50) Home is where the heart is!

Bhosale House

This is my 50th blog, dedicated to the place where I started blogging.

Dear Bhosale House, 

I miss you. I hope you are doing fine with the torrential downpour. I am sure it must be difficult for you too to handle the farewell of 2 kids in a span of two months. Two kids who walked in when they were in 9th and 5th class, moved out as adults in the last two months. Now, when I return, I won't be the same person that left. I am more grateful for you than ever before. When I had to search for a place to live in Indore, I understood how difficult it is to find a place that houses you and your entourage. 

I know it's not the place; it's always the people, but sometimes it's the people and the place. You can video call people you miss, but you cannot video call your house, and that hurts. Sometimes I ask my family to show me my study table and bookshelf, but still I wish I could video call my room. I am sure the door handle still has a dream catcher that catches my dreams, the laundry bag on the left and the dressing table on the right. The dressing table would now be mostly vacant, given that Durva took her stuff. The washroom slippers and doormats that await me at the threshold of the washroom. The bunk bed with my pillow- oh, I miss my pillow. The pillow that held my crazy dreams. The pillow here in Indore, though, knows a completely different version of me that the old one would be surprised to know. Also, my blanket would be a little pissed to find out that I now have its co-wife (sautan), and that I will probably bring it back as a memory. Both have comforted me at different levels that can never be compared. My little Ross (an elephant I drew on the wall beside my study table during COVID) definitely waits for my arrival, so I can come back and tell him stories and get back to writing ✍️ something exciting all over again.

My study table is the place I have missed the most. I miss sitting on my chair and reading books. I also miss the view from the window beside the table. The almond tree that stands tall and has seen me in all seasons of life for the past 11 years. I heard there is some construction coming up and eventually the tree would be cut down; I want to find some way to preserve it in some form. The bookshelf and the books look forward to my arrival. They may have a layer of dust on them, but I have covered them all in plastic so that none of them look old when I come back. To their surprise, I have ordered 16 more books to add to the shelf that is already full. My cupboard is full with all my clothes now completely out of the washing cycle and are now in the cupboard, while here I realised one can survive in a minimum number of clothes, so once back I am going to clear the clutter. 

I miss the little corners at home. The stairs where I sat for hours discussing with Pappa about life, politics, and everything in between; the washroom thresholds where I stood and felt like I was standing on some stage; the cozy sofa; I haven't lounged on a sofa in the last two months. And my chair on the dining table is a place I look forward to taking back and enjoying the sumptuous meals prepared by Mumma.

All this said and done, I miss the water at home. I miss how the water tastes in Panvel. I have had water from many different places that have varied tastes. The hotel water, the Bisleri water, the Campa water, the Patanjali water, the hostel water, but the water at home actually tastes like real water, and the irony is people say water does not have taste; guess what, it has taste; only when you step out of home you will know.

When this blog comes out, I will be back home, but as I write this, I am in Indore, missing Bhosale House 🏠. But while I wrote this blog, I was almost in my house and wandering around in imagination, and it was so therapeutic. Next time, if you miss your home, try to write about it; maybe it will feel like you visited your home.

Happy Reading, 

Happy 50!

-सिddhi Bhosale.  A special thanks to each and every reader who has read my blogs. Adding my poem 'Home is', just for you all, because I am extremely grateful to each one of you; this journey was possible only because you housed my blogs: (I wrote this poem 5-6 years back, and it was then published in my engineering college annual magazine)

Home is...

Home is where water tastes like water, just as pure as a relation of a mother and a daughter! Home is where wifi connects automatically, and a place where we can act dramatically! Home is where you can cry with tears, not with eyes dry and open ears! Home is a place which has our vibe, it is a place which has us imbibe!

Home is where our heart sings in its own beat, and brain triumphs over its own defeat! Home is where we can roam around doing nothing, it's the only place in the world where we can do 'our' thing! Home is where we day dream, and believe that all our dreams are supreme!

Home is where the sky appears clear, and the universe seems near!

Home is something which defines us, it's a place where we can fuss!

Home is where our burnt cake is called extra crispy, it's a place where our nature is always frisky!

Home is a mood in itself, where we enjoy the most by ourself!