This is what calm looks like at home in Bangalore.
When peace resumes after extended Sunday lunches. When the hushed whispers that fill the room through afternoons of gossip and laughter, have been quelled by a round of 4 o clock cups of chai and digestive biscuits. When the evening music class is over, and the knob on the electronic tanpura is turned backwards, bringing the drone to a mere buzz and finally silence. When after prolonged family gatherings of excessive gluttony, way too much chatter and unnecessary cribbing, the guests finally leave, doggie bags in hand. When past midnight, the house-concert inches closer to a thunderous crescendo and the clatter of the applause dies down. This living room has seen it all.
And this is what calm looks like at home in Bangalore. Exactly the same way it did so many years ago.
This is what calm looks like in my home here in Goa.
When the suitcases have been unpacked, the laundry loaded, the morning chai brewed, a week’s worth of pending emails are being worked through, and edits on a precious story are being deliberated upon.
On days like this, I realise home is not where the heart is. How can it be, when the heart is in two places at once?
It’s hard to choose a favourite. I have roots in both homes. Both spaces. Actually, scratch that. Home is not even a space. It’s a feeling. It’s that perfect reaction.
It’s an energy. And it has the capacity to make getting back to the grind feel so comforting.