**A Fresh Beginning**
There was this dream of spread fields in the ancestral village of India about mangoes that lay sprawling lazily in the warm breeze, and the soothing lullaby of cicadas. His little house with its vibrant yellow walls and terracotta roof was a world unto itself. Every inch of that home had memories-for instance, the old cricket bat of his father, the fragrant spices of his mother, colorful kites dancing in the sky during festivals.
But now twelve, standing at the edge of this new chapter in his life, Arjun listened with a growing sense of unease. For, as he would later recount, his parents announced that they would be moving to the United States. His father had been offered a job there, golden in its opportunities and impossible to ignore. It was like some gust of wind was blowing up between the cracks of what he'd ever known, pushing him away from everything familiar into some great unknown.
Almost the same as packing up his memories was his packing his belongings. First of all, he would put in his favorite books, some of his most treasured playthings, and a photograph of his grandparents. Packing into the tapestries of intense colours and framed pictures of village life was an emotional task. The memory of leaving his best friend Ravi and the fruit and vegetable market where his mother bought vegetables upset his chest.
It was still too early to go away. A rickety old car drove the family to the airport, and it had become impossible not to feel strangulated by the alienness of the world outside, or choked by the din of noise, crowds of people and foreign signs everywhere. Arjun turned once again as he walked through the departure gate as, and his eyes lingered on disappearing view of his beloved home.
The long and agitated flight over to America had put Arjun's mind on the little things in life: how his mother's smile kept his eyes soothed, his father's stories of this New Country, and promises of new adventures. Every time he closed his eyes he could see his village, see all those familiar streets, and see every single one of his friends and family.
Finally, everything appeared to be in an entirely different world when they finally hit the soil of the US. And instead of this vibrancy his old home was characterized by, here lay a vast landscape, modern and full of towering buildings and wide roads. The new home for Arjun was a modest house in a quiet suburb with neatly trimmed lawns and enormous, unknown trees.
School was altogether a new experience. So many eager faces welcomed Arjun in class. His accent did make him a little shy, and he hardly spoke their language at first. Within a few days, he started settling in slowly. There were friends who seemed eager for his stories about India. His teacher Mrs. Thompson was gentle and accommodative and guided him to settle down in new surroundings.
Slowly, he began enjoying the small things in his new life: the crunch of autumn leaves, the taste of hot chocolate, and the excitement that gave a life to school events. He missed his old home like anything, but still, began coming about to understand that this new place formed a part of his journey as well.
A few days into the new place, one afternoon, Arjun sat in his room, pulling out books and toys from the cardboard box. He looked at the photograph of his grandparents and smiled; he realized that though he had to leave behind the old world, he was taking pieces of it with him wherever he went.
Arjun learned to weave each day into the fabric of his present every day. And he understood that home is where one lives but it is also a tapestry of memories and experience and most of all, a people he loved. So as he slept in this new bed for him, he knew he'd be okay wherever life took him, so long as he had the strength to adapt and grow.