The best part about home was this seemingly unquestionable permanence. I would return from school and it was always waiting for me in its neat and tidy form. I would have my room that would have my cupboard that would have my toys and my clothes. The drawing room would have our sofa facing our TV with our choice of channels. In the bathroom were my soap and my toothbrush. Basically, everywhere around was our stuff.
And there was always food. I knew food was my mother's forte. Her cooking could simply beat the shit out of other mothers' cooking. And she would mix and match the food so perfectly –the paranthas would accompany rajma in the afternoon and the same rajma would be floating in the evening only to team up with rice. Looking back I am amazed at how much she could make from what now appears to be only a handful of vegetables and pulses. Maybe it was never about the variety anyways, maybe there was something about being at home and she making it.
I remember changing houses a couple of times when I was young. That never used to change much for me though. Once it just changed my school bus stand and at the other time it changed my bus number. It meant making new friends on the way to my school and back and new friends in the street to play with. But as soon as I returned back home, I was back in the land where all stuff was clean and all stuff was mine. Where fridge bottles automatically filled themselves, dirty clothes - washed and ironed found their way to my cupboards. And there was always Mom around.
The first major change came when I joined under-grad. Luckily, my college too happened to be in Delhi. With more time and more freedom I could explore much more of the city and I understood how my home was connected to everything else. The college, the cinemas, the markets, the monuments, friend's houses and even the roads became familiar. Delhi became a place I shared with my friends and family. Delhi too became home.
The first time I moved out of my home was for Microsoft, in early 2008. It was also the first time I tried to come to terms with the reality that homes change. I guess the process of leaving home that started back in 2008 has now ended. I now don't miss home and Delhi in the same sense I once did. I guess I've learnt the art of putting together a home- at least the make-shift kind. Put in some cleanliness, some cupboard full of personal belongings, some books, some lights, and some photographs. Surround yourself with caring friends and get to know the places. The water bottles and clothes need slight more attention but it works out in the end. The only limitation is Mom can't be here and food can't be great, but that would be too much to ask from a make-shift home anyways.
In another few months, I'd have moved again. A new place to work at, a new city to belong to, a new home to create. A dear professor describes a home as the human attempt at pissing around the territory that belongs to him, just like a dog does. Despite the coarse language, I'd have to say he isn't too far from the truth. I guess home is just the place we call our own. It is a place that houses our stuff and stacks our kind of food. It is a place where you know the shortcuts around, on roads and otherwise. It is a place where strange isn't too strange and unfamiliar is still quite familiar. It is a place that is surrounded by friends. And most importantly it is a place where you are surrounded by your loved ones. Here's hoping we all build happy homes.
