When ever I visit friends in this country, there is one common topic that eventually pops up. About going back home, that is India. Every one has one common dream (very similar to the common dream which brought them to this country), to go back one day. But when ever this comes up I almost always have nothing to say. Usually I smile in response or give some vague answer.
It’s not that I do not agree with them. I completely understand the urge to go back home. There is nothing like the smell and the feel of ones own home. The thing is I have nothing to add or say because to me this is … Home. This is it for me. I know I am an alien in this country. At least that is what all my forms and paperwork says. But for me this is Home.
This is where I landed with a couple of suitcases and a heart full of dreams. No, I never had the quintessential American Dream. My career was flourishing back in India.
My dream was to have a home. A place which D and I can call our own. And that is exactly what I chased ever since I landed here. Bit by bit, brick by brick D and I built our home. Together we shaped this place and made this the home we can not stay away from for long. This is the place where I finally got married to D. This is where my children were born. This is the place where they took their first breath. This is the place where they took their first step and uttered their first words.
Little by little … step by step … this is the place where a dream cherished in my heart for years have come true. This is the home that D and I have built and then we had our boys.
How can this not be home ? This home is a part of me, my whole existence. For me this is it. My 3 boys and I live here J