Monday, June 22, 2015


Unlike Dorothy, I didn't traipse all over Oz to realize this:

I'm one of the few people in the world (I personally know of no one else) who is completely happy and fulfilled being at home. Err, that is, MY HOME and not ANY HOME. I love my homes (both the one in NY and the one in Mumbai.) If I never have to step out of either one ever again, I'd be okay. I have no burning desire to see every nook and cranny of the world. No ambition to climb mountains or deep sea dive in the Andamans. Being a writer, my imagination lets me experience those things from home. 
Not the same thing, you say? 
I say, it's all in the perspective.
Maybe my home-love is related to my travel-phobia. Though, of late, I've become a better traveller. Not so neurotic, paranoid or sick. And it's not as if I don't want to go places. I do. I travel. Sometimes. And I mostly do so enthusiastically. Once I'm there, I'm even engaged in the new place or culture to the point where you'd think I'm ready to pitch a tent and set up my homebase. 
But no, that's just for fun 'cause I LOVE MY HOMES. 

I suppose I'm the only person who hears SUMMER HOLIDAY and thinks of the movie and not an adventure. ;)
Are you a traveller or a homebody? If the former, where are you off to this summer?

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