As I write this, it’s 7:18 AM and I am at Starbucks Powai outlet. There is yellow lights, the smell of freshly crushed coffee, AC at 22 (I guess) and not another soul here. Except for the Baristas, of course. And for all that it’s worth, it feels like home. Really. More home than the place I live at. Or the place I lived at for years in Delhi. They were right when they said they would create the third place that people would keep coming back to. I keep coming back to it.
I don’t live close to this one anymore and thus I don’t really come here often. I go to a different one. And even though I am there literally every day, I still don’t call it home. This one, the one at Powai gives me that feeling that a home is supposed to – safety, warmth, belongingness and other such things. The funny bit is that this place is not very comfortable and is always crowded with rich kids and fancy people. I can’t stretch my legs. I can’t lie down. I can’t wear comfortable clothes. But despite all those things, this place, ladies and gents, feels like home.
Thanks for reading.
Oh, as I write this, the only thing swirling in my head is that I must hate my current place so much that I find comfort in a strange land and with strange people. May be. Any shrinks reading this?