Introspect

It is then, the same bougainvillea, the same rusty old cycle, the same sunshade, the glass windows,
The road which hasn't changed much over the years, the same tea shop at its end, and not to forget the same old boiler.
The same park where you have played, your children have and the kids of the street, the same neighbour who has developed acne to cataract with you.
So I understand I don't have a home,
I have not stayed there till the seed I sowed, grew into a tree,
I don't even know what happened to the puppy I named "Hamlet" 5 years ago,
Oh and the one whom I remember nothing of but the telephone number 7038, with whom I promised to live forever.
From 166, 12th Avenue, from where I saw the calm sea waves turn into giants tsunami waves,  to K-9, East where I slept peacefully one Saturday night locking my parents out,
To C-33/4 where I had my own mini Red Cross, to D- 36/4 where the large French window had become my asylum,
To number 93, K.K.Nagar, where I tasted independence for the first time, nothing lasted.
Nothing lasted. Nothing at all.
Nothing but my eyes; eyes which found home in the beach at Kalpakkam, in the scene at Chhappan Dukaan in Indore, and at the Garba Maidaan in Kakrapar.
Nothing but my taste buds; they have found home in the Udipi Idlis and Dosas and Indori Poha and Jalebi, to Patras and Fafdas of Surat.
Nothing but names which have found home on my Facebook Friend list; Of people, their dogs, their cats, their siblings, their parents, their cars, their cousins. I can probably tell you what my classmate's third uncle called his grandmother.
Nothing but memories; memories of a little brown pup with white patches, he was called "Hutch", memories of a bald person I once met on a train who turned out to be a close relative, memories of riding my bicycle for the first time; Banal, but true.
Nothing but my stupidity which gradually found home in me as I accepted myself with all my flaws.
Nothing but me.
Oh I have found home.