<div align="justify">There are thousands like me who sway like a pendulum with life spent seasonably between two countries. I have repeated this act 31 times during my lifetime, and yes, I keep a count by recording each trip on the last blank page of my little sthothra book. Like birds flying south for winter, we rise from one spot, up, up, up into the skies, even eating and sleeping there, and land in another spot to sigh with relief, “Ah, I’m home at last.” If we think at length at the remark, we end up asking ourselves, “Really, which is home, or what is home?”<br /><br />Then again, the words, “at last.” What does that mean, really? I was so intrigued by the question that gnawed my mind when I returned from India this time, that I spent some time analysing it. Also, a casual question that had been thrown as a conversation starter by my brother-in-law churned the whole thing like separating butter from whey.<br /><br />“Where do you think it is better to live? In India or the US? he had asked. “Of course, here, dear old Bangalore. After all, this is home, isn’t it?” I had gushed without a moment’s hesitation. “When I look at the trees and flowers here, they sing to me. The people around add the richness of the air they breathe to my breath. And the vegetables! The infinite variety, the abundance, just unbelievable! I don’t go near carrots and potatoes when I am here. Let’s face it; these are my roots, my gods, my music, my folks, source of my childhood memories. Life has meaning here, no doubt about it.” My brother-in-law had nodded, somewhat wisely.<br /><br />That was then. So, what is now? I am sitting in my home of 50 plus years, with a cup of tea sitting at a safe distance from the laptop, as I don’t want to risk giving the machine a tea bath as I once did accidentally. I am recording the bright fountain of feelings rising within me from my life. “Ah, I am home!” Of course, the words were uttered the minute I opened the door. New England has a lot to give me and I take it all. Life runs like a clear brook here. Nature is a constant companion in this charming university town where I have always lived. Life here is what it should be if one is born into this world. I could go on and on….<br /><br />I do wake up. “Wait a minute. What was it you said back then, your roots and your music and your folks? The granite words, “no doubt about it,” uttered so unequivocally?<br /><br />The only way to resolve this dichotomy is to apply what on the surface seems trite, a cliché, but actually contains a mysterious truth once you dig deep enough. It is not where you live but what you are; not what you are but who you are. I could add another cliché to end it all. “That was then, and this is now!” No doubt about it!<br /></div>
<div align="justify">There are thousands like me who sway like a pendulum with life spent seasonably between two countries. I have repeated this act 31 times during my lifetime, and yes, I keep a count by recording each trip on the last blank page of my little sthothra book. Like birds flying south for winter, we rise from one spot, up, up, up into the skies, even eating and sleeping there, and land in another spot to sigh with relief, “Ah, I’m home at last.” If we think at length at the remark, we end up asking ourselves, “Really, which is home, or what is home?”<br /><br />Then again, the words, “at last.” What does that mean, really? I was so intrigued by the question that gnawed my mind when I returned from India this time, that I spent some time analysing it. Also, a casual question that had been thrown as a conversation starter by my brother-in-law churned the whole thing like separating butter from whey.<br /><br />“Where do you think it is better to live? In India or the US? he had asked. “Of course, here, dear old Bangalore. After all, this is home, isn’t it?” I had gushed without a moment’s hesitation. “When I look at the trees and flowers here, they sing to me. The people around add the richness of the air they breathe to my breath. And the vegetables! The infinite variety, the abundance, just unbelievable! I don’t go near carrots and potatoes when I am here. Let’s face it; these are my roots, my gods, my music, my folks, source of my childhood memories. Life has meaning here, no doubt about it.” My brother-in-law had nodded, somewhat wisely.<br /><br />That was then. So, what is now? I am sitting in my home of 50 plus years, with a cup of tea sitting at a safe distance from the laptop, as I don’t want to risk giving the machine a tea bath as I once did accidentally. I am recording the bright fountain of feelings rising within me from my life. “Ah, I am home!” Of course, the words were uttered the minute I opened the door. New England has a lot to give me and I take it all. Life runs like a clear brook here. Nature is a constant companion in this charming university town where I have always lived. Life here is what it should be if one is born into this world. I could go on and on….<br /><br />I do wake up. “Wait a minute. What was it you said back then, your roots and your music and your folks? The granite words, “no doubt about it,” uttered so unequivocally?<br /><br />The only way to resolve this dichotomy is to apply what on the surface seems trite, a cliché, but actually contains a mysterious truth once you dig deep enough. It is not where you live but what you are; not what you are but who you are. I could add another cliché to end it all. “That was then, and this is now!” No doubt about it!<br /></div>
