Home is the answer, always

Palms swaying in the evening breeze at Puri beach

It is that knot again, that ties and twists itself around your lungs till you are left gasping for air...

That little lump near the throat that chokes you hard, so hard that even tears struggle to wiggle out of its grip...

The rain outside pours inside you, blinding you in flashes of black and white...

The pearly cherry blossoms dance around you, yet you long for the feisty gulmohar...

Somewhere on the other side of the globe a roaring carnival is on for a much wished cricket win, and you just live through such a historic date sloshed over tea and the timeless Tere bina zindagi se koi shikwa...

The wrinkled yet strong hands of helplessness keep you pinned to reality like a dead butterfly in a Zoology room...

What in God's name is this called? HOME, may be?!