Home. How intimate is your connection with your home? The nook which you designed, a wall you painted with your favorite right shade of magenta, your comfortable chair rightly placed in front of the window which passes the scent of lilies every morning. Your dad’s wardrobe you would sneak in once a week to take a shirt from. The one he hanged in the left corner of the top partition as a routine.

I have been disciplined in designating places to myself in the next 3 homes we switched in the span of fourteen years.

Aha, and the dressing table in my second last house, where I would love smearing expensive lipsticks over my hands, and lips, and cheeks and shush, my paintings!
I remember getting cranky each time we left a house to shift to another, such a hassle I tell you. I wasn’t supposed to leave my paintings on walls like that, I wanted to carry them with me. Each wall had with me a special connection, each corner a scent I still haven’t forgotten. And how unfortunate I was to have all memories in there.

There are days when the paths of those early homes return to mind. Like any other memory, those divine scents of walls. And follows it is a thought that how fortunate I was to have all the memories in there, to have lived in not one but 3 homes, to cherish each, to remember it all, how fortunate I was to have experienced it all.

they say home is where the heart is.


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