I'm walking down the alley in my hometown at night and it feels strange. Really strange.
I see all the familiar faces. The same ones I used to see when I was a small kid. The place still looks the same. There's chaos, but it's a known chaos. It's very different from Dubai, but there's this sense of familiarity with it. I don't know how to describe it properly.
I went to a shop to buy something small. Same uncle I used to buy from when I was 10, 15 years old. Right in front of me there's a cycle repair shop - same guy who used to repair my cycle when I was 10. Then I see the street food vendor - same guy selling sabudana khichdi.
This place feels like it hasn't moved at all.
But the movement is still there somehow. The shops, the people - they look exactly the same. There's no growth in the way I understand growth now. But there's this sense of calm on their faces. A sense of contentment. At least on their faces - maybe I don't know what's behind them. But that's something very unique to see when I've been out there chasing my dreams outside of Indore.
They stayed. They're always at home, in familiar space. They're happy with their pace of growth, their pace of life.
And here's the thing - they recognize me. They're happy to see me. We have a small chat and it feels so familiar, buying things from them. The place hasn't moved, and they're happy to see me. It's a sense of community, a small camaraderie - "this guy has come back."
When I talk to them, it feels like I've never left. The conversation just starts from where it left off.
It's a very mixed feeling. Strange. But positive overall.
Indore still remains the same. Yet all the convenience has been added - India has grown at a tremendous pace. You can see it. But it still feels very homely.
I'm buying the same grocery from the same uncle. Same sabudana khichdi from the same vendor. Same faces. It's amazing.
But there's another layer to this feeling I'm trying to understand.
Outside, in the real world, I'm a partner in a VC firm. I'm building my AI thing. But here, in this alley, I'm just a kid who's gone to buy groceries, who's gone to buy sabudana khichdi, meeting the same people.
For them, I haven't changed.
But inside me, everything has changed.
And that split - that constant and not-constant feeling - I'm feeling it so strongly right now.
Outside this alley, I'm building the future. Making decisions. Optimizing. Growing.
Inside this alley, I'm still the kid who never left.
Both are true.
And I think that's what home actually means. It's not a place that stays frozen. It's not people who didn't grow. It's the place where time doesn't demand proof. Where you can pick up a conversation from 15 years ago like it was yesterday. Where you don't have to explain where you've been or what you've become.
Home refuses to let you erase your origin story, no matter how far you've traveled from it.
And standing here, split between two worlds - Dubai's order and Indore's chaos - I finally understand what I traded for what.
I left to grow. They stayed and maybe didn't grow the way the world measures it. But who's actually content? What if no movement isn't failure - it's just a different answer to the same question?
Maybe this chaos isn't something they're stuck in. Maybe it's something they choose. Because the familiar is worth more than the optimized.
And me, standing in this alley with sabudana khichdi in my hand, trying to hold both versions of myself at once - that's the price of leaving.
That's what going home feels like.