Growing up as an army kid , home was accommodation . Pre-lived and passed on from one allotted personnel to another. Black boxes contained our life’s treasures . We lost and found new friends , new cities and new experiences as we moved from one home to another.

Home during school days was an assortment of things , people & events .

Strangers thronged our premises like extended family [ cooks , gardeners , batman bhaiyyas ] . Relatives frequented as excited tourists  & weekends meant calling in over planned dinners with a diverse set of uncles and aunties who formed our social circle.

As a single working woman , transitioning from hostels to PGs , the idea of home was essentially going back and feeling a temporary sense of calm , a break from an erratic , inconsistent life.

Early last year , on a bright January morning , I stepped into a space that was all bare walls and squeaky floors.

Six months later , we were home.

12th June . It has been 1 year since that important milestone .

One year of homecoming , today.

Home , may mean a lot of things to a lot of us. A quiet corner , a person , our safe haven . Whatever meaning it may hold , solitude or company , individuality or shared memories – It could perhaps the be the only tangible asset we create in our lifetime that defines us.

Our preferences , personality and even our imperfections. The only idea that we manage to give shape.  The only brick and mortar entity that has both emotional and financial value.

For me , last one year felt like a lifetime.

Yet , every single day – I saw myself coming home , feeling home . Perhaps that’s why they say , Home is a feeling , not a place .