Mama, I'm (not) Coming Home.

I am sitting here at the Bangalore Airport, waiting to board my flight to home to celebrate the festival season with the family. It is very early morning. The darkness has gone and it is getting brighter out there. First few minutes of twilight. It has been many years since the last time I saw a rising sun, and I am hoping to see one today. I don’t like twilight because they make me feel sad but when I say I don’t like them, I mean the evening ones and not the morning ones. I have never been that early to witness them, so have very little experience to form any particular feelings towards them.

As I am heading towards my parent’s home and waiting here has given me an ample amount of time to reflect what my feelings about home are. I am going through a lot. That’s why I decided to write it down. For last many years I have been struggling with the idea of home. Because what is home? What does it mean when people say ‘I am home’? And most importantly what is my home?  Where do I belong? 

As some of you probably know that I grew up in a small town in the state of Gujarat. I lived there with my family. We were pretty close family of five that includes me, my parents and my two elder siblings. I moved out of my home when I joined college in another town, nearby. I was still near to my home where I would pay my visits on weekends. Not all but many. After college I moved to Bangalore and weekend trips were converted into once-in-six-months trips.

Like most people, while growing up, my home was the best place in the whole world. I remember everything, however small, that I did there. In that house only I recognized myself as gay.  I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror; I looked into my eyes and told myself that “Parth, you are gay. Congratulations.” (I never struggled with my sexuality; in fact I was happy for being different). I remember how I used to change cloths keeping the window open so the neighbor guy can see me. Oh! Puberty. (He saw me every day changing cloths. without fail). You get the idea. Basically it was the best place.

But in college, I got to learn that ‘Home’ is a feeling and I was losing that feeling regarding my parent’s home. Yes, growing up as gay was one of the major factors. Rather than going back home, many weekends I simply stayed at college, I lied to my parents that I have to stay here to complete the project, while in fact I would cruise online for other gays. But the feeling that you will not be accepted in that home for who you are and in future you will have to move out actually made me move out mentally a lot sooner. Yes, it was an assumption but it already had its effects. I had started to prefer my crampy, semen stained hostel bed more than my bedroom’s soft bed. My home was not home for me anymore.

And since I have met A, my life has changed a lot. And one of the biggest changes that I consider is the idea of home is changed from a physical place to a person.  A is my home. I know making a person your home is very dangerous thing to do but that is the truth and he is my home. I hope that one day we will have a place which we both will call our home. But right now I am happy with him being my home.

I still think my parent’s home is a pretty good place where I am always welcomed and people living in that home are eagerly waiting for me to come. My parents are still hoping that I will be back there one day for good. Of course, it goes without saying that I have not abandoned the people, I love them very much and I will never leave them but I have abandoned the place.

So I will board this plane and will go to home and I will be genuinely happy to see them. I can imagine how my dad will tell my mom to cook my favorite dishes and mom will be like ‘you don’t need to tell me what to cook for my kid, I have already made that. Always one step ahead of you.’ And my sisters will stay for nights, so my niece and nephews whom I immensely love can play with me. And once they will be asleep, we will start gossiping about other family members. For the next whole week my family’s life will circled around me. I can see that  mom will keep start talking to me whenever I will take out my phone, or will send my niece to call me if I am not around her for more than 10 minutes. She will come out and stand at the gate if I am going out of the house. I can see her crying on the last day of my stay. Her eyes will be begging me not to leave and stay there.

I am sorry mom, but I cannot come back. I am not at my home. My home is different. I don’t belong here.

{P.S.: - I am back to Bangalore. I had a great holiday. I had forgotten to publish this post.}