Stability, particularly in terms of geography, has been an elusive concept for me since childhood. From living with various relatives to finally settling with my parents, I've experienced a constant shuffle of homes. This lack of a fixed space to call ‘home’ isn't unique to me; as I've interacted with more people, I've realized it's largely a common experience. This begs the question: is 'home' purely a geographical notion, or, as any generic literature grad might argue, is it more of an abstract, imaginary space?
In my first literature class, we were taught to deconstruct societal constructs, including language, names, and even nations. Keeping that in mind, how does one deconstruct the concept of home? What criteria define a space as such? Having shifted cities and houses all my life, I'm left questioning whether I should dismiss every previous space I've occupied as "not home" now that my parents have a permanent residence.
Tangent: Here’s a dark-academia-ish playlist which ‘feels like home’
I remember
the particularly tiny hostel room from my 11th-grade days – so cramped that one
couldn't even stretch their arms fully sideways. Despite its sparseness, I
formed an emotional attachment to it, so much that the idea of escape from the
hell-hole seemed daunting and emotionally exhausting. I shed tears for days
when I had to leave. Or perhaps, in retrospect, was my anxiety more about
losing the modicum of freedom the hostel afforded me, despite its strict curfew,
constant abuse and no-phone policy? Now that I reflect (which Teach for India
has ingrained so deep into me, I can NOT let that word go from my head), I've
come to believe that every physical space carries its own emotional baggage,
constraints, and freedoms. No two living experiences, even in similar spaces,
have been identical for me. Am I the one shaping every space differently or is it
the space itself which has shaped me?
Pls read: this poem by
the Uyghur poet ABDUQADIR JALALIDIN
Anyway, I
digress. I've been living in Hyderabad for almost six months now. Not a long time,
I am aware. From a dismal PG to an aged three-bedroom apartment, I found myself
oddly saddened upon leaving each space- even the shitty pg that I used to call ‘home’.
Now, contemplating a potential move from the current apartment, I'm struck by
the way we refer to the space, and how the terminology has shifted from “flat”
to “home” – "Are you home?" "So-and-so is coming home
today." "Heading home?" Despite
our brief four-month tenure, when I envision 'home' at this moment, it's this
apartment that comes to mind. With the faint pink and purple of the sunset
visible from my window, the window-seat where all of my friends come sit for
innumerable long sessions, the plethora of dried flowers that my flat-mates
receive every other day adorning the window sill, the somewhat disorganized
kitchen, and the owner's plants I've taken to tending near the entrance – this
space embodies 'home' for me. But will this designation change once I relocate?
Returning
home after tenth grade and spending a year there during the lockdown was
surreal. For the first time, I felt a sense of ownership over a space –
something I'd never experienced before. Though finding comfort in that
particular space as 'home' was initially challenging, it's become easier. Yet,
how long until I truly feel like I belong there? Because I still do not.
Afterthought:
Many speak of finding 'home' in a
person. I find this notion somewhat belittling to the concept of 'home,' as
well as it to be an outrageous exaggeration. Certainly, a person can provide a
sense of belonging, but can they truly be the space where one can be entirely
themselves? Everyone harbors reservations, even in the most compatible
relationships. There must be a space where one can be unapologetically
authentic – pick your nose or fart without judgement, and in a whimsical sense,
perhaps that's what 'home' means to me.
Speaking of
people making it feel like Home – here is a One Direction masterpiece
which is not appreciated enough.
Comments
Post a Comment