Of a home that is no more…

Diwali this weekend. One is supposed to go home for Diwali. I do have a home – a real home with doors wide open. But I’m worried for people – those for whom home is me – and I am closed.

How bad a Diwali can be? Like a Diwali when your own home is closed for you and you have no option but to sit out shattered – and with no energy left to bang the door. How shall one console a little soul? How shall one – for example – tell a little heart that Diwali is something different – lights, lamps, pooja, crackers, happiness, papa!

But this will be such. I will steal eyes. You will hide face. Because people will ask why we are not at home. It’s not that I don’t understand your pain. I do, but I will still be stubborn.

There is no cure to me. There is no cure to us – to our home – that is no more.

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