You cant have roots, and wings.

Its a strange feeling, being away from home.

I'm not sure though, what i mean by home.
is it a place i know? is it the folk i love? is it a belonging?

I love the smells and the sounds of India. I miss the strange sights. And stranger still, the things you don't see. The underlying ethos, the overwhelming mass.

Where a man must fend for himself, he must survive. He expects to work hard, he strives to provide, his honour is sacrosanct, and his Karma defines him. And he is corrupt.
A woman is treated with deference; she is worshipped and revered; and also is not equal.

I am one when im home. I am king. and i am nobody.
i dont stand out. and i am banal.

These are my roots. i am entrenched. i cannot escape it.
It shapes me, and it has moulded me. and i am proud of it.

But yet, i think to myself, i love to fly.
there is a world that beckons. there are people to discover.
there are ways to understand. there are points of view.
there is different. there is new.
there is a universe of experience waiting to be asked.

I am what i am because thats who i ve grown to be.
but is that all that i'm meant to be?

You cant have roots, and also have wings, they say.
I want to disagree.
I want.