Minuguthare. The house of the shining star. To wake up to the faint orange and mauve hues of the rising sun outside the window of my new room. Or may be to the cold mist that engulfs the veranda and the
Kashmir trees in front till mid morning. To stretch my feet and cuddle up under two thick blankets for just five minutes more.
To have a large dose of coffee out of a steel glass. To have the squirrels and the sparrows that are also fed at home interrupt my morning grunts in reply to ma’s list of plans for the day. To grunt some more when Appa wants to know what my day’s plans are. (No, I am not a morning person; I should never be expected to answer intelligently or make plans before 10 in the morning.) To catch yet another re-re-rerun of Friends in the morning. To make small talk with ma as she waters her garden. To watch as Appa feeds the sparrows and the robins some more broken rice.
To chase Ginger inside from the terrace where he is sunning himself a little too much. To have a huge library just outside my room with a tall backed wooden chair with deep cushions on them. To sometimes just stand back and admire the colourful rows of the books bought and read over the years, and to reflect over stories in and about them.
To have a farm where there are some vegetables, some fruit trees, a cow maybe. To have that project which I have for long been dreaming about going great. To go to my estate and work there.
To be able to come back, sit down with a cup of coffee and write. To stare out at the distant road outside my window along with Gin, who stares out from his other window. To have country music playing softly in the room while I write. To be able to listen to my parents’ talk downstairs.
To slip onto the terrace in the cold night and see billions of stars. To have the time to stare at them and dream of distant lands. To think of April nights spent doing the exact same thing when in fact I was to be worrying about exams. To stand on the terrace and look around at distance lights and at the trees flickering with a thousand fireflies.
To tuck into bed and keep an ear out for the howling foxes’ call of the wild. To listen to the willowing winds as they beat around the tall trees.
To have that secret place to go to any time I want, that place where all the mountains are just to myself.
To be Home.
This is what I want the most this very moment.
But this very moment, I might as well be asking for world peace.