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Summer afternoons are at times tough. They’re usually filled with idle sittings in your bedroom and if something really strikes your mind, a little bit of artwork. Apart from this, there are constant winds driving your mind to the good ole days when summer used to be an exciting thing.

I really am not trying to sadden this post or the day for that matter by giving my thoughts a finishing touch of nostalgia. But you know what, they’re thoughts. They’re unplanned. They’re natural. At least one of the very few things that remain untouched by the manual work of a human being.

Getting back to the topic, home, it’s quite fitting to one’s mind how the picture of your home is always there resting somewhere at the back of one’s mind. The walls, the familiarity of the wall-paint inside and outside and its warmth. Whenever I visit home, i.e. once every two months or sometimes more, I take along with myself the invisible shelter above my head that the home had gifted me when I left home for post graduation studies. I am not an overly homely person, I am usually out there, doing one thing or the other, but I enjoy being home too. But perhaps, no other place has given me enough of that feeling afterwards. Some people do though.

It’s funny how my mind fills up with a million things when I think of that place but when I’m actually planning to write about it once, I can’t. It’s the question of what should I pen down more than how much should I pen down. Oh God, I want to write. I do.

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