Home is where the hearth, heals.
Home is where the hearth, is –
A jataka tale talks of a fishmonging woman who visits her friend. Her friend honours her with a room, with fragrant flowers, but the fishmonging woman could not sleep she needed the smell of fish.
Hearth of warmth, a comfort zone where one is not restricted by the narrow walls of conventions. It is not just the roof over your head; it is where that roof is located and who shares the shelter with you. The shelter now becomes your source of rejuvenation, and recuperation.–Home with reference is people is Papa, grandma parwati, daughters, sister ahalya and brothers Ram and Ravi
Home is nestled on the Western Ghats, with unkempt forests, snakes, leopards prowling. The waft of fragrance from degenerating flowers. Sometimes even saprophytic vegetation gives emits a smell though it is classified by many as a stink, there is something reassuring about it.
Home is where the hurt is healed and heart is at peace.
Home is warm Rasam with rice and Warm ganji with Pickles.
Home is the familiar. No judgements made, it is just a blanket of love and acceptance.
Country roads take me home.