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I am on the run, the highway is my home.....

A friend's post on shifting cities and changing home was food for thought for me. Home for me has always been Kolkata. But being a "fauji wife" meant I was always on the move with my household in trunks (torongo,I heard it after ages) and memories in my head and the increasing number of the photo albums in our kitty. Home was transferable , temporary and transient. I have no complaints , cos it was fun - this feeling of settling in making a home out of a lived-in house giving it my own touch - there was something exciting in that gypsy life - till Bhaskar gave up his job and we came back to Kolkata.
The problem with Kolkata was that I never had a "house" of my own - dividing my time between my parent's and my in laws house I realized I do not belong anywhere. I still had my room at Mainak - my drawer full of nostalgia, a room with a view - that  overlooked the eastern horizon of the city in the mornings and I could count the stars at night, yet it wasn't mine really . And I really hated the house at Garia - with it's teeming people and unfamiliar bed and sharing the washroom with others, literally depressed me in those initial years. Though eventually I did settle down in Garia, made a home out of the ground floor of the house, yet I am never there in my heart.
In Kochi , I stay in a "Purple House"( according to Abhishikta ) with a balcony overlooking a patch of verdant green that is my temporary home. Then in Bangkok  there is the Condo at Soi 29 amid the hustle bustle of food festival everyday - and that is my home. A vagabond at heart and a gypsy in my head......

So what is home ? Sitting with my cup of coffee over a bread and toast breakfast and chit chatting leisurely with Bhaskar is home for me ( it's rare - usually there is the invariable argument over whatever). Chatting late night sprawling over the carpet and laughing over the inane with Chibu is home for me. Propping my feet up and watching a film with Baba and sharing the latest gossip is home for me.
With two out of the three missing, home is a lonely place at times -  coffee. cookie and continuous rain. At times it is a sanctuary that takes me out of the places laden with memories that's like a chronic ache.
Till I find my equilibrium again , it's " I'm on the run , the highway is my home .........." And as long as  possible Amen to that!

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