The Rebelle blog

I paid a visit to my old home. It was such a surreal feeling to step into the dust, the honeyed light filtering through the window panes, inhaling the slightly musty smell made me feel extremely nostalgic. This is probably the longest that I have stayed away from this home.  Can we ever give names to the homes we dwell in over the years? I always harbored this dream of naming the homes I would live in the future. They first began with Gulmohar as my love for the tree exceeds my natural admiration for it, then came Russian names I had read in Tolstoy books, years later I became more fascinated with regional trees. Every song I heard crooning ballads about a longing for home would make me want to feel the same. When I went on trips for more than a week, I would miss this home. Every house, street, public spaces would remind me of my hometown. Yet I haven't truly ventured out for long.  Yesterday, it felt just different to be back. The bookshelves, the overflowing consoles with books,

Once more, I look at the light and cherish the cool wintry and frosty dreamlike feelings that engulf me. Such a boon to be able to feel and withdraw into this imaginary abyss of warmth with the longing one always lives with. Tonight is no different. I am surrounded with art, books, a state of mind that hovers and lingers leaving a warm effusion of belonging. The cold has a quality that bites into mushier memories leaving a song, some lyrics, music, a tear long dried, smiles and warm tones, poetry that drives me back to a time and era I hadn't been into. Just because I sense and remain in the moment to experience this December chill. And, Norah Jones croons for December, once again! Won't you come back with snow, and pine cones, sun and shades of white for me to paint? I am of course, romanticizing the idea of December, hoping to go beyond this year and begin afresh with new dreams, feeling bright, feeling kind the way a new start makes me do! Being here, warm with skies the sha