If home is where mothers of the village gather to gossip, if village is where the songs of girls resonate on a moonlit karthika night, if the girls you remember always sport a shy smile at a stranger while minding the younger brothers, if those brothers you played with, always running away onto the streets pulling the ever-slipping shorts up, if those streets that you roamed, always filled with uncles, grand-uncles telling stories of distant past, if only you remember all that, may be you will understand the idiom of these songs of earth, wind, rain, and ultimately, home.
