Home

Tanya Bajaj
Jul 24, 2017 · 3 min read

In a restrictive world of small towns and even smaller thoughts, you’re my big home.

What does home signify to you? An area marked yours by bricks and cement, to have a roof above your head or the emotions that run around those bricks?

As a kid my share of tension was how to cut down my study time in order to always be on time for playing. Evenings were meant to break free, run around, hurt myself and get back home smiling. This was the part everyone knew about but what everyone did not know was that there was a spring of silent sadness every evening after the break got over to have it all again. To convince myself that tomorrow is another day for me to go out and continue with my happy routine.

Over the years the days got longer, the studies got tougher and the park I could see from my bedside emptier. I did manage to still be that person somedays but I stopped feeling as great about it as it earlier felt.

Why does our love for somethings deteriorate even when everything attached to it remains the same? I still had the swings waiting, the grass was still as green and warm as it had always felt and the talks were still endless.

The rules of the game never changed.

More often than not, the backdrop never changes. We do.

As much as the kid in me wanted to go out there and enjoy it, I just couldn’t. More important things started coming up. It was all getting tougher than it was the day before. Sooner than I realized, I stopped looking out of the window to even see what all it had to offer.

If I look back now, my evening play time did its best to get me back at it. There were more swings along with a beautiful cycling path. It even bloomed the best flowers around but who had to time to notice?

Sometimes somethings do their best to have our attention but we are too busy doing something else that we don’t even care to notice the efforts put across.

Now if I look back, I can put this through so many situations, places & people.

“Sometimes you think you’re giving a person the world but you’re not.” She says, “Sometimes your world is not their world”.

No matter how much we try to convince ourselves on our comforts, they change.

The rules might not but the game often changes.

But one thing doesn’t.

The memory attached to it. The bruises from the field play might not be visible today but I can still feel it somewhere and have a flood of memories gushing at a speed that’s unimaginable.

“Sometimes, people/things hide not the scariest and the ugliest part of them, but the most beautiful and gentle.”

There are so many comforts we have left behind in order to pursue things we never thought we would against them. So many situations have gone across, so many places have silent laughter attached, so many people make your heart skip a beat.

Yet, they’re away in a box I call my own. In a world I call my own. In a home I call my own.

Occasionally I do visit them and smile for nothing feels as comfortable as coming back home.

*the doorbell rings*

Who is it?

It’s me, your dream

Welcome home!

A commerce student who loves to write.

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