HOME IN ITS FULL CIRCLE

 






HOME IN ITS FULL CIRCLE

We began in a rented house—
walls borrowed, hope our only possession—
and slowly, brick by brick,
we built a house on Bannerghatta Road,
a place with no pedigree
but filled with the pride of first foundations.

Life shifted, paperwork turned,
and the house we thought was ours
became a lesson in impermanence.

we bought a flat, believing it would hold our future,
and yet never lived in it,
for distance has a way of telling truths
that blueprints cannot.

So we let it go,
and once more returned
to the simplicity of a rented home.

But life had already taught us
that space is not measured in square feet,
and worth is not inscribed in property papers.
Its lessons came quietly,
in the years spent with family (in-laws)
elders who shaped the air of the house
into something sacred.

A home that felt like a temple
not because of rituals or incense,
but because of the discipline of kindness,
the practice of restraint,
the daily, ordinary worship
of living within one’s means
and being human with sincerity.

And so the circle closes,
not as a loss
but as a knowing.

We return to a rented dwelling,
but inhabit it differently—
with lighter shoulders,
with quieter pride,
with a spirituality that no mortgage can hold.

For the truth has settled in us:
a home is not the grandeur of its walls
but the clarity of the lives within them.
It is not the size of the place
but the size of the ideals upheld.

We have lived,
we have learned,
and we have grown spacious inside.

And in that inner space—
beyond ownership, beyond address—
we have discovered the home
that cannot be bought or sold,
the home that stays with us always:
a dwelling made of memory and meaning,
built not of walls,
but of the spirit that carries us forward.

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