The Roads We Travel, The Homes We Keep

The engine settled into a smooth, hypnotic hum, a perfect soundtrack to the Saturday morning we’d claimed from the usual routine. I was sitting comfortably in the back, the window wide open, letting the wind rush past and tangle my hair. My friends (who are great company btw) were up front, and kind enough to drive me, but back here, I was the resident vibe-setter—the DJ, the philosopher, the one whose only job was to enjoy the ride. I’m not a driver, and I have to admit, there’s a certain freedom in letting others steer while your life is simply to soak up the world flying by.

My father was right all along. Waking up early, all those suggestions we hated as kids, are now the very foundation of a perfect day. We were on the road by five, and watching the sun climb and the cities wake up made us wonder: Why do we spend our Saturdays scrolling on our phones when this whole new world is waiting?

It was then I saw him—a small kid, a flash of pure energy, running free across a vacant field. And seeing him unlocked every city I’ve ever known, making my life feel like a series of distinct homes.

There’s the Village, the place I visit for festivals and summer breaks. Time seems to stop there, and it’s always associated with that profound quiet. I picture waking up, coffee in hand, the only sounds the natural calls of the cows and goats, with no towering buildings to block the view. It’s where I used to play hide-and-seek with my cousins in the maze of the older, joint-family houses. But even as a visitor, you feel that stillness is deceptive. For a girl, that village life is demanding. There’s no freedom to roam alone; the doors must be shut once it gets dark.

Then there is my Hometown, the place that literally watched me grow. This is the city that measured my height on its doorframes. It holds the scent of my favorite childhood snack shop, the memory of taking an auto and then a rickshaw to the special restaurant we visited for birthdays. It’s funny how, once we finally got a car, we stopped going altogether. That town holds the idea of home itself—the place where you might bump into any school friend you ever lost touch with, proving you’re forever connected by this shared starting line.

Next is the College City, arguably the best four or five years of your life. The cafes you explored with a crush, the lecture halls where you’d give a friend proxy, the promises to be ‘best friends forever.’ It’s where you nervously took placement exams that kicked off your career. That city has the unforgettable taste of your favorite cheap lemonade, the place where you had your first date, the club for the breakup party, and the one for the placement party. It’s a city you might never visit again after graduation, but it will always hold a piece of your heart.

And finally, there is the Work City. This is the city of figuring out adulthood, the place that finally gave me the wings and the freedom I’d always craved. It also brought the deep loneliness of a small, rented flat. Yet, that small room is also my safe space, where the tension of work and the stress of growing up melt away the moment I close the door. It’s just me, my heart, and my mind, trying to be better every day. I know that no matter how hard things get, I’ll wake up, put on a smile, and do my job to the fullest. Here, I see the office romances, the weekend adventures, and the strange paradox of everyone on Instagram getting married while many are struggling to find love and partners. It’s life, full-throttle, with no time to stop.

“We’re here.”

My friend’s voice broke the trance. The car slowed to a halt. The destination had arrived, and the sudden rush of memory, triggered by the sight of that one small boy, simply faded into the air, leaving me ready to step out. This journey is over, but the next one will have new memories and cities attached as I go on figuring out life.