That feeling of home

Home used to be somewhere where there was Ma, Baba and warmth waiting to envelop you and protect you. And Bushu. Wagging his tail in welcome even at 2 am, when everyone else would be asleep.

Where you would be offered, sometimes forced, at least a cup of tea when you come back from work. Where Ma knows exactly what I like to eat, and what I don't, and cares to soften the blow of cabbages or pumpkins with a fried egg (or not).

Ma would ask how your day went and would tell you what happened at home (or in some TV serial). Baba would recount some interesting thing which happened in the metro or on the road. Bush would sit close. Occasionally poke you for a cuddle.

Home was where I mattered.

Where am I now?