A nomad’s home.

For the last seventeen years, my father has had a nomad heart with a paternal intention. In human terms, it means he loves changing cities but the new homes that he finds for me have only one common criterion: growth. From Delhi to Chennai to Dubai to Delhi again, I have seen more shades of cities than emotions.

Migration usually is made of a lot of nostalgia and little to no belief in a better future. When I shifted back to India, I was a twelve-year-old who had just left his home to live in a house. It was still comparatively easier because it took me a day and some food to make new friends.

The best thing about Delhi was that I had best friends for the very first time. That is when I read my first proper novel too because the book ‘Goosebumps’ doesn’t count. I had a crush and my heart broken for the very first time too, and I strongly recommend it to everybody. Don’t hate me for it.

More importantly, I fell in love. I fell in love with a girl, the city and everything in between. When I was ten, home was a four-walled apartment. Two years later, it was a city I had just migrated from. That is what being a nomad means. A nomad’s home is an anxious writer who edits his story even after the twentieth draft. When I fell in love, my home became two arms and a steady (and sometimes fast and loud) heartbeat.

Three years into memories of Delhi, my parents decided to shift again. Surprise? Not at all. I never made any friends again and I spent the next two years being nostalgic and the saddest kid you would ever see. But as I caught up to speed to a new city and entered seventeen, something inside me clicked and I realized I can’t do this anymore. I cannot try to make a home every time I shift and then brood over it for some time. More importantly, I cannot stay in the same place.

I became what my dad was. My home is now blurry memories, nostalgia and a thirst to find new places to live. I became a nomad.


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42 Comments

  1. Oh dear this is so so beautiful. So honest and beautiful. “When I fell in love, my home became two arms and a steady (and sometimes fast and loud) heartbeat.” ❤️❤️
    Where do you live at present?

  2. Being such a “nester”, I can’t imagine the nomad life. But, you make it sound exciting. Thank you for “liking” my JanBeek post so I could find you. I enjoy your free spirit.

  3. Beautifully expressed. This below, is as if you wrote what I always think…

    “I cannot try to make a home every time I shift and then brood over it for some time. More importantly, I cannot stay in the same place.”

  4. I never shifted, once and that was in the same place. I cried at nights as I missed the walls of my house. I have this tendency to get attached to every small thing!
    Ah! Nostalgia.

  5. So I was just looking through some blogs when I came across a poem you wrote and felt instantly connected to your style. So I kept going! I related to this so much. I have moved 24 times in my life and you described my emotions so eloquently. Thank you!

  6. In 56 years, I’ve moved 18 times. I completely understand your feelings. We’ve been in our last place now for 17 years, I think I’m ready for a change. :)

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