You may wonder what is this home I'm talking about. A physical location — likely. A figment of my mind — perhaps. A state of being — improbable, or so I thought.

Growing up, I was always the most rational person in the room. Although I occasionally indulged in writing poetry or collecting existential quotes, I needed something tangible to hold on to. I needed plans to be laid out beforehand, and I needed complete clarity on where things were heading. Uncertainty did not bode well with me, and I felt the need to be in control of every situation.

All of this changed when I took up Yoga as a class in the 9th grade (yes, it is a REAL class). And more specifically, everything changed when I went to Pondicherry, a coastal city in Southern India. It's taken me a while to figure out how to talk about an experience from over five years ago, and nothing I can put into words will justify my thoughts.

I live in Mumbai, a city of 56,000 people per square mile, and let me tell you — chaos doesn't even begin to define it. And until I came to Pondicherry, or Pondy, as we call it, I don't think I had ever really known calm. Don't get me wrong, there is still the usual bustle hawkers on the streets, the sound of the ocean crashing on the promenade, and the occasional honking, that is commonplace in India. But this was a different kind of calm, a particular calm coming from the assurance that I'm in a place that understands me.

I have attempted to draw on glimpses of my experience to understand why Pondicherry has remained with me ever since. These experiences may not seem too challenging, or even difficult at all. For some, they may even seem trivial. But what set them apart for me was the fact that I could do it all without a sliver of questioning, or inner revolt. It seemed all too innate.

I could sit by the samadhi, the burial place for Shri Aurobindo, for hours on end without moving. Neither the sound of bangles nor the constantly crying baby could pierce the overwhelming silence of my thoughts.

I could climb a hill barefoot in the scorching heat, and not even be slightly perturbed when I realized that the top of the hill was not the great temple I expected, but instead a small shrine that could hardly fit 10 people.

I could eat the whole serving of cooked vegetables that had been mistakenly put in my plate, despite the fact that every bite was a struggle, simply because I had been told that to waste it would be disrespectful.

Somehow, Pondy developed mystical powers that made me do these things that are so uncharacteristic of me. And not in a negative way — Pondy turned me into a person I respected more, and still constantly strive to be. Ever since, I have carried some of these experiences with me and I try to embody them wherever I go.

Sitting by the samadhi, I learned that through the chaos of life, you don't need to constantly make detailed plans and devise ways to overcome pitfalls. Often, if you just separate yourself from all the din for a few minutes, you can learn to stay unruffled through it all. It's a mind over matter thing.

Climbing the hill, I realized that success wasn't just the achievement of a tangible goal. Instead, real success lay in pushing myself even when my scalding feet told me otherwise. It's a mind over matter thing.

Eating the vegetables, I discovered that you may not always like what's going on, and things may not be as you expected. Sometimes, you just need to stick with it, because doing the right thing is more important than just doing what you want to do. It's a mind over matter thing.

So five years after this indelible journey, miles away from warmth of Pondicherry and within the four walls of my dorm room, I am able to recreate the place that changed my life.

So yes, home to me is this place I casually stumbled into five years ago, but home is also this place that I carry with me wherever I go. I pull it up into my mind when I feel afraid, unhappy, angry, hateful and sad. I also think of it when I feel grateful, hopeful, proud, and happy. It accompanies my spectrum of emotions, and always is within reach.

I don't know why it was Pondy, and I don't know why it chose me. But I'm glad it did.