You are lucky if you come back to warm home, a lady waiting for you with a hot meal on the table while the kid's creating a ruckus who get's to hug you first and amidst all this blessing you stumble with loved filled feet, dropping the day's heaviness of your shoulder and give into their arm's at the doorstep as if you have surrendered but yet victorious.
You got a chance to be Maximus Meridius for another day but to return to a breathing family, nothing to be filled by vengeance but be felt loved and wanted, while they see you with a hope, relaxation a husband, a father has returned and if you are the luckiest one then you even get to return back home as a son to your ageing parents.
Such a beautiful picture a brain imagines while we read onto certain word's, filled in the gaps, the void's we feel within ourselves. For all the joy's we share and all the time we spared for the loved one's is the only currency we will ever earn I guess & probably the only asset we will leave behind, for the materialistic will be gained and perished before time but these memories, these feeling of just being there, the void in absence, the beautiful foliage we fill the gaps amongst us is what will outlive us.
You are probably reading this on the first or last train to or from your home to wherever you want to be, probably you are having that quick meal before its time to jump back to the desk, probably you are standing on the ledge and given up, probably you are just basking it all in - one blog at a time, no matter, I say put everything on hold for few minutes, take a pause, look above, look beside, take a 360 of your surrounding, zoom out from the chaos thats probably around and within you and you will notice that no one care's but you & that matter's, being there in the moment matter's. Probably you will remember why you started at all? - Let me answer to it, to get back to the beautiful picture that your brain imagined in the beginning.
What an irony life has always been, we venture into the abyss only to return home to find it, its the same story where ever you go, traveler's come home to feel the ultimate peace, job goer's come back home to feel the calm before the storm next day, go-getter's come back home to have a break and be themselves, the soldier comes home to find what he has been protecting all this time, we all come back home to become us, shedding the armor at the gates and be the child we grew up knowing, ourselves. We return home to be us.
Sometimes it becomes chaos, what doesn't. the streets are empty at night to be pounded the next busy hour, the jungle calms down from the day's roar and hunts, the sky goes dark from the day's shine bright, everything cool's down, as if everyone, everything needs a break, a pause. So do you! So do we all...
It's such an irony yet beautiful that we start from home to fight the cunning, win and lose each day, just so we have something return back too everyday, feel secure and achieved. Well, that's the only thing ever there is. We often chase big milestones — promotions, possessions, titles, and trophies to let it hang on the wall and gather dust while our heads bow down to the never ending thoughts, works and worry of the world, to just leave behind something better when the time comes — only to realize that the real prize was waiting for us at the doorway all along. That warm glance, that familiar smell from the kitchen, the laughter that echoes louder than any applause you will ever recieve amongst the unknown faces you will for sure not be able to remember few years down the line, yes! that's true if its not now, give it time and it will seep into your reality.
But what happens when home isn’t perfect? When silence replaces noise, when absence replaces presence? Even then, the idea of home never leaves us. It becomes a compass, the true north of our adventures — guiding us through the world, through the fog of war, the war that erupts amongst and within us, only reminding us of where we belong, even if we’re still searching, still lost.
Home doesn’t always have four walls. Sometimes it’s a person, sometimes a memory, sometimes a state of mind. For some, it’s the call of their mother just while the start or end their day. For others, it’s the wag of a dog’s tail. For a traveler like me, it’s seeing the gates of my house from far while I enter my street, while the smell of chai brewing within me after a long ride. And for someone else, it might just be a quiet corner where they can finally breathe. finally be weightless.
The truth is — we don’t fight our battles for money, medals, or monumental achievement's I think We fight them just to earn the right to come back, to return, to belong, to lift our own weight and atleast once at the end be able to see eye to eye with your wife, kids, parents, most importantly the next morning in the mirror. That is the cycle of our lives: venture into the chaos, and then retreat into love.
So, if you’re reading this while standing on a crowded street while the city bustles past you, or lost in your own thoughts at midnight, pause for a moment. Ask yourself: What does home mean to me? Where do I return when the world strips me bare? where would I be if not home? Where's that if not already?
If you find the answer, hold onto it. Protect it. Nurture it. Because in the end, everything else is noise.
I remember having a small talk with my neighbour, his hair was now made of silver and the weight he carried all this time has already made him humble and bow down naturally and he randomly said to me "What a fine weather today", I rustled through my bag while searching for the wallet I always tend to forget and said "Yes indeed, less hot comparatively". He said "haha! Yeah, I would had wished to go for a long drive with my wife, if only i was able to drive again and she been beside me." he smirked yet content. And I was taken aback, few second's just went by putting me in a deep thought through out the day while, I for the very rare of moments, felt that man's loneliness, his wish to drive again and the void his wife has left naturally where he cannot do anything about it yet he has made content with it, he had too I guess, and he still find's the energy to go for a walk alone, gather up words to speak with a young man like me, probably make him feel the way he felt few years ago, I wanted to go back to him and ask him for what he misses but I assumed he has given all he could have, worked all his able days into what he has today from a coming home to look into the eye to now probably look at the beautiful picture's his life had given chance to freeze time in and a wish he could do it all again much better this time.
Home — however you define it — is the only truth worth coming back to.
Return to your true north.
- Nirmal.
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Comment your view's on what do you feel about your true north? what get's you going yet long you to come back home.
