Home is where things take root. The experiences, images and interactions I gather up “come home” with me and sink into my psyche, taking on new meaning. At the intersection of home and “on the road” is where questions start to bubble up from the crevices. Who am I with the realities of Scheduled Caste women in rural India on the forefront of my mind when I walk in the door, juxtaposed by the lifestyle I am enacting every day? There is a dialogue going on privy to no one but me. These words are not for sale; there is no marketplace. In the silence, sometimes, another heart comes knocking and the eyes build a bridge to the words that turn into song.
Each homecoming trumpets a new beginning. I find myself with a heightened sensitivity to how I care for others, how I arrange my own ‘home space,’ the choices I make about healthy behaviors, what kind of friend or sister I am, and how I build community. Amidst a sea of imperfections, I can at least put on offer to others beyond the reach of my own family or friends the simple remedies and lessons I have learned, in the home soil of love, to stay healthy and nurture strong, healthy relations with other human beings. This is the greatest of all experiments we have available to us in the body.