Home...

...is where the heart is.

Though I have just one heart, I have many homes.

Home is the moonlit luscious grass, the potted plants, the narangi-bush and the chameli-creeper. Home is the narangi-bush that Baba trimmed nearly naked, the over-grown neglected mour-pankhi, and the beautiful red roses next to the boundary wall that go missing as soon as they're ready to bloom. Home is the guava tree over-leaden with unreachable fruit, the tomato plant that over-produces, the untouched chamelis lying on the ground under the chameli-creeper on a cold september morning.

Home is the iron-gate with the floral-background, the tall white walls reflecting the moonlight, the wide windows with the green grills. Home is the bathroom that doesn't have window-panes, the french-window whose door refuses to budge, and the kitchen with a huge indescribable protrusion. Home is the green wall, the open-to-sky, the suicide-point and the basement.

Home is the huge comfortable you-can-sink-into you-can-bounce-on couch, the master-head-board we took weeks assembling and the center-table I used to slide on when I was a kid. Home is a zoo with lizards, sparrows, frogs, crickets, cockroaches, mosquitoes, flies, leeches, Basma, Ambreen and Sadia. Home is the rustic computer, the useless dish-washer and the broken remote control.

Home is sunshine, rain and fog. Home is smiles, tears and hugs.