On creating a home away from home.
For the longest time, I used the terms 'house' and 'home' interchangeably. It was only when I sub-consciously referred to one as house and the other as latter that I noticed the difference.
I think one only realizes the difference of either when one moves out.
What makes a house a home?
When I look closely, everything that I do, from arranging the things on my desk a certain way to the preferences of the brightness of light- it all adds up.
Suddenly I feel enlightened (pun intended!)
"you prefer yellow lights over white because after dinner, at home, after a long day, the living room, with the faintly lit yellow lights incandescently watched you watch the television, talk about your day, fight over everything and nothing."
So much of life is just spending time with the people you love.
"you set the wall clock ten minutes ahead, because that's how it was set, at home for twenty one years that you lived there"
"You listen to music when you clean your house, because at home, sunday mornings meant music playing on the music system in the background, as Colin (cleaning liquid) and a dusting cloth ensured our home was spik and span.
"You re-create the exact wall on your study desk as back home filled with photographs of people, of memories, reminding you of all the love that you left behind to explore the grass on the other side"
home is where you feel like you belong.
home is where you don't mind the mundane.
home is the people in it.
But home is a thousand miles away and I am here, aimlessly scribbling with a dim yellow light and I think
"A thousand miles away, my dad is listening to Rashid khan, with a subdued yellow lights in the room and I feel at ease. Atleast we're underneath the same sky."
