I have had an underwhelming outward appreciation for home. Over the past year, countless people have housed me, and I'd like to share a few memories from the beauty, love, and kindness that comes from a simple gesture of hospitality.
A couple of summers ago, Mary, Noelle, Danae and I had discussions of what is home. Mary has moved many times (Florida, Alaska, Minnesota, etc.). Authentic humor and connection cut the corners of cultural and language barrier as we met friends throughout Asia. It no longer made sense that "home" was deduced to the place you grew up. Home is more intimate than that.
"Well, how long do you have to be at a place to call it home?"
"Long enough until it feels like home."
In India, Sudha and Ramamurthy housed me for many months. Each morning, my ears were filled with morning prayers, classical Indian music, and ringing bells (as well as the coconut salesman who walked and announced his bicycle-delivered coconuts at 7am). The warmth of Sudha's breakfast preparations danced through the living room and allured me to the table. I uncrossed my legs and placed the Hindustan Times paper in the sun's spotlight on the wooden end table. In the evening after work and after the second shared meal of the day, we lounged in the living room to watch a Kannada drama or Big Boss (similar to Big Brother), while Sudha sat at the end of the couch to hear about her mother's, daughter's, sister's, or friend's play-by-play of the day. This was home.
A couple of summers ago, Mary, Noelle, Danae and I had discussions of what is home. Mary has moved many times (Florida, Alaska, Minnesota, etc.). Authentic humor and connection cut the corners of cultural and language barrier as we met friends throughout Asia. It no longer made sense that "home" was deduced to the place you grew up. Home is more intimate than that.
"Well, how long do you have to be at a place to call it home?"
"Long enough until it feels like home."
In India, Sudha and Ramamurthy housed me for many months. Each morning, my ears were filled with morning prayers, classical Indian music, and ringing bells (as well as the coconut salesman who walked and announced his bicycle-delivered coconuts at 7am). The warmth of Sudha's breakfast preparations danced through the living room and allured me to the table. I uncrossed my legs and placed the Hindustan Times paper in the sun's spotlight on the wooden end table. In the evening after work and after the second shared meal of the day, we lounged in the living room to watch a Kannada drama or Big Boss (similar to Big Brother), while Sudha sat at the end of the couch to hear about her mother's, daughter's, sister's, or friend's play-by-play of the day. This was home.
For better or for worse, the Shetty (Shetty Gardania hotel in Bangalore) was often temporary housing. When monsoon season arrived, black mold became an unwelcome guest in our bathroom, my roommate and I temporarily relocated to the Shetty. After a few months of no contact, some dear friends returned from the agriculture sustainability work to stay at the Shetty. Their presence was as beautiful as a family reunion. Over a meal of fresh lime soda, the green veggie platter, and tandoori chicken, we laughed about the adventures, frustrations, and quirks of mutual experiences in this new culture. We talked about future horticultural and social justice goals based on our time in India, and also creating fabulous hair styles (like the one of Megan's hair in the photo). This was home.
After two and a half years, I was fortunate to visit Chandan in Nepal ... and, for the first time, his wife Margaret, and son, Elias!! After a cocooned night in the mountain of blanket in the spare bedroom, I woke up to a tranquil sunrise (see photo). Christmas was nearing, and Chandan's family invited me to the secret santa exchange. A woman and I were each other's secret santa, and we had purchased the same thing for each other: a scarf! I forgot the frigid air as I shared a meal and sipped hot tea. One of Chandan's friends recognized me from my previous visit. Another man generously provided 'dad jokes' and stories. I learned that one girl and I had been living in the same city, Bangalore! Although I did not speak the local language and did not know many of these people, their lighthearted, loving, and peaceful demeanor lit up every corner of their lives. This was home.
Traveling is not always glamorous. Unfortunately, there were a few visa and documentation issues. This boiled down to a necessity of exiting the country through "Delhi" ... not Bangalore. I missed my flight on the 23rd of December, and through sobs and curses, I rebooked my flight. Everyone around me was incredible -- the informational desk team brought me tissues and a water bottle. After booking the flight (still drowning in tears), two men from Qatar gave me their last Krispy Kreme donuts and ensured me that all is well. The kindness of each of these strangers grounded me. Through a long travel process to eventually meet my family for Christmas, I stopped in Frankfurt for a layover. From a quick Google search, I found a close, decently rated hotel and dropped off my things. Truly, nothing at that moment sounded more satiating than shawarma ... and just to my luck the hotel owner was a kind Egyptian man and told me he knew the best spot around -- it's like home. The shawarma and minty milk was the perfect Christmas Eve meal (see the photo). On my walk back, I realized how alone I felt. It was the first Christmas Eve that I had spent away from family, and will probably be the only Christmas Eve I'll ever spend completely alone. It felt very surreal, I was in transit, after all. However, the loneliness did not beckon until I departed from the restaurant. During the walk, residue of the Christmas market knick knacks isolated themselves in shop windows. In a pub, many drunk Santas, Mrs. Clauss', and Elves were drinking their final beer of the night. A few icy snow flakes briefly fell, but seemed to give up and ceased after a few minutes. Discouraged, I reached my destination. Now, remember the kind Egyptian hotel owner? Well, I didn't until the moment that I looked up and was greeted with a sincere hello! I I asked him about his day, and he asked me about mine. We shared stories of the challenges and excitement of living in a new place. Frankfurt has been his home for 12 years. For the first several years, he lived alone. He ensured me that family is an incredible gift and that I'd see them tomorrow. We talked about places to visit if he ever visits the U.S. and if I ever see Egypt. "You must see the pyramids." After saying goodnight, I walked up to my room with my leftover shawarma and purse, I showered, I finished the rest of the shawarma, I brushed my teeth, and I went to bed. This was home.
After several tolling in-transit days, I reached my family. I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE THEM! We stayed at Airbnbs. At the first spot, we woke up to fresh french bread, happy cow cream cheese, jam, and hot chocolate each morning. We gathered the food and set out for the rooftop, embracing the sun as its rays embraced us (in preparation for actually feeling the sun's heat, we bundled in blankets). At the second stay, our fabulous hostess explained the way to ward off loud neighbors could be through a firm pound on their wall. She showed us how to operate the washing machine, as she knows the importance and novelty of clean clothes during travels. She showed us how to operate the television remote and directed our attention to the channels that were broadcasted in English, primarily one cycling through 1950s classic films. Ellie and I wandered the streets and put our cameras to use (see photo). These places were home.
A few months after I returned to India, I moved to Vishala's and Sathiya's home. Sudha and Ramamurthy left to visit their children in the United States. After returning home from work, Sathiya would often be writing an article in his study and I'd send a warm greeting upstairs. I loved the bench opposite of the coffee table and chairs. Here, I could choose to read a book from Sathiya's coffee table library. The contemplated, scrutinized, and authentic thoughts from many inspiring people ended up contained in a few hundred pages on that coffee table; I read Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science by Atul Gawande. Patchy the cat grew bold and affectionate over the course of my stay. Within five minutes of sitting on the bench, Patchy often acknowledged my existence, migrated towards me, and demanded my lap as she blissfully replaced the spot where the book previously sat. She is the reason that I am now a cat person. Later on, Gowri often would go rock climbing and kindly let me struggle along side of her. The climbing community is incredible ... and incredibly adventurous. They decided the 100 year old, solid-wood swing (that was bolted to the ceiling with iron chains) would be the perfect climbing challenge. For two hours (and after a drink or two), each climber conquered the swing by utilizing all hands, feet and limbs to fully rotate upside-down around the swing. This was home.
I was exhausted. While hoping to visit friends who lived a half-day train ride away, I realized that I was completely spent. I had not reflected on my time in India. I had visited many good friends who I hadn't seen in a year. I wore the same set of three shirts, two pants, two cartigans, and one jacket for the previous two weeks. My body did not sleep in the same bed for over three consecutive nights in over three weeks. My amazing friends - Danae, Alyssa, and Claire - gave my the best gift I could have asked for at that point; I slept on the couch of their rooftop apartment in Paris for one week (in images above, Claire sits on the chair (left) and through the window behind her, you can see the image on the right). When in France, do as the French do. This expressive, passionate, relaxed, and artistic culture was engrained into the culture. It was liberating, as declared in their national motto: Liberté, égalité, fraternité. I felt so alive and in my element as I took photos and sketched city streets by day and joined my friends in trivia night, church, or watched Quentin play guitar at the Tennessee bar by night. This was home.
Home. Home is people. Home is love. Home is connection, comfortable, laughter, details. Home is where the heart is. Home can be a physical place, but home can also be a few moments that only exist in a feeling or conversation. Home is timeless. Thanks to all of the incredible people (mentioned and unmentioned) who made me feel at home throughout this past year!
Thanks for reading.
Home. Home is people. Home is love. Home is connection, comfortable, laughter, details. Home is where the heart is. Home can be a physical place, but home can also be a few moments that only exist in a feeling or conversation. Home is timeless. Thanks to all of the incredible people (mentioned and unmentioned) who made me feel at home throughout this past year!
Thanks for reading.