The wonder of coming back…

I’ve often heard of a saying “Home is where the heart is” but  failed to understand the meaning until i left my home to relocate to a city for medical reasons.

In the city i missed all that made my small town home to me – the smells, the trees, the little squirrels playing on the tree outside my window, the bird that walked so awkwardly on the branch of the tree just at  lunch time looking for its meal as we sat down to ours. The small autistic boy who rode his bicycle with such glee in the lane, the woman who lived alone and came to chat with us, the vendors who had such different ways of calling out their wares, the dogs that followed me wagging their tails happily just because we fed them at lunch with leftovers, even the irrate neighbour – were all so wonderful and i longed to see them once again!

My heart ached for the sight of friends and familiar faces… for chats that were meaningful and interesting to me. What were they saying about demonetisation? How were they facing the dilemma of the big note? how were they surviving?…what cultural events were taking place there? any plays worth seeing…exhibitions…? how did our garden look?

One day, I went for a morning walk and discovered a siuli tree in the next lane. it belonged to a dilapidated house that looked like a haunted house. I was elated! the little white flowers and their perfume took me to my garden where i would gather bowls of the sweet-smelling flowers to place all over my house…. I gathered some flowers and brought them back from my walk to my house.

Now I’m back home to a place I’ve fallen in love with. And ever since i stepped in through the gate, I have been dancing and singing quietly to a tune and rhythm that only I can hear!

I gush over even the most common and silly things because I see everything anew with love-filled eyes.

I’m so glad that I’ve not lost the wonder of coming back home.

 

 

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