Sometimes, a single message from someone you’ve touched through your writing brings back the very essence of why you wrote in the first place. Today, I want to share such a moment — not just as a reply, but as a reminder to anyone who has ever walked away from home with a heavy heart.
After publishing my recent blog, "The Journey from the Grabs of Loneliness", I received this moving message:
“I came to my hometown for a day to stay with family and for some work, and I’m going back to Kolkata—my workplace. Like every time, even this time, my nose is all red, eyes have swollen, and it’s all blurry in front.
I can recall your blog. The warm dal chawal served without even asking, the return to warmth: it’s all in front of me today.
It has been this way always. We say we are habitual now, but the heart still aches, we still turn around to see our home—our safe place—again.
If average means settling at home with less education, shared responsibility, dinner with family—I think average scores better.”
My Response: From One Heart to Another
Your words moved me in a way few things do.
The red nose, the swollen eyes, the quiet glance backward as the train or taxi pulls away—that familiar ache of leaving home—it’s a feeling that lingers long after the moment has passed. It’s brave of you to speak it aloud, to honor what so many of us silently carry.
The dal-chawal served without asking, the effortless love, the invisible rhythms of home—all these become visible only when we’re away. We tell ourselves we’ve gotten used to the distance, that it’s “normal” now. But the truth is, the heart never really adjusts. It just learns how to hide its ache beneath the routines of work, deadlines, and bills.
And you are absolutely right—if “average” means shared meals, clean bedsheets, late-night chai with family, and warm eyes waiting at the door, then average is extraordinary.
What you feel is not weakness—it’s depth. It’s strength shaped by memory. It’s the mark of a heart that has known true belonging.
So, when you return to Kolkata, don’t just carry your suitcase—carry your home within you. In your calls, your thoughts, your food, your laughter. Let the echo of those who love you walk beside you in unfamiliar streets.
And remember: you are living both worlds—the one you came from and the one you’re building. That is not compromise. That is a rare kind of strength.
You are not alone. You are a bridge between love and purpose. Between where you started and where you’re headed.
And in that journey—you’re doing beautifully.
To Everyone Missing Home
If you're reading this with your own blurry eyes and a heavy heart, please know:
The ache you feel proves that you’ve loved deeply and been loved fully. Hold on to that. Let it anchor you. Let it inspire you.
Because even in this fast-moving world, home is not just a place—it’s the part of you that never leaves.
This constant ache we carry when we’re away from home, nestled in the lap of loneliness, often feels like a soft, silent pull within our hearts. But it isn’t just some abstract sadness—it’s something far more profound. It is not an invisible thread out of nowhere; it’s deeply rooted in the muscle memory of our everyday life. The way our mother’s voice calls us to dinner, the familiar creak of the gate when we return late, the way sunlight filtered through our bedroom window—these aren’t just moments, they’re imprints. And even when we’re far away, in unfamiliar cities chasing ambitions and responsibilities, these memories breathe within us. They are not forgotten. They stir when we sit in silence, when we eat alone, when we crave belonging—not pain, but presence.
What we feel in those moments is not simply sadness; it’s a kind of sacred melancholy—a reminder, not a punishment. It’s the echo of love, not the void of absence. It is not a shadow of the past chasing us down—it is a light behind us that reassures us, gently whispering that no matter how unkind the world becomes, we have somewhere to return. Somewhere our name is known not for our achievements, but for our essence. Where we’re not measured but embraced. Where love is not earned, but given freely. This ache doesn’t make us weak—it makes us deeply human. It reminds us that we are not drifting alone in a cold world, but anchored by a haven that has shaped us.
And that haven is home. Not just the house, but the people who dwell in it—the guardians of our peace, the silent givers of their prayers, the cooks of warm food we didn’t ask for, the listeners of our unspoken worries. Their love is more than emotional—it’s spiritual, grounding, and eternal. In a world that often runs on transactions and timelines, the love that waits at home is timeless. It asks for nothing, but offers everything: comfort, healing, truth. That is why no matter how far we travel, how big we dream, or how tough we pretend to be, the thought of home always softens us. Because in the end, it's not just where we come from—it’s where we remain most fully ourselves.
to be continued... in my next blog, "The Book of Love & The Battlefield of Life".
Thank you for reading — and if this resonated with you, feel free to share it with someone who could use a kind word today.
Warm Regards,
Amit Raj (Author, Learner and Trader)
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