Where is home?

Have you, like me, been searching for a place to call home?

I left my parent’s nest in Abu Dhabi when I was 17yo, heading to Aligarh Muslim University (UP, India) for my graduation. My passport says I’m Indian - I was raised in Abu Dhabi while my family originates from Bihar.

“Kuch bhi ho jaye, kabhi na bolna tum Bihari ho,” advised a well-meaning family friend before I left for AMU.

When groups of senior girls in the hostel called upon freshers for ‘ragging’ (in the 90s, ragging was a more widely acceptable and less sinister sibling of bullying), I was always caught off-guard with the question of introducing your hometown. No-one knew Abu Dhabi back then, no matter how hard you tried, they would think you’d come from Abu Dhabi’s glamourous neighbour, Dubai. I was from “Abu Dubai.” That in turn though triggered unwanted, snarky remarks like, “Saath AC le kar aayi ho? Room mein carpet bichaya hoga?”

I was labelled a spoilt brat by people who didn’t even know me simply for saying I’ve come from Abu Dhabi. Surprisingly, if I did say I was from Bihar, I would face incredulity followed by bursts of laughter, “Nahin!!! Kaisey?! Waqayi?!”

The astonishment always made me wonder, “What is a Bihari supposed to look like - Aaloo?!”

Fast forward 20ish years and I now have two kids, born and raised in the UAE, studying a British curriculum. When they were in the kindergarten and it was time to celebrate International Day at school, both my kids wondered why couldn’t they dress up in UAE national clothes. Afterall, their cousins born in America were Americans.

After years of longing to belong somewhere, I’ve come to realize that the beauty of growing up as a third culture kid is that you tend to appreciate and respect the plurality of cultures, religions and people in general. We are a sum of the experiences that enrich our lives – regardless of how many places we’ve inhabited over the years. In fact, the more the places you go, the higher the learning and enrichment.

Where is my home then?

Fighting against the side effects of years of medication and natural ageing, my dying father had us all gathered in his place before bidding us goodbye in July. He united us in grief - us siblings, our spouses and our kids - at my parent’s home in Mumbai. It felt homely.

Did dad take away that home with him? Will I ever be able to go back home again, now that he’s gone?

We own a house in Mumbai now but we don’t live there. Could we call that our home? We’ve moved seven times in Abu Dhabi already. My 9yo feels anxious about making new friends saying, “What if we move again, Mamma? What if my friend leaves Abu Dhabi?”

As I keep searching for ‘home’, I wonder, could ‘home’ be a feeling?

May be home is a feeling.

If what they say is true and home is where the heart is, then I think I’ve found my home in:

• His hugs

• My children’s fuzzy little cuddles (which I notice are growing less frequent as they grow older)

• My cat’s vibe as she naps in my lap

• My morning coffee (made even better when accompanied by a freshly baked chocolate croissant)

• My workouts

• My writing.

So, where is your home?