Back Home, Right Here

Back home, mornings had their own kind of music. A neighbour’s voice drifting in from the balcony. Pressure cookers whistling. The smell of masala tea in the air. There was always a sense of community starting the day together, even if no one said a word.

Now, mornings begin with the steady light of a diya - a moment of light, presence, and intention.

And this quiet moment brings everything into focus. It’s not something I’ve had to hold onto, it holds onto me.

Here, it’s different, but familiar in its own way.

The sky feels bigger. A loud hadeda announces the day before the kettle’s even on. You step outside to water the plants or just feel the morning air. There’s no balcony gossip, but there’s a quiet wave from a neighbour walking their dog. A different kind of start, but still that feeling of being part of something.

Breakfast can be anything - aloo parantha, idli and coconut chutney, toast with achaar, leftover curry on a sandwich, or oats with a sprinkle of elaichi, just because. Some habits travel with you, like favourite mugs or WhatsApp groups that never sleep.

Lunch could be daal and rice with mango pickle… or toasted cheese with peri-peri.

Even my fridge has figured it out - curry leaves, garlic butter, and a tub of chakalaka all sharing space.

A lot of the blending happens quietly. And over time, things find their own place.

Sweetcorn samoosas show up more often than expected.
And on Sundays, if there’s bunny chow on the table, it somehow feels like it was always meant to be there.

Nothing feels out of place. It just fits. And just like that, you realise… this life has slowly become yours.

If you’ve lived between places, you’ll get it.

There’s no single way to belong.
There’s just your way.
And it always ends up feeling like home.

If you know, you know. 🧡