When I came to United States, you all know my room mate and I shopped our legs off at Walmart and I used to cry coming back from shopping everyday. Don’t ask!

The thing is, I built a home with her, piece by piece. Every little thing that was there in that apartment 917, was chosen by us. Not given to us. Not bought by my mommy dearest. Not handed down to us. Every little piece, be it¬†a kitchen towel or¬†a toilet bowl cleaner, was bought by us and we knew where it was kept. Isn’t that a big deal?

Over the years, it became aptly clear to me that the small things that seemed unnecessary and which I had vehemently opposed buying in the first place, were very important. So when it was time to move out of the place, my heart broke a little. We were discarding the things off like maniacs. We were handing over our priced possessions to nobodies and that made me crumble. Keep in mind that we were not shifting to another place, we were vacating it, never to stay with each other ever again.

Right there, Apartment 917, was my very first home. Not the house in Ajmer, where I had spent 12 years of my life. Not the hostel in Engineering college, where I had spent another 4 years and definitely not the paying guest situation in Gurgaon.

Home was Apartment 917, with a view of a lifetime. My two years of breakfasts were done with that view. The ocean was blue and the leaves were green in the summer. The green of the trees would slowly turn to blazing red, and yellow in the fall. The ocean would turn icy blue and the leaves would fall down like wandering souls until it was time for winter. We have watched snow storms from that window. We have watched sunshine from that window. We have watched rain from that giant ass window, and loved every moment of it.

Apartment 917 was where we both had our hearts broken. It was the same apartment where I wore my first dress. It was the same place where I was so drunk on my room mate’s birthday that I threw up all night, for the first time. Our humble abode guaranteed that I learnt to cook and¬†made out with my best friend(at the time).I learnt to make sheesha from scratch and tasted Old Monk the very first time in that apartment. Our apartment had NO furniture in the living room, I think that was the coolest. Well, now I think about it, there was this table that we hardly used which was obtained from the trash.

So yesterday when I was at Walmart again piecing together another humble abode, I had that longing ache in my heart because I was missing my room mate so much. More than that, I know what it feels like to rip apart a place that you had lovingly put together. Dreading that I might have to¬†move out again in a few months time, I feel the sadness looming over already. I feel my heart ache already. I had a roof over my head all this time, yet I¬†am hungry for the warmth of my home. The knowing¬†call of the home, the smell of your home, the walls calling you over, the¬†windows urging your soul,¬†every familiarity of it.¬†I¬†am starving, I had been starving all along without even realizing it. I am homeless. Oh, I am so¬†homeless…





Ps: I obtained the idea to write from this awesome blog that I follow. https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/27030/posts/1259101456