Tacky but true! Usually, when I think of home, I think of Bombay, I think of my folks. Sometimes, I think of the places where I've lived, where I've stamped my personality, been happy. But mostly, it's people and memories that make me feel like I've come home. Sharing decadence with Gifty or watching Usha expertly roll out a 'rogni' roti. A haven that makes a bad day go dissolve, my refuge against sadness, a safe haven to lick my wounds, people who put me back together, rejuvenated and ready to face the world again. Those people with whom you lose track of time, where you think you're going to inelegantly die by choking to death on the sheer silliness that's inevitable. The shared laughter, hunger, exasperation, support and battles. Even the I told you so's!
I'd almost forgotten my other home, with the Chandavarkars. Where you pick up threads like you'd just left them to rest last night, where intervening absences never happened, where falsettos pretend to be you when placing an order for dinner, a pounce and tickle session amongst the middle aged is par for course leaving the 5 year old goggle eyed at poor Dada's fate, where a precocious baby is now helping you maneuver the world of google to find the nearest pizza place and tells you where to shop for work clothes, where unabashedly we swap middle age stories and concoct diabolical plans to trade the kids in for a more cake and a massage.... the good life. Even the moments of 'aaaaargh' that make you want to flush people down the nearest toilet are intact and suddenly the irritation that 5 teacups instead of 6, sans saucers just isn't worth the effort. This is what life is about.. the people that fill it, even in their absence.