Miss You Home

“Be thankful for what you have; you'll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don't have, you will never, ever have enough” 
― Oprah Winfrey

It’s been three years since I am settled here with my family.  This place despite being a foreign land was somewhat like a second home. Because right from the age of 9, my vacations, even it was for one week or two months, were here. So this place was and is the bread and butter of our family. But living for almost whole of my life, except for two months of every year, in my hometown and coming back here for settling was different. Vacations end in two months, but life doesn't, and this migration was life.

What is different here compared to home?

Homeland! That’s the difference. You can’t attach the word “home” unless it’s your own. No matter what, you belong there. Your place, your language, your people… everything is yours.

I was a person who cheered for Pakistan in cricket and who prayed India to lose her crown in Miss World (but I was just 6 years, so guess it can be forgiven). But now after living with her for more than half of my life I began to respect her, take pride in been her daughter, to have a space in her land and to be known to others as hers. But now a feeling of been in a strange land is always there in the air. At least for me.  I miss the sound, glow and liveliness of all the festive seasons. This place is sophisticated but it lacks the warmth you feel back home. This place is far safer for everyone, but still it lack the familiarity. Well mannered, well ruled, disciplined but at times the wild child in me miss the unauthorized nature of home.

Here you can do whatever you want, wear anything you like, go where ever you wish. No one other than your family is going to question you, but I miss the poking noses of the society. I miss my dear ones. I miss the divinity and the glow of my holy place. I miss my room which saw me grow from a little girl to a woman. I miss my wheels, which tagged along with me. I miss the crumpled highways (God only knows how many times they have scraped my knees and hands), the roughness of the sea, the over crowed shops, the noisy nights, the not so posh theaters, the ice cream push carts in footpaths, the balloon vendors (setting a bunch of balloons free into the sky, that's just a happy feeling).

All these doesn’t mean I am betraying this place that’s providing me. No! I respect and love this country for the opportunities it gave me and the freedom it bequeathed on me. But my place is always my own. Here I am a stranger, a tourist in an unknown land, who came to seek the gold pot at the end of the rainbow. 

It’s said, you don't realize the value of something unless u lose it. Here I didn't lose anything, rather, gained knowledge of the love and passion I have for my land. The land which provided space for every mood swings of mine. 

My country may not be perfect, but every time I touch her soil, she fills me with so much of happiness and peace and at that moment everything in the world looks so possible. And I believe that’s what makes a hometown always special and close to heart. And no matter how far I go, at the end of the day I’ll be coming to back to her itself, to be at peace. 

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