise to sunsets. But I don’t witness them very often. Thanks to all the tall buildings and the veranda-less houses. Though, occasionally I run upstairs to the terrace and let the sun rays play on my skin.


There is also a tiny east-faced window in the kitchen which has became my friend. My mother-in-law always let it open partially obstructing the view from outside. But I can see all the happenings on the road while cooking.


The road hosts a lot of real dramas — auto-drivers sleeping in their autos beside the no-parking sign board, energetic baraatis passing by with a dull bride-groom and some oldies taking their dogs out for a walk. The city seems to be very much home for almost all of them. They roam freely and chatter unthinkingly about almost anything.


Although there is no rule for me to not chatter and there are no restrictions on me going anywhere. Still, I watch my words and actions. Because, it’s not my home. Actually it is. It is very much my home legally and I really believe it is. May be, my  heart needs some more time to feel like home.


No, no. I’m happy. I’m happily married to a man much better than my dreams. My heart has found it’s home in him and my physical being has also got a nice place to live. It’s the other people of the house who are very distant to me, my heart.


I sometimes feel marriage is a gift. It gifts you a soulmate which usually comes with unnecessary colorful wrappings which looks decorative at first and irritating after a while. But you’ll try to keep all of them out of some untold patriarchial duties. In my case, it’s them, my not-so-friendly in-laws.


I try to ignore them by reminiscing the days spent with you till my man comes back and switch on the fairy lights of my life.


Dear home, you’ll always be my home as somebody rightly said, “the home is where the heart is.”

Your distant inhabitant,
Sana.

This is my baby plant, happily growing in water.

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