40 minutes on the clock, luggage strewn everywhere,

can’t miss the flight back home!

But, where exactly is home?

People calling in and out, but

the only thing here keeping my heart

was the City.

It has been nearly a week since my family and I shifted back to Delhi from Astana, Kazakhstan. I thought I was dealing with it pretty well, but I have noticed that in every dream I have had since we have come back, I was leaving. Leaving some place for another place, and as each night progresses the time left for me to leave decreases.

In the last dream, I had 40 minutes to reach the airport and I was still taking pictures from the room of a hotel (I think), while my sister’s phone continued buzzing with people wanting to meet her. Me? I was content taking pictures, as it was the place that had captivated my heart, rather than the people.

Each time I wake up after having these dreams, I feel a sudden pang of longing, an emptiness, a hollowness that takes me a while to shake off.

Ah, Dreams! Whoever said dreams don’t carry any meaning, probably never took a second to reflect on theirs.

(Sorry for the short blog today, I had just woken up from a nap and was still reeling from nostalgia caused by the dream that I just talked about above!)


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