Home Calling | ✔

Four

When the cab driver turned to the familiar curb, I nearly jumped out of my seat.

The neighborhood was the same as I had left it two years ago. Kids were playing cricket on the street, like always. Thinking about how Mr. Sharma would feel if any of his windows broke again, an involuntary smile appeared on my face.

After I paid the cab fare, I took out my luggage and headed for my home. My feelings weren't to be expressed in words. It felt like I had left a piece of my soul behind at the time of leaving, and was finally reuniting with it.

My steps were hurried, and despite the heavy luggage, I moved forward eagerly.

The moment I stood outside my house, without even me ringing the bell, the main-door swung open, and my mom's smiling face greeted me. Her smile itself wrapped my heart in all the joy that was present in the world. I was about to hug her, but she stopped me with one shake of her head.

I frowned.

But soon that frown turned into a smile when I saw her closed fist encircling around my head. It went for seven times, and her fist opened in the burning flames. As soon as those raw red chilies made contact with flames of the small container, a 'sneeze-worthy' smell lingered in the air.

"That was for the evils who had dared to put their stares on you."  She replied while smiling, and then engulfed me in her warm, gentle, and loving hug.

I breathed in her scent that I had missed for two whole years as I hugged her tightly.

My dad shouted from inside for my mom to let go of me. She wiped her tears that had started as soon as she took me in her arms, and took me inside with my fingers entwined with hers.

The vacation was over now. As soon as I set foot inside my home, a contented sigh left my lips. That was the effect of home. For however long we wandered, it was the place we would come back to, always.

I set my luggage in the corner and took in every corner my home slowly. It was the same, and yet I found everything much more attractive, even the spiritual channel that played on the 52" TV screen.

Then, I saw my dad smiling up at me through his mustache filled face. I went near him and held onto him tight. He, in return, wrapped me in a bear hug. I had missed his protective arms, and the safety they brought with them. It was comforting, and my safe-haven. I had longed for them in Paris whenever I felt discouraged. But as I was holding onto those strong and heroic arms, I marveled in the homecoming.

After the excitement of the reunion settled, I seated myself on the same sofa I had left at my departure in the living room. Somehow, it was even more comfortable than before.

The water my mom fetched for me was the same as two years ago, but the taste that lingered on my taste buds was thirst-quenching.

Then started the scrutinizing, the examination of my weight from head to toe. And I knew what was about to come. "You have lost so much of weight. Doesn't Paris provide you with good food?" My mom asked me in Hindi.

"Paris does have good food, Ma. But, nothing beats the food cooked by you." I replied back in Hindi.

My dad chuckled beside me and reiterated with his own question. "You shouldn't ask her about the food, Sulekha. You should ask whether she met a French guy I should be worried about."

"Dad!" I looked at him amusement and shook my head. "I didn't meet anyone."

My dad sighed out of relief. Even his sigh was exaggerated. "That's a relief then." Then his face became serious and he asked, "Now tell me, how was the flight? You landed safely, right? No troubles?"

"No troubles. It was a safe journey, but a tiring one. I felt India couldn't arrive early enough." I replied while smiling.

The conversation went on, and I felt engrossed in the familiarity my home and my mother tongue bought with them. It was pure bliss. The way my father asked me all about my work; the way my mom kept pestering me to eat my favorite food; the way my neighbors came to greet me and ask about my stay in Paris. I felt home at last, and I was relishing every bit of it.

At night, when I lay in my bed, it was a peaceful sleep. For the first time in two years, I was hugging the same pillow I had left behind; the same bed and mattress felt like another kind of cocoon and the sleep was burden free. It was free from the tension of waking up early in the morning to get ready for work; free from every stress I had when I was in Paris.

To truly realize the importance of something, one must part with it. Whoever quoted that was saying the truth in every sense. I had, at last, come to realize the importance of my home.

Indeed, nothing could ever replace the root of our being, our Mother Language.

~°~

Note:- 

This short story was written for IMLD 2018 (International Mother Language Day) on Sweek. The initial story was of 500 words (which mostly contains the part of 'two' and 'three'). But then we were asked to expand it to around 4k. For some reason, it couldn't reach its end goal, and I decided to publish it on here.

Initially, I had thought of putting it into better words, forming a good storyline around it and editing it, so that it would convert into an actual 'story' and not remain as a mere narration. But, things didn't work out, as neither I had the time nor an appropriate idea. I also wanted to contribute it to my collection of stories and mark some activity in terms of writing. So here it is- an incomplete and rushed narration.

Hope you enjoyed reading it! :)