For a few weeks now,  I have been helping my parents pack up from our home in Mesaieed. To be precise, bits and pieces of my childhood are either thrown away, given to charity, sent for recycling or in a cardboard box waiting to be flown back to our home country. A silent sense of sadness permeates through me. I as an adult 20 something suddenly feel like ‘the place of my childhood’ has ceased to exist.   First things first, I consider my host country – Doha – more home than my home country – India. I find comfort in the sense of familiarity of friends I know since my…