Home is a fleeting concept, shaped by memories, movement, and the places we leave behind. This photo project captures the essence of the many homes I’ve known, juxtaposing black-and-white images of everyday life with selective moments in colour. The coloured photos focus on the act of transition—luggage, empty wardrobes, the quiet chaos of packing—symbolizing the pain and permanence of leaving. These moments, though blurred in my mind, are vivid in their emotional weight. They are the fragments of home that remain, haunting me in their clarity amidst the blur of everything else I’ve left behind.
In Jan 2023 at 8 in the night after a very long and tiring day, I was sitting at Manchester bus station waiting for my bus to Leeds when I first saw the show "Tathastu" by Zakir Khan. Few minutes into the show I was crying, sitting on a bench at a bus station, crying. And then came this line, "ghar aisi cheez hai na sahab; ki ghar na aap marzi se chodho ya majboori mein, jab aap ghar chodhte ho na; toh kabhi toot ke alag nahi hote ho, hamesha ek kapda nahi khichta hai, aise chir ke alag hote ho; aur uske voh dhaage na kabhi bandhte nahi hain, hamesha vaise hi rehete hain. Uske zakhm tumhari peeth pe taa umr rahenge, ki kahin se ukhad ke aaye hain." To translate, “Home is such a thing, sir, that whether you leave it by choice or out of compulsion, when you leave your Home, you don't break away cleanly. It's never like a single thread unravels; instead, it tears apart. And the threads of that tear never mend; they always remain as they are. The scars of it will linger on your back for a lifetime, reminding you that you were uprooted from somewhere." At this point my tears were beyond control. Many people around me were apprehensive, some were surprised to see a grown man crying in a public place, some looked concerned, others just reflected on the sorrows and joys in their life in moved on. My crying had turned to full on sobbing by now, my brain and body was numb and the strong cold winds weren't helping either. I was overcome by strong guilt. I felt guilty for missing out on my parents' lives, for reducing my relationships to a few FaceTimes, and for uprooting myself from my Home to start anew thousands of kilometres away. The guilt was soon replaced by fear, fear of missing out on too much, fear of not being there for my family when they need me; and the fear was soon replaced by affirmations. Affirmations of moving back to India, affirmations of moving back to Lucknow. The thought of moving back Home was firmly planted in my mind by the time I boarded the bus.
Fast forward to Jan 2024, I am moving back to India. However this time again it is to set up a new Home in a new city, Hyderabad; all alone, leaving my family in Lucknow. The sorrow of having to pack up my life in the UK, a life that I had made for myself from scratch, a Home that I had made for myself from scratch had just left my mind at London airport, when the sorrow of being selfish, the sorrow of being fake crept in. To everybody who had been asking me these last few weeks, why am I moving back to India; I was saying to be closer to my family, to spend more time with my parents and to not be alone. There was such a strong turmoil going on in my mind. Was I actually moving back to India for this reason or was I being selfish and superficial by taking up this job offer in Hyderabad? All through the flight to India I was stretched thin between accepting the fact that Home is where I am and the thought that Home is only where my family is.
Fast forward to 17 November 2024, as I write this with the intent of putting this up on the internet, I am confused yet again. What is Home? Where is Home? What was Home? I am forced to sit by myself and just think and talk to myself. I find myself going through all my hard disks full of photos, and as I look through the archives of my life, I am reminded of that day when I left my Home for the first time. It was in August 2018, when I left Lucknow to go to Jaipur to pursue my bachelors. I was so excited to be making a life of my own, I was so thrilled to be finally away from Home, to finally be away from the same faces every day. There wasn't a day throughout my bachelors from 2018 to 2021, when I missed my family and my Home for reasons that were not selfish. I was content with the life I was making for myself, this new place that I now called Home, these people who I called my new family. Then came COVID-19, and I was with my family for months, I was at Home for months. But all I could think of was to fly away, to fly away to a new country, to make a Home of my own yet again and I never gave the due respect to this place that I had called Home for the last 18 years of my life. All throughout the lockdown, I was missing Jaipur, I was missing my life, my freedom. No matter how much I tried to push away those thoughts and live in the present, I couldn't. Something in me was left back in Jaipur. As soon as the lockdowns lifted, I went to Jaipur for a few days. I went to my coffee spots, I went to my safe spaces, I went to my university and my apartment building. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not figure out what was it that was left back I Jaipur! What is it that I have come here to take back from this city and these people?
These thoughts were repressed yet again when I was ready to fly to England for my Masters. I was cheerful again at the thought of making my own life, my own Home. And it was not until January 2023 that night in Manchester when all these thoughts resurfaced. I started questioning myself and my intents. I started questioning my goal in life as a photographer, as an artist, as an individual. And those thoughts haven't left me since. This project that I call Home has been in the brewing since that night consciously. However upon deep introspection I realise that it has been in the making since August 2018, when I left my Home for the first time. A part of me still lives in Jaipur, a part of me still lives in Leeds, Manchester & London. A part of me still lives on top of Arthur's seat in Edinburgh, my first ever solo hike to a mountain top. A part of me still lives in Delhi, wandering the lanes of Khan Market and admiring the architecture of Rashtrapati Bhawan. With these thoughts today I have sat myself down to answer the question, what really is Home? Where do I belong? Is Home just where I am in the moment in the present? Is Home all those apartments and hostels I've lived in? Is Home even a tangible idea?
Every time as soon as I start neural mapping a place a residence, as soon as I have had to stop fumbling around in the dark for the light switch, as soon as I have shifted to muscle memory to fill my water bottle mid-sleep at 3am; I have moved away from that place. Just as I was about to form a deep bond with my surroundings, with my neighbours, with these walls that I live within; I have moved away. Is it my fluid nature, my air sign, my restless ADHD personality that makes me do this, that makes me step out of a place as soon as it starts becoming my comfort zone? Do I despise the idea of being settled in one place? The idea of calling one city one building my Home all my life? Because I have just started to settle in into this beautiful airy apartment with views of amazing Hyderabad sunsets from my window and I want to get out. I want to move to NCR now, that is my new goal. To set up another new Home from scratch in another new city. Why do I crave new views, new neighbours and new surroundings so often?
Home. Home is where the heart is. Home is where the Wi-Fi connects automatically. Home is a safe space. Home is freedom. We all have heard or read these somewhere or the other. I was so apprehensive to dig deep into my own thoughts to answer this question that I asked my social media audience to do it for me. I wanted to know what Home is to people! I was hit with a myriad of responses, a lot of repeating words but each with their own connotation and ideology. For someone, Home is Freedom. For someone else it is, a place of belonging and safety. For another it is comfort and to live without the fear of judgement. For some it is warmth and love and for some it is the bitter sweet fights accompanied with hearty meals. For some it is familiarity and to some it is just being where their loved ones are. To some it is the clutter, the empty liquor bottles with plants growing in them, the happy conversations and the cozy spots. I received more than thirty responses and each unique in their own way. Each so emotional and so liberating. Yet, none of these had the answer I was looking for. None of these said want I really wanted to hear yet they all said what I was thinking. Why is this such a complex topic for me to think about?
Home for me growing up was not a happy place most times. It was associated with studying, with being taught discipline, with being scolded and beaten up for mischiefs, with household banter, with big fights, with making my bed and keeping my wardrobes clean, with the pressure of being the elder sibling when I myself never felt like an elder when I myself felt so immature and incapable at all times. However it is not that it was all bad. It really had its own highs too and they were amazing. All the happy moments spent with my parents, with my brother, all those conversations with my grandparents and cousins, all those nights making food for myself and my brother at 2am, all those meals we ordered in once or twice a month, all those moments spent at the window waiting for my father to come back from work, all those hours of Diwali decorations, the Janmashtami decorations, the helicopters flying above my house on 26th January on their way to drop flowers at the parade going on 800m from my Home. Home for me growing up were little corners, little nooks and corners here and there. Places where I could be alone. The window behind the curtain hidden from everyone; overlooking the street, the dark space hidden from view between the wardrobe and the wall, the terrace where no one ever came. Home to me also was my kitchen, since my childhood I have had a very deep connection with not just food but also the kitchen. It was the place where I first saw my mother losing her autonomy to my grandmother, it was also the place where I first experienced the power of cooking and the joys of making a dish from scratch, it was one of the first places where I remember receiving validation. This started when I was maybe a 5 year old or a 6 year old and hasn't stopped to day, whenever I am back Home from work, or a trip or even after having been gone for just a few hours; I rush to the kitchen first thing and just stand in front of the fridge with its door open looking at everything that is in there. I don't know why I do this to date, but it was the same in UK and it is still the same here in Hyderabad. I just feel satisfied and " At Home" after having done this. Growing up as a child I used to ideate a lot of how my dream Home would be and most of those ideas revolved around happiness, they revolved around freedom, they revolved around being myself. In a sense the closest I ever came to my fantasy of my own Home was actually in Cartier House in Leeds, a house where I was truly myself, without any pretences without any supervisions without any restrictions. I loved the kitchen in Cartier House and I was madly obsessed with the huge windows overlooking the streets and river Aire. Even here in Hyderabad in 404, my window overlooking the street and the botanical garden with views of sunset; is my most frequented spot in the house after the kitchen. I just love observing people, people who don't know of my existence, almost voyeuristic in a manner. Throughout my life I have stood at windows watching people, clouds, vehicles, animals; just pass by while subconsciously dealing with my thoughts, processing my feelings and picking up on human nature.
Home to me is Familiarity. The unique yet familiar scents and sounds and visuals of each area and each room in the house. The sound of a pressure cooker's whistle, the smell of ghee, the tap which never stops dripping, the dust collected on the window ledge, the fan that makes unnecessary noise, the wind chime singing by its own, the plants leaning towards sunlight, the fridge magnets huddled up in a corner of the door of the fridge reminding of all the places I’ve been and all the moments I’ve lived yet the still empty door reminding me of the places I need to be and the moments I am yet to live, the crisp sheets, the soft blanket, the cold pillow, the noisy hinges of the wardrobes, the perfume closet filled with scents from over the world, the calendar and its pages rustling in the fan's wind. The familiarity of all this is so mundane so everyday yet so unique, yet so refreshing. There is nothing that I crave more after a long tiring day of photoshoots other than this familiarity. The confidence that there always are water bottles filled with cold crisp water in the fridge, waiting for me to get Home. The familiarity of the random sounds at night from the appliances in the house, the familiarity of the doorbell. The familiarity of knowing which drawer in the kitchen holds what, which cabinet to reach into for the ladles and which rack to extend my hand to for the spices.
Home to me is Music. The constant music in my ears after I got my first mp3 player, music in my room, daily soap music in my grandmothers room every evening from 6 to 11 in the night, bhajans and aartis in my mandir and the doorbell and the horn of my father's vehicle every evening and the Aajtak jingle and the history tv18 jingles and the Cartoon Network jingles and the Mr Bean music and music in my shower and the music of the Eureka Forbes Aqua Guard as it filled up the water bottles. Music and Home for me have always gone hand in hand to the point where today, when on a bad day I am feeling lost sitting in a metro or waiting at the airport or crying in the shower of an Airbnb in a random new city; Music is what makes me feel at Home no matter where I am. The singing of my grandmother ringing in my ears, the sweet rhymes my mother sang to me and my brother ringing in my ears. The Hanuman Chalisa being played every morning while I got ready for school ringing in my ears. Every note taking me back to Home.
Home to me is Mental Relaxation. The idea of running on autopilot. Not having to worry about the temperature in the AC, not having to worry about fresh sheets, good sleep and hot water in the shower. A place where you just press switches and buttons without much regard to checking up on those appliances. A place free from uncertainty.
Home to me is a place where I know how natural light interacts with the elements and architecture at different times of the day and the year. Since my childhood I have had this obsession with tracking sunlight and moonlight. I love watching the shadows which are unique to a summer day, the orange corner which are unique to winter sunsets, the reflections which are unique to Poornima night and the darkness on Amavasya nights. The sun hiding behind clouds on a rainy day and the moon casting a glow on a cloudy night and how all of it blends into my Home making it one with the nature. During my childhood I used to sit by the window in my room on full moon nights, reading for hours under its light and during winter I used to sit on the terrace watching the interplay between the soft comforting sunlight and the buildings around my house.
With all the ideas and thoughts of what Home is to me I still haven't answered one question, what is it that I leave behind in these places I've once lived at? What is it that makes me constantly want to revisit these cities? Maybe it isn't anything. Maybe just maybe I have not left behind anything that is why I cannot find it. In fact, I now think I took from those cities and added to myself. Maybe those cities and those walls have become a part of my soul. I always used to look at it like horcruxes in Harry Potter, like breaking up and leaving a piece of myself in these places. But it is something else, maybe I was never leaving behind pieces of my soul but adding to it. I have filled endless pages of the diary of my life with what I got from these cities and these Homes. And now I realise that this yearning to go back to those places is me wanting to add more of them to myself, to soak up more of those cities those views those people. Every day I wake up and I am full of gratitude to the universe for what it has given me in forms of these places I've once called my Home.
Home to me is the feeling of being complete. I am content in where I am and where I live. I am happy and complete. So what if I am not living with my family right now, why can I not call a place of my own, my Home. Who says we have just one Home? Especially someone like me who needs constant change and stimuli. What if this need to always build a new Home, live in a new city interact with new people, comes from a place of yearning to fill the rest of the pages of the diary of my life and make them as colourful as happy as wonderful as the previous ones have been. Maybe I have read too many books growing up and I am addicted to the idea of chapters. Every few pages I need to start a new chapter, I need to do something more; more than what I have done so far; more fulfilling, more giving less taking. What if this need to constantly build a new Home comes from a place of challenging myself to go above and beyond to everything I have done so far and know so far and unlearn and relearn and innovate and eventually maybe there comes a day in my life when I will call only one place my Home. Maybe it never was and never will be the place that is Home, it is my mental state of familiarity and wherever and with whoever I am in that state of ease, of contentment, of creative flow, of gratitude; is Home.
Home to me is a place where I can proudly enjoy the joy of little things, where I can cry without fear of being belittled, where I can watch my plants slowly edge closer to the sun with every passing day, where I can fill my boxes of spices however I want, where I can grind my coffee beans every morning without the fear of disturbing someone, where I can choose my own bedsheets, where I can scent my room with flowers of my choice, where I can keep just stand at a window for hours and watch people pass by, where I can listen to my rap music and my sarod and sitars and my pianos and death metal all without judgement, where I can be myself.
I believe it is about time now in my life to start this new chapter, this new chapter where I stop associating Home to just a place to just a few walls and start building a Home with my people, my family, my loved ones. A place where all of us feel like we are at Home no matter where it is how big or how small it is how good or how bad it is and no matter what each one of ours’ definition of Home is. A place for my people and I, a place we proudly will call Home.
