Home Is... Wherever You Decide It Is

Today, for some strange reason, I started humming the UAE national anthem. After being done with it, I tried to think back and remember whether any thing triggered such "patriotic" feelings. After finding no evidence of the same, I shrugged it off and thought that maybe the memory might have escaped from some inner recess of my subconscious mind and must have found its way to explode... or rather whimper out my vocal chords.

For those of you guys who don't know my history, I was born of Indian-Keralite (yes, they are a different political scenario, altogether) parents in the blazing hot deserts of the United Arab Emirates, in the then, small but rapidly growing, city of Sharjah. It was there, far away from the spiritual motherland of India, that the doctor, upon my silent and dignified entrance into the real world, slapped my butt to get me howling (no wonder we are, one and all, fated to get our asses kicked from that point on...).

Some things, you don't remember learning. You just know that you know them. The anthem was one of those. Must have memorized it while my brains had not yet received their ability to grasp thoughts and keep them. Those recordings are like the morning mists where one finds nothing when they probe into it. My school teachers must have made me learn it by rote before understanding was born between my ears. Another testimony to the power of parrot-like rote memorization.

Sharjah... where I will always find my way back to... Home and not home... but where I desire to be and long to see when rainy days lash out on me...