Home

And Im home. This time has been so kind to me in showing me the pitter patter of the rains, the thunder and the lightning. The diwali sparks and the idli breakfasts. I sit here in the same room which holds a dozen golden memoirs - remnants of our enthusiastic stint at school, sitting there like a completed song, only muted now in its attempt to fit into this life that has moved past that. My son sits two feet away fiddling with his toy. His pitter patter of feet have brought back the essence of this home - it nurtures children and creates hope. The endless bounding up and down those smooth black stairs, an attempt to run away from the playful hands of grandparents. The inimitable glint in his eye as he challenges his mother with his behavior, all call back to this grand 20 years of upbringing that this house has witnessed. The pale blue walls have all heard our stories, the history exams, the endless Xena episodes, the brother-work outs and the pillow fights. The only difference is today the child running here is of me, its not me. What a stupendous change that is. The grace that flowed through this house is even stronger today. The old guard stand strong - pretending to be oblivious of the age that seeps through their bodies and spirit. Their smile runs through us to this blog today. Their smiles light up just as quickly with this pretty child runs today. I shall not wish for more, Guruvayoorappa. What is, itself, is a miracle.