Homeless...

Have you ever stopped to think about what your home really looks like? What do you see when you imagine it? Is it the pretty walls, the lush backyard, or the flowers blooming outside? Or do you see the people who make you feel at home?

I grew up in a small city called Nashik, in Maharashtra. For 22 years, it was my home, filled with familiar faces, known streets, and a sense of belonging. Like every small-town girl, I dreamt of leaving one day and traveling to a bigger city to make a life for myself, just like in one of those feel-good, rom-coms. And so, I found myself standing on the bustling streets of Mumbai; the city of dreams.

Every Indian has, at some point, wondered what it must be like to live in Mumbai. For those who live elsewhere, it’s a dazzling, vibrant city of possibilities. For those who already live here, there’s barely enough time to pause and reflect. The city is like a beast, constantly moving forward, devouring every second of the day.
After spending one and a half years here, a strange realization dawned on me: despite being in this grand, energetic city, I felt homeless. You see, at a certain point, what you want to achieve in life becomes secondary. What matters most is your peace. You start questioning everything you once thought you knew.

I began to doubt my own life choices. I had a good job back home, did I really need to chase another degree just to enter a rat race I might never win? It’s easy to mistake these thoughts for frustration, but that’s not what this is. This is clarity. It’s me finally asking: What is important in life? My family always wanted me to be successful, but did I ever take the time to define what success means to me?
Is success a high-paying job with endless stress? Is it owning a house and a fancy car? Is it counting the number of trips I take each year? What does success truly mean?

Growing up in a middle-class family, we’re conditioned to chase success from a young age. But somewhere along the way, we forget to teach our children that before chasing it, they need to define it for themselves. We belong to a generation plagued with anxiety because we’re not sure what matters and what doesn’t. Everything seems equally urgent and important.

We’ve become a generation of people-pleasers, because that’s what we’ve been doing all our lives, trying to impress our families, hoping that perfect behavior will earn us love and acceptance. We have so much to talk about, so much to express, yet we suppress our emotions by mindlessly scrolling through reels, numbing our minds and hearts in the process.

We are a generation with homes, yet we feel homeless.

It's not the walls that make a home; it’s the sense of belonging, the feeling of being rooted. I may live in this grand city, surrounded by lights and people, but I often find myself lost, searching for that one thing that makes a place feel like home. Because sometimes, being home isn’t about where you live; it’s about finding where you truly belong.