Home is where the heart is..

When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

When I reach home after a long day, I wish the lights were already on.
I wish someone opened the door for me, I hate to open it with the keys..

If I reach late, I look for a Dad who would say " What took you so long dear..?"
I miss the smell of fresh food filling the rooms, the whistles of the pressure cooker.
I hate cooking just for myself, mostly instant noodles, or oats. 

When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

A sister who does not stop chattering about her day in college.
A brother who fights for the TV remote.
When I am tired, I look for Mum, to caresses my hair.

The cold room with empty walls makes me feel lonely.
When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

I miss the home which is warm with love and care.
The home, where I enter and I am completely myself. 
Leaving behind the world of competition, pursuits and chases.
Shut the door behind to fear and commotion.

When I come back to an empty house, I miss home.

I miss being called by my pet name. 
Sometimes, I wish to be taken care of. 
Like a small kid.
Tired of being independent, and alone.
Going back to my house everyday, I miss going home.

The dreadful dilemma.

Children grow up with their parents.
And parents grow old without their children.

A lonely mother.
She is left with just stories and memories.
of her children.
who stay far away, in some metro city, or in a foreign land.

She happily tells all her relatives,
that her son lives in America, works in a Big company.
Owns a flat, a car, and what not.

She happily says that her children live a life of abundance.

But, at night, when she eats alone, with no one but the TV talking to her, she longs for her son.
When she struggles to change the settings of the Air Conditioner,
she wishes her daughter was around.

She misses them. She wants them to be with her.
She was all along when her children were growing up.
But, now, she is alone, when she is growing old.

She has a smart phone in her hand, with her son's picture on it.
She longs to hug him. But she can only touch the touch screen of the iphone her son sent her from the US.

When she needs a hand to climb up the stairs, she sheds a silent tear,
She does not cook a lavish spread, just few loafs of bread.
For whom shall she cook, she thinks.
But she tells the next door aunty very happily that her son's visa has been renewed.
And the daughter in law also has gotten a job there.

And within her, her heart sinks that her children might never come home,
except for a week in a year.
And may be, she will have to eat her food with the TV, till the last day of her life.

But she says nothing.


P.S : No intentions to hurt anyone, or judge one's choices in life. Purely personal thoughts.