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24th dec 2010

At my bedside lies the significant signs of a sick person. A ceramic coaster with a green mug filled with haldi milk, made from the warmth of the best father in the world. Tossex, the addictive pink cough syrup that turns green phlegm into transparent sputum, and a book lent from a close friend - 'Tuesdays with Morrie'. My tableside lamp is yellow, and my rug is thick, and I realise I'm still in one of the greatest places to be in the world. A place called home.

When I woke up today, I woke up with one thought. That I could do whatever I pleased, and that I was free as ever. I could sleep the day off for all I cared! But I did my homework, sorted out some stuff on my planner, watched some great Vimeo videos and hoped to purchase a Canon 7D someday. Next thing I know I'm out pajama shopping with mum, and on the way I meet my uncle and later mum's student, who is a professional photographer. Assavari's her name. As we chatted about her work she talked of her poor 30D camera crashing on her. I felt sorry. Wonder what it's like to break a camera that's been faithful to you for 5 years. But then she gave me news of how she recently bought her....7D!!!!!!!! Daaayyym.. I thought. Lucky pig. I hit the market, bought my urgently-required slippers (a bright yellow sole with aqua straps), and a blue T shirt. Clicked a few photos after an amazing fishy-sizzler dinner and headed to my cosy yellow room.

My sister, Raina, will be home tomorrow morning. Generally it's her, sleeping with the thought of my arrival the next morning, waking her up from her sound sleep, but this time it's the other way round. It's Christmas eve, 11:45pm. Around 12 the sounds of fireworks come from across the river from my balcony, and I forget that I'm in Goa.
For me, this is not a tourist destination. For me, this is home.

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