On finding home

and making one!

It’s 29th March, 4:55 am. I am writing this from Hyderabad airport. I have a huge airport anxiety so, I just arrived a few hours before the actual time. I got myself a coffee frappuccino from Starbucks as Concu haven’t opened yet. I am not a fan of Starbucks but I have tried this cold coffee in their outlet when in Chennai and it is bearable.

I am about to board a flight to Vizag after dismissing the idea of going there for Pongal. If you’re a Telugu, meeting dear ones for Sankranthi is a ritual here. I had my reasons not to go, but this time, I just wanted to go and see my parents after a good eight months. I remember people asking me why I hadn’t gone home for months.

My therapist said it’s an act of survival. If you’re a woman in your twenties who grew up in an orthodox family, you probably know how much stress they take to trade off their daughter as if she’s a ticking timebomb that shouldn’t cross twenty-five. And if you somehow manage to delay it, then it is an everyday job to make them understand that you’re not nuts for taking this time. The thought that you don’t belong to the place where you were raised for a good 21 years, keeps me up at night. And I still can’t gulp it down how this society has convinced women to buy that they belong to the man but not the family that they have grown up with.

I remember wanting a home like the one mentioned in the above poem so many times since I was a child. I wanted a home with quiet mornings where love is brewed along with coffee. I hate chaos served along with breakfast the very first thing in the morning. For me, having a home is having a safe space where outside noise fades out. A space where people have the freedom to confront without raising their voices and everyone feels heard. Where truth can be told and people don’t slam doors when angry.

When I moved alone to Hyderabad, I searched for spaces that I could call home. I struggled initially to accept the silence that comes with living alone. I always thought someone would be around. I remember crying alone in my pg because I had no one to celebrate my birthday with. I used to feel weird when having a bad day but had no one to ask about it. When you live alone, there’s no other way but to enjoy your company. You slowly curate a lifestyle that helps you sustain without external validation. You finally have all the time to work on all the hobbies that you wanted to try during childhood. You remember all the timelines for paying your bills and you memorize all the medicines by name. You also decorate the spaces exactly the way you want them to be. You don’t worry about if you sit like a man without crossing your legs or roam around in shorts. This very space where you thrive is called home, maybe?

It’s been four years since I moved to this city now I call home. I have created a routine of how I spend my quiet mornings watching the sunrise with my thoughts, and I enjoy watching the hues of the sky when it sets. I have spent countless nights walking looking at the moon, and this has given me moments to be aware of myself and understand myself better than ever.

I made some great friends and my friendships still go strong. I can’t tell you how much friendships have helped me to keep up that hope. Sure, some of us are not brought up in sane homes, but we can always choose one. I love the idea of celebrating christmas with my school friends every year, it is our Christmas ritual, as important as Sankranthi rituals in Telugu homes. My girlies celebrate each other work anniversaries and we send each other gifts on Galentines, this ritual is as serious as lovers showing off their partners on every Valentine.

This picture was sent to me by a close friend who curated a dining set for us. We celebrate every small win and sad days together. Not calling a week, without meeting them.

So, in a random conversation with my best friend, I told them with so much confidence “We’ll make sane homes”. Ahh, I love the hope that comes with that sentence.