Home is. Heart is.


This was my first home in Bangalore - thinking back, I realise what an apt name it had. Reach for the sky.
Where I finally understood that Home is not a space, it's a quotidian place. 
And this picture - the orange curtains in the bedroom set ablaze by the Saturday afternoon sun, the smell of fresh tuberoses permeating the afternoon heat is what I see in my mind's eye when I think of Home.
I read this somewhere, I don't remember where but it needs repeating. (Even when I'm writing this on a Monday evening, where the accompanying picture is of a Saturday afternoon.)

Sundays are for Lovers:
There is a particular tenor to a Sunday. There's laziness, cooking breakfast, comfy-clothes, time spent in bed, wandering the neighborhood, sitting in a café, house-work, yard-work, making out, art projects, meeting friends at the pub, a last chance to get shit done before the work-week begins and then of course the end of something ... the beginning of something.

If you're reading this, I trust you're doing well. That you're in your happy place: 
Where the heart is on fire, in the warmth of a million blazing suns.