Home is Where the Heart is..

There stands the lonely house. It is a beautiful thing with its ivory walls and polished doors and windows.It gleams pale gold in the afternoons. But the wrought iron gate is always shut.No one comes in or goes out. The windows are never opened. It stands all in glory like a cursed jewel no one will claim

But there lives a strange family in this house. They say they are strange creatures. They are never heard speaking except for low moans and some kind of hissing. They have red eyes and their bodies are grey and have bony red feet. If you ask anyone they have never seen them. Then one day I saw them proud pigeons strutting about under the eaves.

Few years back when my grandmother died, our ancestral home was abandoned. It was like a mansion amidst a clump of trees like one of those witch castles in old stories. My grandmother wasn't alone all those years. She had her trees and birds and snakes and all those tiny creatures to keep her company. They seem to know her only too well. The night she passed away the skies tore apart in anguish. The wind wailed whipping the trees, rain lashed the earth for endless hours, there was chaos churning up in everything she had cared for.

We visited the house again two years later. The path leading to the house had nearly disappeared among the surrounding wilderness. Raindrops clung to the leaves and the bark of over grown trees and wild grass. They were all bent and still weeping. We walked around the house in silence. I don't know if it was the cold after the rain or the sheer sorrow but pins and needles rose up my back and tears rolled down my face. They seemed to question their state of abandonment.

We opened the dead house to discover nests of insects and common rodents. There was a family of rodents that resembled mongooses. My father said, "Well, at least this place is still home to someone."

Home is where the heart is I realized. Each time I walk up to my house-no, home- that familiar breeze blows, throwing the tiny teak flowers into the air and setting every leaf into a joyous rustle celebrating my return. It makes me feel special and cared for. Yes, Home is where the heart is.