Longings, Incomprehensible.

By Kajol Hinduja

What's this fuss I hear about home?

The girls at my hostel,
never agree on anything
except one,
the sanctum of home.

Mummy's handmade achaar,
Mummy's handmade puris.
Mummy's hands.
Poor papa.

His hands count for naught,
except the remote control
or maybe the newspaper.

The closest and the most tender mention
Of the sibling.

People define homes.
Food defines home.
Streets, smells, stench.

A famous monument here or there,
A beloved mithai shop,
And 10 chai ka gallas.

I pay attention,
Strain my ears,
Why is no one underwhelmed by home?

Was it for no one is else
That seeds of shame,
Resentment sown at home?
In home? Around it?

The first of many breast gropings,
The first of family tragedies?
Perhaps a death of a grandparent?

Places, marked by boundaries.
Boundaries, mark places.
Home: marks, limits, boundaries.

Between the silences
Of the hostelmates' conversations,
I hear the thud of imposition.

Expects you to be someone
You are someone.

These silences come back to me
In the middle of the night.
Someone opens a box of halwa
You know,
From that beloved mithai shop.

I book a ticket to home.

This fuss I hear about home,
Is the tyranny of habit.
This fuss,
Is a helpless child.
The same,
Who grew up loving those puris. 


  • So beautifully written 😍 I can feel this situation 😍 I m waiting for more poems like this ❤️

  • Such beautiful expressions of emotions! Loved every line

    Cherime Sangma
  • Oh its beautiful.. it ended too soon.. write more.. maybe a part 2

    Kunj Ganatra
  • Wonderfully apt. The balance of idiom and idea well executed.

  • Beautiful conveyed!

  • So beautifully articulated.

  • Heart warming one!

  • Very well described. You are blessed with the ease to convey the feelings; the feelings which often aren’t expressed/ talked about. Thank you for writing this.

  • This is such a heartwarming poem. Made me think of home. Keep writing.


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