Home

A friend of mine recently said something interesting. He told me that the concept of home was quite unclear and ambiguous to him. His statement set me thinking. What is home? Is it just simply the roof under which you live? If so, then for me, I should have two homes. I live in a hostel as well as presently during the holidays in what I always considered home. But then again, home should be something concrete. Right?

They say home is where the heart is. Is it that simple after all? My friends in college don't like it when someone refers to our hostel as home. If I was to say to one of them - "Hey, lets go back home and pick up the book", I'd be quickly reminded that home was back in India. Why the hostility towards residences outside the proverbial home? Aren't you living by your own rules out here? Isn't it a relief that no one tells you what to do? It's your own personal kingdom. Freedom is found in abundance. And yet the apprehension.

It's a personal thing I guess. Many find comfort in different places they go to. For them, home is a fellow traveler. I'm a rooted individual myself. Wherever I go, home will always be my city, my house, my room. Home is my own low, amazingly sleep inducing bed. Home is the trolley next to the fridge, with myriad edible things for me to increase my waistline. Home is the basketball ring to which I still have to attach a net. Home is where my best friends "hang out" for more time than they do in their own homes. Home is the posters on my wall. Home is my family. Home is where I will always belong, someplace I'll know better than I know myself.

"What is more agreeable than one's home?" - Marcus Tullius Cicero