Many of the houses I grew up in never felt like home to me. No matter how sturdy their foundations were. How well-cemented the bricks. All the fine craftsmanship that had gone behind them. They lacked the comfort and warmth I wanted under a roof. Or they belonged to an ecosystem that seemed alien to me. Their walls were sturdy but they held grudges. The ceiling fan was too loud. Beyond the front door, privacy was in absentia. And the view outside the window often a peek into the lives of my neighbors; how unhappy they can be when they don’t realize that somebody is watching them.
But in the winter of 1988, I found myself in a four-storied residential building in Chennai called Joy Apartments. My parents had rented a flat on the third floor. No matter the weather, its ambiance was stuck halfway between a siesta on a rainy day and a funeral procession of woodland creatures. It was tranquilizing and charming. On Sunday afternoons, one could hear the rustling of leaves, in the streets, under a broom. Or the sing-song squawking of the fish vendor as he crooned his way into our bellies.
The balcony in my room I shared with my sister had a gigantic tree for a neighbor. It housed birds that visited us every morning. But I barely spent any time in it because I had developed a close friendship with a girl who lived right opposite our house. We were of the same age. She was tomboyish and a tad hyperactive. I was timid and clumsy. Together, we turned every nook and corner of the apartment into injury-prone play areas. And shaped cardboard packaging material into Pandora boxes, out of which exciting possibilities emerged instead of evil spirits.
During our stay, I developed a voracious appetite for reading too. When I was bed-ridden because of Chicken Pox, there wasn’t much else to do. I picked up a copy of Book of Dragons by E. Nesbit. It was love at first chapter. I could not fathom how I was able to relate to people who encounter dragons on a regular basis.
Soon enough, I knew the joys of discovering galaxies inside yellowing pages of smelly old books.
My dad had also taught me to roller-skate. No small feat considering that he had never worn a pair of skating shoes himself. However, once I saw Back to the Future, I turned rogue. Instead of practicing at local rinks, I waited for four-wheelers to drive, at dull speeds, past the apartment. And I held on to anything I could, above the tail-lights. Many of the drivers didn’t appreciate it. It was unlikely that being blamed for a child’s death was in their short-term plans. It meant a lot to me. It might have been a small step for any kid who knew how to roller-skate. A giant leap, though, for someone who hadn’t done anything reckless before that.
In less than a year – I was told that we were about to shift houses again. I was dejected, even though we were moving to a more spacious house in a better neighborhood. I remember our last day. It was the during the Festival of Diwali. I went up to the terrace to find my friend. I saw her setting up a bottle rocket to light up the blanket-less sky. Neither of us made eye contact nor said a word to each other. I think it was tough for her too. And, I just left.
Twelve years later, it was my first day at journalism college. I was anxious. There were students from all over India, and some of its neighboring countries. I had joined the course against the wishes of my parents. The sweat on my brow was ready to nose-dive down to my cheeks, as a professor read out my name. The, a girl, who was sitting in front me, turned around to look at me quizzically.
It was my old friend from Joy Apartments.
We hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. It was surreal. All we spoke of over the next few days was about the time we had spent at Joy Apartments. Our silly games. Every whimsical detail. All the books we had exchanged. We barely discussed whatever had happened in our lives after it.
It so turned out that history repeated itself, and we never kept in touch once we had graduated. But I will always be thankful to her for rekindling memories of what it meant to belong somewhere. How it once felt to be inside a house that I could proudly call my home.
A house
isn’t a home
unless you can
leave behind
a part of yourself
before you walk
out the door
(Featured image: Pixabay)
Lovely! I enjoyed reading this so much. It ran like a lovely graphic comic in my head – ‘The clumsy boy and the hyperactive girl’. It took me back to my own childhood and to thinking which of the houses felt like home to me. Thankfully, each one did and that is perhaps this was in Dehradun and there was so much nature around. So wherever one went, fireflies or tadpoles or forest scents or rose gardens and mountains..they followed. But is it not true, what they say, that it is important to seek a home within?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you shru. For the kind words and your lovely childhood memories. Perhaps, as adults it is wiser to discover welcome mats within but as children – I think that the physical ecosystem does matter.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Happy World Poetry Day. Thank you for your beautiful posts and poetry. ❤
LikeLiked by 2 people
Happy poetry day to you too! Thank you for reading.
LikeLiked by 1 person
nanba, did you try tracing the friend at all? With LinkedIn and Facebook it should not be a problem.
LikeLiked by 2 people
I think we just went our separate ways, nanba, because we had other priorities. It wasn’t just because we had to (smile).
LikeLiked by 2 people
For some reason the comment reminded me of the climax of Vandhanam. Life goes on… 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Hehe just read the IMDB synopsis. I suppose, fact isn’t always as linear as fiction.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Christy, such a happy-sad story.As always you leave us biting our nails as to whether we should be smiling or gloomy at the end (which btw is a great thing) 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Woaw that felt great to hear, comrade. I have always believed that the full stop signifies the end of an essay, a book or even a poem, but never the end of the story.
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
In every conclusion there are seeds of a new beginning. From the same seed, however, emanates the aroma of nostalgia.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautifully summarized!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very weirdly in this context, my friend, the etymology of “nostalgia” strikes a chord. Nostos: Homecoming, Algos: Pain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely story. It got me thinking about times in my own life where I’ve reconnected briefly with someone from the past. But, more importantly (and perhaps more selfishly), it made me think of tangential topics I didn’t even realize I had things to say about. Thanks to you, I could very well be off on a writing spree soon. Gracias!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aww thank you. Glad to know it can tickle some words out of you.
LikeLike
A house
isn’t a home
unless you can
leave behind
a part of yourself
before you walk
out the door
^^That.
Though I’ve moved home just once, those lines strike a chord when I think of the home-stays and families I’ve left behind whilst travelling
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aww yeah, those must be some spider-silk memories of finding comfort in strangers’ homes. Perhaps, you could write about them some day!
LikeLike
Thank YOU for that prompt! I shall…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yaaaaay!
LikeLike
Awesome read!
So much like the birds you capture. They don’t go back to the homes they build so tirelessly in the past season.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Viv. It sounds lyrical that birds can be winter visitors to their own homes!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely post.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Ranji. Do visit again!
LikeLiked by 1 person
such a lovely read…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Sumana!
LikeLike
Like and follow me kokoactive
LikeLiked by 1 person
https://typicallyinlove.wordpress.com/
Read the story. Waiting for reviews
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yah that nice
LikeLiked by 1 person
Christy……im nnamdi jr from Nigeria…im a new bloga and i think we can work together……..thanks i will be waiting for your reply
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Koko. Please do email me at christy.bharath@gmail.com. Would love to hear from you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is a wonderful write up. I could already imagine being there with you and your friend
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aww that’s a beautiful thing to say. Thank you, Winnie!
LikeLike