Will I Ever Be Home?

It’s 11:00 in the morning. I am sitting at the Delhi Airport waiting to board a flight to Bangalore. No. I am not going home. Sitting here sipping Blueberry Blush from Costa Coffee and thinking. Thinking whether or not one day I will be home.

Where is my home? I do not know. Sitting here on this cold winter morning, I suddenly realize that I have no clue as to where I belong. Looking around I can see Christmas decoration and I can see loads and loads of passengers. Families. Happy people. Some sullen. Some impatient. But nevertheless people with certain sense of direction in their life. At least that is what I want to think at this point of time.

Home is where the heart is. Heard it numerous times. Reminds me of a line from a song by My Chemical Romance. Where is your heart? I have no clue. Sitting here this winter morning, I can see bustle of activities. I can see airplanes taking off and landing. I can see staff on duty cleaning the tables and I can see the bartender making a cocktail. It’s slightly foggy but the fog is denser in my mind.

While having my breakfast I suddenly realized that I could have been anywhere right now. London. Sweden. Even Greenland. Who knows? It would not have made much of a difference. Well, apart from the fact that my breakfast items might have been different. I could have been anywhere, heading to any random place with no sense of direction.

Home is supposed to be that sacred place where the heart finds solace. Where the mind can be free and it can think clearly. Where you do not need to watch the sun rise and sun set alone. Where you can let go of all else that is happening around you and focus. Think. Find your direction. Home is that place where you can do what you want to do.

Sitting here I realize that the above can be achieved almost anywhere. At least for me. I have been to a lot many houses. Not homes. I have gone to many places. Met several people. Stayed with them. Never lived. This is where the difference is. The realization that one is absolutely alone, no matter where he is or who he is with is the realization that your life is without direction. Without focus.

I see a traveler, sitting on a table a little distance ahead. She is bent over certain papers and is scribbling furiously. I want to imagine that she is a writer. I want to imagine that she found something inspiring in this spot and started writing. I want to imagine that she is lost too. Just like me.

There are certain places and certain things one keeps going back to. I do that as well. But it is the feeling that one gets which matters. I never get that feeling. I am merely a traveler, dressed according to the occasion. Wearing a mask. Doing what I think I should be doing.

The sun is stepping out of the fog and the light is getting brigher. It wars with the melancholy inside me. It makes me uneasy. The light. Its too bright. It has the potential to show the world what I am. Lost and confused. I like the fog. At least I feel that I am a part of the fog. Makes me feel I belong. Gives me that inspiration. It does not war with my melancholy. The fog only glorifies it.

Sitting here this random morning, I realize that I am not at peace with myself. I realize that I am a traveler with nowhere to go. Or rather everywhere to go. I can keep walking, keep traveling but the melancholy inside me only makes me restless. It does not mellow down and it does not make me mellow.

The sun is finally out and its bright. There is a frown on my forehead and my drink does not taste all that great anymore. My flight is delayed and I realize I am lost again. This is me…wondering if I will ever reach home? This is me…wondering will I ever be home?

-Parekh, Pravesh

Delhi Airport; 11:30 AM

December 24, 2011