I always go home in October. To celebrate Durga Puja in the sleepy little temple town called Bhubaneswar. It has been an annual ritual. My colleagues are used to me taking leave during this time of the year.
Today, one of my colleagues asked me, “When are you going home for Puja?”
I kept a straight face and said, “Not this year.”
Home is not a place. Home is where your parents live, laugh, cook and feed you and most importantly wait for you to come back. They wait for you and you wait to go back to them. Once your parents are gone, home is not the same. Something changes. You ache to go back yet you don’t feel like. Because there’s nothing to pull you in that direction. The umbilical cord with home gets cut. The emptiness of your home empties you from within.
I am feeling empty since I changed the page of the calendar from September to October. Don’t ask me this question, “When are you going home?” Not in October.