A Place Called Home

46 degrees Celsius.

It’s the peak of summer in the tiny State of Qatar. The minute I step out of the plane, the heat engulfs me. It feels oddly comforting and familiar.

The feeling of home.

‘Where are you from?’

This is a question I don’t like to answer. Because I was never sure what to say. The easiest answer is that I am from India.

But it never felt like home.

To a lot of third-culture kids, this is a relatable issue.

I spent 20 years of my life here among people of diverse cultures. Many like us have come to build a better life for their families.

When I moved to India for college, it was a huge culture shock. I considered myself an Indian, and yet, others around me didn’t.

To them, I was an NRI (Non-Resident Indian) or Gulf product. I wasn’t prepared for this. It seemed I wasn’t Indian enough. I didn’t understand why.

When someone asked me whether I like living in India or Qatar, my answer was immediate.

‘Qatar,’ I said, without a doubt.

That’s when I realized that nationality and home were not the same.

The years I spent in India were years of immense growth and learning. I explored a country that was mine, yet, felt unfamiliar. I found people who are now my biggest supporters and more like family than friends. I traveled, I fell in love, and I earned my degree. I lived, I struggled, I laughed and cried. Through it all, my connection to Qatar remained stronger than ever before.

I came home for three weeks a year, while my friends went home every chance they got. Every time, the wait was worth it. The four-hour-long flight always felt too long. And each time the bright skyline came in view before landing, I looked at it in awe, like seeing it for the first time.

There was nothing more satisfying than feeling the heat on my skin or walking through familiar streets. There was a unique scent that belonged only to this place. This was a place where I knew I could never get lost or feel unsafe.

The prayer call from the nearby mosque and the Arabic announcements in public places mingled with the strong smell of oud was a part of me.

This is where I spent the majority of my life. Where every memory of my childhood still lived. A place that witnessed my tears, happiness, failures, and triumphs. A place that watched me grow and welcomed me back every year like a parent waiting for their child’s return. A place my heart would always come back to.

And when it was time to leave, my heart ached as it prepared itself for another year of yearning for a place that wasn’t truly mine.

Over the last 20 years, the country has changed immensely. Each time I visit, something is different about it. A new road or another skyscraper added to the beautiful skyline.

But, the feeling of familiarity remains the same.

‘You are an ex-pat. Your country is India.’ my friends remind me, whenever I talk about missing home.

Yes, I am an Indian and proud to be one.

I also know that no matter what my feelings are, I will never truly be a part of Qatar. I am out of place here as I am in India. And someday, I will have to go back and let go of this country. Maybe, I will always yearn to return or maybe I will move on to other places and never come back.

But this wonderful land will forever have a place in my heart.

A place called home.