Home coming

It was difficult to pinpoint. Was it the grey sky threatening to burst into an unpredictable dust- thunderstorm, or was it the sight of numerous baby mangoes hanging from the low lying branches, waiting to be plucked- at once nostalgic and comical.?Was it the warm breeze blowing into his face, ruffling his hair, reeking of summer blossoms , paddy fields, cow dung all at once? Was it the sight of mini dust whirlwinds on the road ahead swirling up clouds of dust, and rubbish? This he knew deep in his heart, as he watched, fields, trees, huts speed by him, it was all this and much more that had dragged him back home.All the way to his ancestral village.
Leaving a comfortable job in a cushy apartment, in the concrete jungle abroad . Each of those days he would look out upon the neat array of blocks upon blocks,orderly roads, geometrically laid, gleaming cars and immaculately- dressed office goers, and wonder what he had been missing out on. Life couldn't have been better. That was when it struck him.It was too perfect, too orderly,too squeaky clean for a person with a past that was grimy , dusty,' dirt-poor' and imperfect to boot.
He took a deep breath, sniffed the familiarity of it all, and smiled.Like a dog reaching for his kennel- he had come back .Home.