A Family to Call Home
The following story is a creative writing piece by Jahnavi Jayanth, a student in Minerva’s Class of 2020. It explores how her understanding of “home” has changed since coming to Minerva.
Sarees and bandhni dupattas in every color imaginable waved above my head in the soft, humid breeze. Each one had tiny diamond-shaped mirrors that twinkled, occasionally reflecting startlingly bright yellow beams of light.
Towering above a seemingly endless road lined with shops, which were selling silver and golden necklaces, statement earrings, and home brewed ittar of many scents, was a loudspeaker blasting the words to Zindagi, ek Safar, Hai Suhana — just like my father would sing while he ironed my pristine saffron dupatta for dance class.
A vendor screamed, “bajji, pakoda, bonda!” as a green chilli fell from his cart and bounced off my head. My mother was clutching my little hand with an excruciatingly tight grip, afraid that I’d get lost in the heaving crowds — that I would wander off, curiously seeking the next surreal sight.
This was home: outrageously colorful, unabashedly scented, unapologetically stimulating, and overwhelmingly chaotic.
Later that same night, when we returned from the market, I listened to my mother tell me how I would go places — how I would travel the world, see magical sights, and eat delicious treats. I nestled myself further into my mother’s arms and sucked the last drop of tangy, syrupy goodness from my imli candy, smiling.
Yes, I would certainly go places, I thought. Especially that big red bridge on the picture stuck to our fridge. The bridge that was worlds away, where there seemed to be so much sunshine. What did my father call the bridge again? Something golden…
That was 10 years ago. As it turns out, I have ended up going places. The San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge, it turns out, has been just one of them. I am traveling the world, with my classmates from around the world. I attend Minerva, a four-year undergraduate program where I get to spend each semester in a different part of the globe. After San Francisco, my cohort and I experienced Seoul; then, we traveled to my home country, India, alongside the Class of 2019, to spend the spring semester in Hyderabad.
I was 17 when I packed my bags and left home to attend Minerva and experience the world. There were times, amidst the excitement and wonder of college, when I sorely missed home. To me, feeling at “home” is a sensation similar to the one you get while receiving a warm hug. During my year in San Francisco, whenever I felt a tinge of homesickness, I would look for “home” in physical spaces. I took to the streets, the ones without cows and incessant sounds of honking… without food carts full of severely spicy food. But, of course, I didn’t always find it — that familiar feeling of complete comfort.
So when my classmates and I traveled to Hyderabad, India, I thought I’d finally feel that feeling of belonging. To my surprise, though, I didn’t. Yes, there was the chaos, the sounds of the temple bells, the markets, and the mango trees with their low-hanging branches… all the things I so fondly remembered from my childhood. But, simply being in India did not make me feel at home — that is, unless my classmates were around. When I was comforted by my roommate from Kenya singing gospel songs in Swahili, for example, or when I ate mangos with my friends from America, that’s when I felt like I was at home. That’s when I felt I belonged.
My worldview began to broaden when I moved from India to San Francisco, and it continues to broaden now. Unlike when I was growing up, “home” to me is no longer about a physical place, when my whole world — everything I had known and loved — was associated with India. My family has grown, too. I fondly remember the moment it expanded to include my classmates, the people I would live and study with around the world: it was a windy day in San Francisco, at the Palace of Fine Arts, not far from the ocean. It suddenly grew so large, my heart seemed to be bursting with joy at my new friends from all around the world. It was in these people that I began finding comfort — that familiar feeling of “home,” and it took traveling back to India with my newly-formed family to finally realize this.
I still have fond memories of those moments my mom would predict how far I would go in life. I still love India. But now I know that “home” isn’t where I am; it’s where my family is. It was never the temples or the music that played within them. It was my father who hugged me when I needed it and, now, it is my friends from around the world who hold me when I don’t realize I need it. I can’t wait to experience four more world cities with them. For me, they are home.
