We may act sophisticated and worldly but I believe we feel safest when we go inside ourselves and find home, a place where we belong and maybe the only place we really do.

Maya Angelou (Letter to My Daughter)

Beyond its historical significance of recognisable dwellings that may serve as a safe anchor, an ideal environment for personal growth, home is also a space where individuals negotiate and interact with other individuals who share the same space. Such interactions define a home, beyond the architectural elements of the space, especially because such interactions can be emotionally rich and complex. In the long run these can become vital points of reference for evaluating our emotional well-being, identities, resilience and perseverance.

When we attempt to conceptualise home, beyond the idea of it being an idyllic refuge, it evokes images of privacy and coherent emotional poise. If we review the Proto-Germanic origin of the word haimaz, we find that it is a space defined in terms of permanence. It sets the tone for domesticity, for settling down, a concept that we often idealise and romanticise. What are some of the intricacies of how we frame home? On one hand, home celebrates and prioritises relationships. Such relationships can be as direct as the ones shared by immediate family members, or they can be as indirect and complex as the ones shared between extended family members, domestic employees and their employers. Home is a space where life-changing decisions are taken privately. But above all, the idea of belonging is something that is tagged to the idea of a home. How many of us are lucky to experience a robust childhood and adolescence, anchored to an authentic sense of belonging? While home is a repository of our identities and personalities, it is a fact that access to such a space is an unachievable dream that eludes many communities ravaged by war, migration and other trials and tribulations. 

We should remind ourselves that the sense of belonging isn’t a homogenous framework that works for everyone. To be able to search our way back to the space we call home is a journey that isn’t easy. It is a journey that demands that we revaluate our ties with people that are part of our emotional landscape. When we take on this journey, we must outline whether our dependence on other individuals is voluntary, empowering or debilitating. At the same time, this is a journey where we cannot always pick and choose the sceneries; we may experience rupture, interruption and uprooting before we are fortunate enough to formulate our sense of belonging on our own terms. In an interview to Bill Moyers, Maya Angelou reminds us that “You are only free when you realize you belong no place—you belong every place—no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great” (Angelou). Indeed, the ease or the difficulty of belonging is often decided by factors that are beyond our control. But the reward of adaptability and flexibility is in achieving a sense of freedom, a sense of belonging to multiple spaces and on multiple levels.

This essay examines the nuances of home, visualising it as a journey of belonging. The objective is to debate how belonging can be framed and how it can lead us to a hopeful destiny of reaffirming our identities, or redefining them. To understand this sense of belonging, I examine two films and a series of visual images/photographs and discuss how they help us to understand that what can be a difficult journey can also turn into an insightful discovery of newer possibilities. 

Nana (The Maid 2009)

One of the difficulties of belonging is the process of reclaiming contentment and happiness on our own terms, despite obstacles and suffering. The first film that I examine is a Chilean film by Sebastián Silva that focuses on this process as it follows the emotional turmoil experienced by Raquel, a domestic employee. 

In Nana (The Maid 2009) Sebastián Silva introduces the audience to a home that is visually picturesque; it has all the bells and whistles of a harmonious sanctuary. However, what emerges is a moving narrative that reminds us that beyond its protective and beautiful walls, a home only comes to life when all of its participants are united by an authentic sense of rooting, only when the participants reach out honestly and connect: that’s when the feeling of belonging clicks in. Shot primarily indoors, the scenes guide the audience towards the emotional void of Raquel, as she relentlessly tries to belong to a family that has very little interest in making her feel at home.

First released in 2009, Nana depicts something rarely documented in Latin American films—the narrative of a domestic employee from her point of view. Although the director Sebastián Silva is not from the same social class as that of a domestic employee, his film conveys the vulnerability and the loneliness of a woman whose labour is welcomed at the same time that she is ignored and excluded from all immediate family interactions. A prime reason why Nana is important is because it informs, deepens and enriches our conversation about domestic helps in our homes.

The plot explores the emotional ups and downs of the Raquel (a domestic maid working in an affluent home); the narrative storytelling delves into behind the scenes details of a home that society views as a paradigm of happiness and affluence. As the plot unfolds, a wide range of sentiments are distilled into the emotional journey of Raquel, who has exhausted herself for the last 20 years cooking, cleaning and attending to the needs of every family member. She is clearly an outsider; the benevolent family buys her neat uniforms, birthday cakes and cheap sweaters (they consider this a noble gesture; little do they know that Raquel examines the label tags every single time).

The family that employs Raquel considers her invaluable and takes pride in believing that they have empowered her and allowed her to enjoy the rewards of an inclusive home. However, intimate close-up shots of Raquel reveal just the opposite. She eats by herself at the kitchen table.

In Nana, home is as aspiration dream that the protagonist (Raquel) attempts to recreate in the house she works as a domestic employee. Even though Raquel physically inhabits the space and is acquainted with the architectural dimensions of every single room in the house, she lives a disjointed identity as the maid, detached from the rest of the family unit. Excluded from family events such as family dinners and family conversations, Raquel has little access to real inclusion. She is allowed to create her identity and express her emotions/feelings within specific spaces designated for her as appropriate for the maid, such as the kitchen or her tiny bedroom.

This secluded identity of Raquel creates a stifled sense of belongingness.

Consistent fatigue and an unbearable loneliness weigh down on her soul as she is acutely aware of her outsider status throughout the storyline. Her sense of belonging is fragile and tied to her financial dependency on the family that she works for. While she seems to take great pride in her attachment to an affluent family, she is unaware of her precarious sense of belonging, until much later in the plot. Some details stand out from the very outset. While this spacious and beautifully decorated home evokes the tale of a blissful home, Raquel’s poorly lit insignificant bedroom (cramped with furniture and other odd items, including snacks that she hoards under her petite bed) reveals the impact of social/class exclusion and hierarchy. In this way, the film showcases Raquel’s marginalisation without losing sight of the bigger picture: a narrative of how social/economic privilege allows us to create homes that are emotionally sterile and yet they are celebrated by the outside world that hails them as exemplary representations of inclusive happiness.

Nana exposes the contradictions of middle-class domesticity; it encourages viewers to question hierarchies, to dismantle the notion that a stable home is the obligatory bedrock of all-encompassing contentment. Raquel’s interaction with another maid, Lucy displays a rocky start—mainly because Raquel sees Lucy as her rival—but it is through this interaction that Raquel discovers her true sense of belonging, when she stops trying to play the role of a superwoman and irreplaceable domestic employee and indulges in spontaneous chit-chats with Lucy about her family. Lucy’s camaraderie resonates with Raquel and she can be in her own skin; for the first time, she feels at home while she visits Lucy’s family during Christmas break when she is welcomed by strangers who she has never met in her life. And yet, their emotional honesty makes her feel at home and helps her to come out of her defensive shell.

The turning point in the film is when Raquel takes a call from her mother and breaks down on the phone, offering her repeated apologies for staying away from her immediate family. Away from the glitzy house where she has been bending over backwards trying to belong unsuccessfully, Raquel is able to tap into her emotional core. She is able to claim her true sense of belonging as she reconnects with her family. Nana is a prime example of how the notion of being home is a feeling tied to multiple dimensions of feeling truly valued and appreciated, emotions that one discovers only when one moves away from his/her immediate family; distance can remind us what we are truly missing, in terms of belonging, and it triggers the urgency of fixing that void.

Nana demonstrates how class hierarchy impacts belongingness when it imposes emotional segregation. In the film, Raquel’s sense of being at home remains psychologically muted and incomplete since she is forced to live a compartmentalised identity as the maid. Raquel’s pang for real intimacy only intensifies when she realises that while her role as the maid allows her multiple opportunities to inhabit spaces (rooms), the same role restricts her access to a larger picture of belongingness within the family. No matter what, the family she works for still considers her an outsider who can only access selected spaces at selected moments. Nana articulates the contrast between Raquel’s sense of alienation and loneliness despite her prolonged association with the family she works for. In the process of trying to fit in, Raquel’s own self-esteem gets consistently eroded until she visits Lucy’s (the other maid) family. It is only then that she experiences true belongingness as she is warmly welcomed into a space that does not impose class hierarchy on her. And that’s when her real journey of self-acceptance begins. 

Anubhav (Experience, 1971)

Basu Bhattacharya’s Anubhav (Experience1971) focuses on marital loneliness and rediscovering love and belonging. But what stands out the most is the way in which the film highlights the paradoxes of an ideal home that can be beautiful and barren at the same time. Thoroughly planned mises-en-scene, subtle clues, symbols and, visual and aural leitmotivs urge us to ask the following questions: What happens when we programme our definition of home based on social expectations? Do we slip into an auto mode and forget how to belong to each other? Meeta and Amar—a newly married couple—live in Mumbai in a spacious apartment, their dream home. Or, is it? Amar is an upcoming ambitious editor of a newspaper while Meeta steps into a life of carefully choreographed homemaking; she is expected to supervise a retinue of employees hired by her husband; she is also expected to look elegant for the frequent parties that are hosted in their new apartment. Amar and Meeta struggle to be part of each other’s emotional vocabulary; they are caught up in fulfilling their social roles/obligations. They have little time to celebrate each other and begin to drift away emotionally.

Meeta spends the day trying to make herself at home, but this is near impossible as domestic chores are taken care of by a team of employees hired by her husband. What makes this an insightful story is the fact that the film delves into the nuances of emotional negotiation, both from the male and the female perspectives. Amar is a well-meaning young man who spends long hours at the office, unaware of his wife’s loneliness. Amar rarely smiles, struggles to be spontaneous, and he’s not a fan of unplanned surprises. His work life is dictated by a strict schedule of meals, work and sleep. Repetition becomes the norm with little time to enjoy home. At the same time, his social life is very public (framed by meetings and parties).

Meeta is unwilling to play the role of a trophy wife; she yearns for intimacy and wants to establish a one-on-one authentic relationship with her husband. After six years of marriage, Meeta questions how much she means to her husband. She feels like a misfit who has very little access to her husband’s emotional landscape. Every time we hear time ticking away—suggested through the loud ticking of a clock—along with repetitive hour chimes, we are ushered into more scenes of orchestrated happiness and we are reminded of another missed opportunity to explore authentic emotional belongingness.

A great example of visual storytelling is when close-up shots of Meeta—as she carefully applies her eyeliner, presses her lips together in a smoothing motion right after she puts on her lipstick, slips a decorative ring on her finger, one that compliments her brilliant earrings—reflect physical perfection in a fancy mirror, but we can sense that she is trapped in an imposed lifestyle in her own home, unable to experience any true sense of belonging. Emotional barrenness in this picture-perfect home is highlighted during Meeta and Amar’s sixth wedding anniversary celebration get-together.

Elegantly dressed guests and voices (greetings from guests, and their smiles sound rehearsed and non-genuine; this highlights the artificiality and the awkwardness of such social gatherings) overlap neatly. Every face is forgettable, the conversations are superficial, and the general sense of emotional aloofness in the room is palpable; at one point, we see a young mother and her child.

A tiny tot looks lost, wandering through the crowd unsupervised, but proves to be a great distraction for the adults (most of them throw an amused glance at him). His mother displays little interest in him and grumbles about her busy social life/the responsibility of attending parties. Waiters go around offering delectable appetisers to distracted guests; a despondent melody plays in the background. And then it hits us: although the occasion is supposed to be a celebration of Amar and Meeta’s mutual belongingness, it turns into a spectacle of meaninglessness, devoid of any human warmth. When the partygoers leave, the entire apartment is engulfed in layers—except for the annoying clock that keeps ticking away—of desolate silence. 

The lovely home offers numerous visuals of solitude, despite there being people and sound elements that intrude Amar and Meena’s personal space. Dark night shadows and proofreading keep Amar busy even when he’s home; the clock ticking away gives him solace. Meanwhile, a lonely Meeta hugs her pillows and rocks herself to sleep. Daybreak is characterised by unceremonious hustle and bustle as the domestic workforce gets busy making morning tea, drawing the curtains, sweeping the floor; the constant tick-tock of the clock followed by radio jingles evoking a depressing narrative of monotony. During the day, as she wanders through the house, Meeta’s silhouette casts lonely shadows; dark circles around her eyes seem intensified every time the camera zooms in on her face.

Even though sunlight streams through the windows and illuminates the exquisitely carved furniture and other expensive objects that adorn the living room, the emotional vacuum lingers on; extended silences in between black and white frames of curtain flutters are a reminder of the tedium that hangs heavy in the air. The first turning point occurs when in an attempt to reclaim a sense of belonging, Meeta dismisses the entire workforce (unbeknownst to her husband) except Hari, the long-time butler. Determined to make this space a home, Meeta creates opportunities to rekindle the one-on-one belongingness that she once shared with Amar. Eating home-cooked meals together leads to more opportunities to talk and rediscover one another again.

While Amar is visibly flustered by Meeta’s coy smiles and spontaneous chit-chats, he is even more taken aback when Meeta presents a well-crafted emotional plea in favour of true belongingness. Meeta speaks her mind when she softly reminds her husband how she is exhausted living in an exquisite hotel; she yearns for authentic intimacy. She fondly remembers her mom—who has passed away when Meeta was only twelve—and makes the point that her dad’s devotion for her mom serves as an example of what makes a true home, something authentic as true love, something that she feels is missing in this so called “perfect” household. It’s a moment of epiphany for Amar. He realises that a home draws strength from emotional honesty and intimacy. Amar and Meeta’s conversation/interaction exudes innocence, emotional rawness, maturity and charm, all at the same time. Home is re-articulated in a new-found language of simplicity and joy as both Amar and Meeta spend more time with each other. Meeta’s bashful face exudes radiance and sensuality; close-up shot of her messy hair, her bare arms, bed-sheets tucked under her armpits and her slightly smudged vermillion pay a visual tribute to belongingness.

The earlier part of Anubhav documents how easily a so-called perfect home can generate unsettling feelings of emotional barrenness when individuals inhabiting the space aren’t committed to listening and be listened to genuinely. Additionally, Meeta and Amar’s struggle draws our attention to the vulnerability of the notion of “perfection” defined and orchestrated by societal expectations. They seem to have overcome their initial uncertainties about true happiness and belonging until quick assumptions and misunderstandings threaten to destabilise their emotional intimacy. We learn that Meeta had shared a brief experience of belonging with Shashi years before she got married to Amar.  A terse and awkward telephone conversation between Meeta and Shashi is proof enough that she has no desire to relive that memory of togetherness. Things get really tense when Shashi shows up at her house. When Meeta interrogates him, Shashi confesses that he is interviewing for a position in Amar’s office and he wants Meeta to put in a good word for him. This, Meeta flatly refuses to do but events unfold rapidly. To Meeta’s utter dismay, Amar not only hires Shashi as a journalist/editor (he is completely unaware of Shashi’s past with Meeta), he befriends Shashi. We find them discussing Brecht’s theatre, comparing notes and sharing opinions. Things get expectedly annoying for Meeta when Amar insists that she reads Shashi’s editorials. The more she attempts to avoid Shashi-related conversations, the more she is pulled into them.

Home becomes a space where two individuals have to wrestle with fear, jealously and mistrust; the central questions of where and whether they belong, what motivates them to love each other, how they reflect on their errors and forgive each other are all played out in great detail. Meeta struggles to stay grounded to her home as Shashi visits Amar frequently. She is determined to keep to the sidelines and avoids interacting with Shashi (making herself scarce at the earliest opportunity). During one of his visits, Shashi makes a very insightful and yet ominous observation on the fragility of the relationship between two individuals who have created a home together based on a template of belongingness:

 Every relationship in our lives get an upgrade except the one between a husband and wife; it’s taken for granted, people stop making efforts to improve it, or promote it.

This fragility is soon conspicuous when the first time Amar overhears Meeta sharing a private conversation with Shashi and feels a sharp pang of jealousy. It hurts his ego; it triggers distrust; it makes him wary. Amar’s world of belongingness turns topsy-turvy as Shashi’s observations about his wife being a good singer keep playing over and over in his head. Unmindful of his surroundings, Amar plunges into a state of daze; his face exhibits accusation. Meeta realises the gravity of the situation but she can’t convince him to talk to her. They sleep with their faces turned away from each other: Amar feels betrayed, Meeta feels unfairly misinterpreted. We witness a rapid deterioration of intimacy between Meeta and Amar. Home becomes a focal point of discord, and emotional distancing between them keeps worsening. While Amar is unwilling to let go of his male entitlement and displays aggressive body posture, Meeta’s body language and facial expressions display poised defiance against this unjustified male authority/privilege.

A disagreeable climax unfolds as Meeta walks up to the front door and slams the door shut after Shashi leaves the apartment one last time. It stands out as a powerful visual. Her door slam is thematically significant because it represents Meeta’s standing up for herself; consider it a slap in the face of patriarchal bully. Amar looks sick to his stomach, while he deliberates what to do next. Unlike films that invest in melodramatic meltdowns when such a rupture of belongingness occurs, Anubhav offers us a scene that is an antithesis to melodrama.

Amar repeatedly demands an explanation for the door slam, but Meeta stands still, facing away from her husband; her face displays grit, self-respect, self-determining spirit and most of all, a dignified rejection of Amar’s male ego-driven bullying. Meeta’s face expresses a wide range of subtle emotions as she articulates her observations on intimacy, on patriarchal exclusion of women and on the crux of belongingness:

You behave just like all other men who demand answers but can’t articulate their own. You write such authoritative editorials; you advise the government; you instruct our teachers and advise them how to teach! You counsel our students about their study habits! You aim to guide us all, tell us what’s legitimate and what’s not! You have an editorial, present-at-hand, for all situations. How about writing an editorial to solve your personal issues? Do you have one that can resolve our turmoil? Why do men get to chart their own destinies and women are told to follow a route that others pick for them? I am just another woman who was told to stick to a set path, defined by traditions; traditions that are reinforced through generations. Right from the beginning, I was coached at every step; I was told what I should and shouldn’t eat. I was advised what I should and shouldn’t read. I didn’t know what it meant to be a teenager. After mom passed away, I had to accept her responsibilities. I was prematurely pushed into adulthood. When I turned 16, I sensed something felt different. But nobody offered me any advice on how to embrace my yearnings. I yearned to be loved, to be understood; that’s when I met Shashi. Societal restrictions offered us few opportunities to get acquainted, but I knew love was in the air. Society advised me not to fall in love. I gave in. We only saw each other once in a blue moon but it was enough. If I had to add up the times that we met, it’d be an aggregate of six hours, if even. My six hours with Shashi—when he never even touched me—made my life incomparably meaningful, something that you couldn’t give me in our six years of married life. The eagerness with which I waited on him, the anticipation to see him again is something I never felt when I married you. I wonder why! Perhaps because you gave me all the comforts of a good life, but you never cared to nurture my yearning to be loved. 

Meeta is not melodramatic, she’s not aggressive, but she asserts herself and explains to him her side of things. Even though the sentiments that both Meeta and Amar embody are two opposite ends of a spectrum, their suffering, anger and residual bitterness are all part of renegotiating their notions of home and their beliefs of belonging. They may have created a home together, but it is evident that it’s an ongoing process, which requires both to endure a lot of growing up pains, as they accumulate life experiences, as they tackle their insecurities and overcome their misunderstandings. 

When Meeta is done saying her peace, she looks heartbroken. Amar looks equally devastated. A telephone keeps ringing in the background, adding to the overall atmosphere of anguish. In order to be able to resolve his inner turmoil, Amar needs to distance himself from the space he calls home and it is only when he is at his office, mulling and reflecting, that he is able to evaluate his actions more objectively; but not until Shashi presents his letter of resignation, which dispels most of Amar’s previous misconceptions. Even though we are not privy to the contents of the letter, it is evident that the carefully articulated letter restores some much-needed objectivity. Suddenly, Amar looks clear-headed, collected; even though he is conceited enough not to apologise to Shashi, he realises the futility of dwelling over the past. He reconciles with Shashi and stays at the office until late evening, working at his desk.

When he comes back from work, we witness yet another renegotiation of intimacy between Amar and Meeta. Once again, they represent opposite ends of an emotional spectrum. While Amar pretends to be upset, Meeta is back to her carefree attitude, with her jokes and her smile. Amar makes pompous statements on his editorial responsibilities, and Meeta humors him. Every time Amar attempts to make a self-important observation, Meeta interrupts him, urges him to let it go. She insists that she’s figured it all out. Amar looks perplexed, so Meeta delivers her final argument: I’m aware that you’ve figured it all out. The gentle ripples of blurred images of their faces fill up the screen; a musical motif of how little Gaur (the legendary Vaishnav sage/reformist/theologist/philosopher) prances around in the courtyard and delights his mother Sachi Devi, plays in the background as Meeta informs her husband of her pregnancy. Anubhav celebrates feminine sensitivity, reminds us to embrace the complexities of belongingness, urges us to overcome our deep-rooted prejudices on love and relationships.

Visual Images by Ajay Sharma: Changing Realities (Home and Public Space, Home and Political Identity, Home and Domesticity)

Belonging is not a static monolith, but an active process that faces continuities, ruptures and oppositions. The relationship between home and a sense of belonging may seem logical, but it is a sentiment that can be tricky to define, especially because whether we feel we belong or not is tied to how much emotional ownership we have over our hierarchy within the space that we consider to be our homes. How then can we assure that the power structures of a home consistently allow us to review and negotiate this ownership so that we can reconcile it with our changing social and cultural realities? Ajay Sharma’s visuals allow us to reflect on how individuals negotiate their identities, tackle social inclusion/exclusion and articulate emotional belongingness.

The first set of images spotlight how migrant workers negotiate belongingness as they move across geographical spaces, dictated by factors that they don’t control. By its very nature, migration prevents workers from articulating any real sense of rootedness or permanence in one space. The very essence of their lifestyle is characterised by transition, tangible and intangible ruptures, and they are often pigeonholed as intrusive outsiders. Any sense of belongingness or any notion of home becomes precarious in this kind of scenario.

Giant cement rings next to ramshackled tents—right on a busy highway, a space marred by noise and smoke pollution —serve as playground for children who are mostly unsupervised. Even the rooftops of the tents are littered with objects that only draw our attention to the vulnerability of this existence. Despite all of that, patterns of rising smoke—juxtaposed against the bluish background—offer us a tiny ray of hope that there may be food on the table. At the same time, the slender green branches of the otherwise nondescript tree become a remarkable symbol of rootedness, when pitted against the bleak scenario of instability.  

We move on to the images of the makeshift cradles. They serve as the perfect metaphor that encapsulates a migrant worker’s life. Just like oscillating cradles, a migrant worker’s fate swings back and forth in unpredictable directions. What is interesting is that even in a public space, fraught with unexpected perils, the mothers have found a safe spot, next to the solid roots and branches of a robust tree. They have carved out a niche, a home, however temporary or fragile it may be, in the middle of a barricaded enclosure and they have reclaimed temporary belongingness, despite the odds. In another visual, cement rings, tents, boxes, trucks and other smaller vehicles lay scattered next to each other, indicating that it is both a work space as well as a makeshift home. There is a sense of heaviness to the image, as silence hovers over the entire scene, sparking a sense of desolate solitude. Nevertheless, the green and the blue hues (reflection of skies) blend in with the blue tents and usher in some solace to this unlikely space of belonging.

When we review the images of beddings and bundled mattresses plopped on wooden planks and metal frames, we are drawn to the inhospitable conditions that characterise a migrant worker’s life. These images remind us of the impossibility of any long-term belongingness when individuals have to live out their life stories in a very public space. All of these images (of makeshift beds) remind us that how lack of privacy is an immediate impediment against any possibility of emotional intimacy. Moreover, the cheerful and trendy captions on the walls—It always seems impossible until it’s done, I’ll be there for you, Favourite place, Capturing this moment, Life begins now—embody painful irony as they are juxtaposed next to the stark beddings.       

We now examine images that draw our attention to the struggles of belongingness when cultural identities are at the mercy of policies that make deliberate distinctions based on complex binary categories of majority-minority, insiders-outsiders, legal-illegal, compatriots-foreigners, settlers-infiltrators. All three images are a visual distillation of how legal definitions of citizenship rights trigger reactions and impact communities that share multiple cultural and political identities, and hence, the direct link between notions of home and belongingness. Some identities have closer ties to faith/religion; others may be linked to migration patterns shaped by civil wars and shifting geographical boundaries between regions/states and between countries.

Contextualised in the widespread protests that sparked in India in 2019, after the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) was passed in the Indian parliament, two of the works reference the National Register of Citizens (NRC), which focused on collecting and updating demographic and biometric data for communities that lived in spaces/settlements adjacent to the India-Bangladesh border. These two works represent voices of protest against divisive policies that cannot only disrupt belongingness, but can also provoke fear, animosity and mistrust; they use the Bengali script (the handwritten letters on the second work read I won’t show you the papers). While the first two works call for inclusive belongingness, tolerance and sensitivity, the third work focuses on a public billboard that juxtaposes facial images of political personalities with a caption that claims that the CAA is a step in the right direction for a stronger India, towards a stronger sense of national belongingness.     

Finally, we examine the last image, a thought-provoking kaleidoscope of black and white images (although we cannot overlook the centrally placed message of Have a nice day, embellished with an intricate gilded frame). We are immediately drawn to the multiple artefacts that add meaning to each of the domestic spaces featured in induvial frames. Even though they are mostly functional objects (cooking utensils, buckets, hand soap, water purifier, razor, toothbrush, etc.), we also identify some art objects (sculpture). What we see here are glimpses of domesticity, strung together to create a bird’s-eyes view of a living space. As we take a closer look, we identify an unaccompanied man, the inhabitant of this space. When we examine the individual frames further, we learn that he lives with his father (featured in one of the frames; he is seated on the couch) and this is his family unit, his reference point of belongingness. His past remains present (photograph of his deceased mother), a reminder of his roots. A mundane routine of household chores unfolds as we follow the central character, moving from one room to another. What comes across is something deeply grounded and authentic, as we see glimpses of him cooking, cleaning, washing and also decorating his living space. Nothing is orchestrated, nothing spectacular happens, nothing seems to be imposed but rather, every frame naturally falls in place and a composite story of belonging emerges.

Instead of committing ourselves to an ideal or mythical definition of home, we should compare and contrast the varying learning experiences that characterise feeling at home. While the physicality of a living space provides us safety, how we negotiate our belongingness in that space is crucial to our emotional well-being, which in turn makes us feel at home. In other words, we can only feel at home when we have successfully articulated the nuances of our emotional relationships. Our emotional security determines whether or not we can embrace a sense of comfortable belonging. That’s where our journey begins.