Life is a box of surprises and unexpected events. Quite surprisingly, things that we least anticipate happen to us and we are left wondering at the travesty of the entire situation. And the course of the events becomes so strange that we are left to conjecture how or why it all happened. But at the end of the day, what we wish for deep down comes true. Today, all I can say is that, I wish I had chosen my dreams more carefully.
During my years of childhood, I always was keen to escape home. Home seemed a place of restrictions and bindings, one where you always had to return to, a place where I was supposed to study, eat and sleep, a zone where rules were all in place, a territory where missing out on an instruction was met with admonitions. Quite naturally, I wanted to escape home – get out of its protective shell and wanted to explore the unknown and unchartered. Such was my childhood dream. And I often had the sinking feeling that I will never grow up, I shall never be able to escape home. I was often sad and depressed. Any place outside home, seemed fancy.
Today many years since I have crossed the periphery of childhood, I am left homeless. I do have a roof over my head, I am surrounded by fancy four walls of a house, but home – well that still eludes.
Today I want to go back to my home, relive all the days of my childhood, lead a life sans all the adult worries, immerse myself completely with the preoccupations of those days when I was blissfully unaware of how ruthless and unexpected life can take its turns.
For education and then professional commitments, I left the home that I had longed to leave in the yesteryears. The process had been very gradually. No one stopped me and except for the misgivings of my own heart, I faced no opposition from any quarters preventing me to leave my own den. Deep down I wanted people to stop me, I wanted admonitions that would prevent me from bidding adieu to my home. But no! It seemed the most normal thing to leave home.
Even though I was away from home I was happy with the assurance that I could go back there whenever my heart longed to do so. I did go back also with timely intervals. Slowly, my grandparents passed away and the family members lessened in number. But last year something happened that changed the entire course of our lives. My own father passed away and my mother decided never to return to my home to fight against the tormenting memories. She started living in another corner of the city in some other house. My home was given away to tenants.
Sitting in a far away city when I think of home, I realise I have nothing that I can call my truly own. I seriously wanted to take leave of it but had never in my wildest dreams had fathomed that I will not be able to return to my home again. It’s true that I can drive away the tenants some day and start living there again. But home is more than an enclosed space, more than just walls, passage and rooms. Home is made up of the people who live there; home is made up of memories. I can never get back the home of my childhood, the home of yesteryears, the home of my golden memories. Life took a turn for the unexpected, it changed completely and today I am left to wonder how it will wander in the years to come.