Tales from a Keralite Aquarius

When I speak of home, I speak not of that concrete structure. Nor of the tiles, or the marbles, or the rooms in between. It isn't about the TV or the AC or the table. Nor is it of the stuff that you call your own. Home is a feeling. Of belongingness. Of peace. Home is where I belong. The significant sense of uneasiness, at walking into a house; devoid of your moms voice. The living room, dead, minus the laughter and jokes that you have exchanged with your dad. The bedrooms, silent of the secrets it doesn't gather from the exchanges with your siblings. The kitchen, which spreads more warmth from the love of the food than from the flames of the stove. The balcony has more intimate moments, than the deepest romantic novels. Home is a feeling. Of belongingness. Of love. Home is where I belong. At the familiar rays of sunshine, that salute you by the window. The accustomed feeling of all things inanimate. The touch so familiar as if it greets you right back. Every little thing, a s...

Family. I have had quite a few friends who have had rotten relationships with their family members; mother, father, siblings, grandparents etc. And despite trying to understand their point of view, and empathise with them, I have always ended up having a sense of sympathy for them. For the complete void that they don't even realize they have. My parents haven't exactly pampered me. But I have had almost everything I needed, and more often than not, also what I wanted. I was taught the value of things, and they have made sure to help us every time we fell down, whether we were one or twenty. I wouldn't calls ours a very very rich family, but we have been wealthy in terms of love, memories, good experiences and joy. We nag each other to no end and drive each other nuts; we team up against others, and pull each others leg, and there might have been more than a single instance when the neighbours may have questioned our sanity. We have screamed out lungs out, criticized, and...