What am I supposed to do when I have two homes?

The stork dropped me off at the capital city of India. I brought great joy to my family, being this plump, white and pink bundle of fat, perpetually smiling and gurgling, ready to receive anyone with open arms. I grew up to a a frowny five year old; i wonder why I scowled so much in my photographs. Probably I didn't get along with the kids in my class, or wait, I just remembered, the damned boys used to poke fun at me because I was a fat kid, ya, maybe that's the reason. I hated boys. Studying in a girls' school from the 1st to 12th std didn't help my rapport with the opposite sex, but then that's another story.

Home.....hmmmmm.....my last entry said a lot about my original home. But perhaps my perception was too idealistic and unreal. Home also means restrictions, questions to be answered, moral obligations and sometimes, the lack of personal space. Which reminds me, this is precisely why I was ecstatic to leave home for another home, in the first place.

Bombay = Freedom
Last night, my friends and I sat around Marine Drive, gazing at the dark waters, the distant lights of the tall buildings crowding the horizon, the paling stars, the bowl-shaped moon. And I felt so content, so happy, so FREE!! Here I was, free as a bird, free in my existence, no worries about getting home in time, no numerous frantic calls from over-anxious parents, no binds; just my close companions, the sea breeze and the orange light from the street lamps.

So which home is better? I've no idea and nor will I set out to find an answer. Both mean a lot to me. My first home has a special chair reserved for me at the dining table, while my second home is a sanctuary for my repressed and fettered spirit. I love both, I need both.

I love my life.