Off late when people ask me where is home, I tend to say it is on an airplane. Having been splitting my life between San Francisco and New Delhi for over a year, that has been an honest response. But this week I got the real answer. I fell sick last week, after a physically draining two weeks of shifting offices from San Jose to Los Altos. The first couple of days I tried to fight back with soups and salads from Draeger’s. One night Bharat and Pratibha came to my Los Altos home and put together some daal, rice and rotis. But by Saturday I gave up, boarded a plane from SF and came off to Delhi. The all familiar bed, the air around, the usual fever food; aloo chokha, daal, chawal; the prayer bells, bhajans, the visuals of my books, my tea corner, the morning newspapers, that perfect chai, and most importantly someone to set rules, what I should eat, not eat, when, all that dos and donts..when came all over me, took charge and put me back to normal life in less than a week.. one more time, I realised that’s home. Home is an absolute sense of surrender to a space and the faces you love and trust.