What is a home really?
Is it the four walls that shelter you from the storms, the darkness and sunlight?
Is it the fancy tiles you painstakingly chose to be arranged in the perfect manner that the floors dazzled in the tepid sunshine like a pristine mirror.
Or is it really the lifelong savings you hid after refraining from parties those small joys you thought could contribute better to the investment called your home?
More often than not, I’ve wondered how much space do we need?
To decide on that number and these embellishments, spending your life in chasing that one fragment of fulfilment that is yet to reach you.
While wandering in the pursuit of these thoughts, the gravity of what I saw struck me.
A family of about seven members were happy under the shade of a sand truck.
No, they weren’t seeking shelter from the harsh sun momentarily. That was their home.
The men were playing cards, the woman was cooking on a stove of wooden logs and a vessel that probably had been around so long that its silvery sheen was lost in the smoke of black.
A kid was dragging a piece of stone around the house making weird animal noises as it shuffled along the grassy path.
The vessel was already minuscule to have fed the family but not a worry or a line of woe on their faces.
If they had to sleep, the truck would barely cover them.
They looked baked and worn down with the rhythm of the season but not enough to break their spirit.
The gallant chatter, the innocuous game, the engrossing kitchen work was enough to keep them moving.
Clothes were tattered but not their smiles. The vessel was empty but not their lives.
In that arid weather, I had more complaints than all of them put together.
The weather, humidity, traffic, pollution, lack of food, sticky clothes and probably a million more.
What is it that I’m seeking in a home that makes me wonder.
It is not always about comparing yourself to the worst out there to see it.what essence is missing that this peace I saw on their faces is void in my own?
Is it because less is more? or is it the unparalleled greed to satiate my impulsive mind that I can't stop to think about what is it that I’m seeking?
Is writhing in the blazing sun the solution I don’t know.
All I know is that their smiles were the sunshine that day.
Is it the four walls that shelter you from the storms, the darkness and sunlight?
Is it the fancy tiles you painstakingly chose to be arranged in the perfect manner that the floors dazzled in the tepid sunshine like a pristine mirror.
Or is it really the lifelong savings you hid after refraining from parties those small joys you thought could contribute better to the investment called your home?
More often than not, I’ve wondered how much space do we need?
To decide on that number and these embellishments, spending your life in chasing that one fragment of fulfilment that is yet to reach you.
While wandering in the pursuit of these thoughts, the gravity of what I saw struck me.
A family of about seven members were happy under the shade of a sand truck.
No, they weren’t seeking shelter from the harsh sun momentarily. That was their home.
The men were playing cards, the woman was cooking on a stove of wooden logs and a vessel that probably had been around so long that its silvery sheen was lost in the smoke of black.
A kid was dragging a piece of stone around the house making weird animal noises as it shuffled along the grassy path.
The vessel was already minuscule to have fed the family but not a worry or a line of woe on their faces.
If they had to sleep, the truck would barely cover them.
They looked baked and worn down with the rhythm of the season but not enough to break their spirit.
The gallant chatter, the innocuous game, the engrossing kitchen work was enough to keep them moving.
Clothes were tattered but not their smiles. The vessel was empty but not their lives.
In that arid weather, I had more complaints than all of them put together.
The weather, humidity, traffic, pollution, lack of food, sticky clothes and probably a million more.
What is it that I’m seeking in a home that makes me wonder.
It is not always about comparing yourself to the worst out there to see it.what essence is missing that this peace I saw on their faces is void in my own?
Is it because less is more? or is it the unparalleled greed to satiate my impulsive mind that I can't stop to think about what is it that I’m seeking?
Is writhing in the blazing sun the solution I don’t know.
All I know is that their smiles were the sunshine that day.
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