Home is...

Home is where you walk into the aroma of evening breakfast cooked by your mother.
Home is where you walk into the nauseating fragrance of room fresheners set on 'High' by your cousin.
Home is also where you walk into the choking smell of your roommate's smokes lingering long after he has moved out.

Home is where your mother sends you back out to buy some grocery the minute you walk into a bunch of unfamiliar (and usually unannounced) guests smiling at you, when you desperately need to be alone.
Home is where you listen to your aunt's anecdotes during her tea break.
Home is also where you sometimes walk into your empty room looking for some company.

Home is where you bring spicy food to relish it all alone.
Home is where your aunt spoils you for a choice between a variety of desserts and sweets, right before dinner.
Home is also where you bring junk food to share with your roommates.

Home is where the maid washes your dishes - you gladly let her.
Home is where your aunt puts you in charge of the dishwasher - you gladly accept.
Home is also where your roommate offers help during your cooking turn - you gladly refuse.

Home is where you fight with your father for your movie over his news on the TV.
Home is where your cousins watch TV in their rooms upstairs, leaving the big one downstairs all for you.
Home is also where you share laptops with your roommates for entertainment.

Home is where your mother scolds you for wasting dinner at home because you ate outside without informing her before she took to the stove.
Home is where you always inform your aunt if you won't be home for dinner before she enters the kitchen.
Home is also where you call up your roommate and ask “Aaj khaane ka kya scene hai?”

Home is where you rip your father off to pay for your birthday treat.
Home is where on your birthday, your aunt gets you a lovely gift that your cousin disapproves of.
Home is also where your roommates ask you what cake you would prefer for your birthday before they buy it.

Home is where you scribble rubbish on your study table, and flaunt it.
Home is where your uncle gets you a study table and you keep it spotless.
Home is also where you and your roommate sit on the floor to study with laptops in a mess of books and sheets all around.

Home is at the end of the curve bustling with people, vehicles, shops and hawkers – their noise eating the music from your earphones.
Home is also at the end of a lonely street which listens to the music from your earphones.

Home is where you simply love walking back to.

Shamanth.
25th may, 2009

Something Beautiful!

"I want to write something beautiful for you," he would say, gazing deep into her eyes.

His left hand around her waist, firm on her back. The other on her shoulder, the back of his fingers kissing her cheek.
She would press against his arm, their eyes drawing closer. Transfixed, she would smile.

But he never wrote. Perhaps he waited too long.

"I want to write something beautiful for her!" he sighs - now that she is gone.

Will he ever?

Memories of her gaze follow his eyes. Her smile lingers below.

Listen

Inspired by this poem of Meghana :

Listen

Complications, you say,
Shroud your mind,
The solutions to which,
You cannot find.

Had I the answers,
Shout them I would,
Tearing the shroud,
As loud as I could.

Wouldn't you rather,
Listen to your voice within,
For it is but your mind,
So is it not the loudest for you?

Shamanth,
15th may, 2009.

Believe

I believe in rebirth.

So when a part of me dies, a new part of me can come to life.



Shamanth,
3rd may, 2009.