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    The other day we had a discussion about nativism. I found one of the arguments put forward by our professors interesting. When we are at a place where we belong, we barely seem to acknowledge the subject of space. However, in an alien land, a strong sense of identity is forged, one longs for home and this longingness creates a desire to chant, identify and defend what one calls home.

    Dear reader, this is my 50^th blogpost and the subject of home and exile has been something that have been in my mind for some time now. This blog shall be something close to my heart, much more than the others.

    I come from a small town named Kunnamkulam in the Thrissur district of Kerala. It is a town most popular for trade historically and being the breakfast stop for the pilgrims who visit the Guruvayoor Temple. The name ‘Kunnamkulam’ translates to ‘hill’ and pond’ owing to the interesting geography. The terrain is sloped almost everywhere due to the many small hills that make up the down and the little ponds that form at the base of these hills. The town is surrounded by paddy fields, almost giving it the appearance of a fort in comparison to all the nearby towns. The population of the city is mostly Christian due to the British ties in the old times. The road where my house stands is even called Mission Road due to it being residence to foreign missionaries.

    Every time I return to my hometown, the incline on the road made by the hills that surround the place reminds me that I have finally arrived…home. The old buildings, the bakeries, the hospital and finally the familiar slope down the hill that leads to the place I know best…home.

    A friend asked me yesterday if I would miss Chennai. Being a resident of Chennai for four years almost up to the point of exhaustion, my instant answer was no. The summers are too long, the water too salty and the night sky too bright. The roads are too wide and the buildings are too tall to which I admit scares me almost every time I step out. The biriyani tastes off, and white rice just isn’t it.

    But then I took a step back. Amidst all this, why wouldn’t I miss Chennai. It has been my home for four years. I chose to come here because I felt that I needed to explore the world, get away from my rinky-dink town. It was quite an experience indeed. I joined a program that deep down I always wanted to be a part of. I met many people. I travelled many places. I fell in love. I learnt to become more open-minded. Chennai was quite a proving ground. Would I miss Chennai? Probably, in the future. The familiar places, people, things that I would call home.

    Now, with my time in my college almost over, nowadays the more I tend to romanticize my actual home, back in Kerala. Michael Jackson and Kendrick Lamar turns into Yesudas and MG Sreekumar. Tom Cruise turns to Mohanlal. I try desperately to break free from the place I am in physically and mentally, trying to find resort at the only place I would rather be, home.

    Why am I desperate? Well, when I return from Chennai back to the little windy road up the hill with the sign saying ‘Kunnamkulam’, will there be a home waiting for me? Will everything that I have romanticized, just be all in my head? Will there be anyone except my parents be happy to have me back? Does the prodigal son become accepted when he finally returns home?

A native poet, Vallathol Narayana Menon writes

“മറ്റുള്ളഭാഷകള്‍ കേവലം ധാത്രിമാര്‍

മര്‍ത്ത്യനു പെറ്റമ്മ തന്‍ഭാഷതാന്‍”

which roughly translates to, all other languages are only caretakers, one’s true mother is their native tongue. In the modern world where rapidly shifting ideas and identities of what one calls home; I am happy that I can find refuge in a place where I can truly call home, the little town that you see after climbing either of the five small hills with signs that read Kunnamkulam.