A house. A home. Something more.
For one of the weekends away from Ashoka I came back to IIIT-Delhi which was, coincidentally, also my home for the last two years of my school life. I mean I have visited IIIT on a number of occasions and I usually stayed with some person or other. But this weekend I stayed at 1001 which was the house number I used to put whenever someone asked me what was my address. And now I came back here to live again for the night but the only difference was that I was a guest. My home sweet home has been converted into a sort of a guest house. It has almost been a year since I last stepped foot in this house because I never even had the chance to look at it again once we moved out.
I put my bag in what used to be my room. I breathed in the two years I spent here. The walls seemed to speak to me. I remember telling my mom how I want that very room because of the unique architecture that set it apart from the whole house. It has a triangular corner jutting out which gives a very comfortable silent corner for you to sit in. How I and my brother used to fight on the ownership of our bean bag and every time I got a chance I would take the bean bag to my corner. I would then get lost in the world of magic and fairytales or rummage through how the Mughals lived or what has been India’s foreign relations with countries and organizations all over the world or what was Freud’s psychoanalytical theory.
I remember every spot in my room where I had nonchalantly put up posters to remain optimistic and motivate myself. I even remember what all those posters said. Not that they helped me in any way. But now, not even their faded tape marks remained. Everything had been wiped clean to make it look suitable for guests. Obviously. Even my pink walls were now a dull faded white. At the time, one could make out that this room belonged to a Potterhead just by having a glimpse of it. On one of my corner wall, I had written ‘Always’ in a vertical form, replacing the ‘A’ with the deathly hallows sign. It took me two days to finish the whole word complete with colouring and shading only because I am lazy. And on the wall against which my bed was placed, I had written my favourite quote - “Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”
I remember how right before my Political Science board exam, I was so sick I could not sleep the whole of two nights. I just kept lying on my bed hoping by some miracle I could give the exam. I remember all those lonely nights where I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat on the floor in that corner staring at the stars or looking at the metro passing by or listening to songs. I would get up at night to go scrounge for food in the kitchen. This was my favourite pastime during the whole day. My brother's room was painted blue. I know it is kind of cliche. His room somehow was always very airy so it never needed an air conditioner. And then there was my dad's study which we used to call his den because he always found more comfort there, in his tiny little study, with his books, papers and computer.
It hit me last night while lying down in my old room how much I miss this place. This was my home and so much more. It was my very comfort zone. Things were not very complicated. Because every problem ended with a ride to Kalkaji to get ice cream or a walk with mom in every breezy campus or a drive all the way to India Gate at night and back. They say two years is not enough time to make a place your home but for me, this became home as soon as I unpacked the last carton box. And it was still home when I packed my last carton. And it is still home when I revisit the grave of memories that I could not take with me back to IIT and then to college, that has now been turned into a guest house.
I put my bag in what used to be my room. I breathed in the two years I spent here. The walls seemed to speak to me. I remember telling my mom how I want that very room because of the unique architecture that set it apart from the whole house. It has a triangular corner jutting out which gives a very comfortable silent corner for you to sit in. How I and my brother used to fight on the ownership of our bean bag and every time I got a chance I would take the bean bag to my corner. I would then get lost in the world of magic and fairytales or rummage through how the Mughals lived or what has been India’s foreign relations with countries and organizations all over the world or what was Freud’s psychoanalytical theory.
I remember every spot in my room where I had nonchalantly put up posters to remain optimistic and motivate myself. I even remember what all those posters said. Not that they helped me in any way. But now, not even their faded tape marks remained. Everything had been wiped clean to make it look suitable for guests. Obviously. Even my pink walls were now a dull faded white. At the time, one could make out that this room belonged to a Potterhead just by having a glimpse of it. On one of my corner wall, I had written ‘Always’ in a vertical form, replacing the ‘A’ with the deathly hallows sign. It took me two days to finish the whole word complete with colouring and shading only because I am lazy. And on the wall against which my bed was placed, I had written my favourite quote - “Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”
I remember how right before my Political Science board exam, I was so sick I could not sleep the whole of two nights. I just kept lying on my bed hoping by some miracle I could give the exam. I remember all those lonely nights where I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat on the floor in that corner staring at the stars or looking at the metro passing by or listening to songs. I would get up at night to go scrounge for food in the kitchen. This was my favourite pastime during the whole day. My brother's room was painted blue. I know it is kind of cliche. His room somehow was always very airy so it never needed an air conditioner. And then there was my dad's study which we used to call his den because he always found more comfort there, in his tiny little study, with his books, papers and computer.
It hit me last night while lying down in my old room how much I miss this place. This was my home and so much more. It was my very comfort zone. Things were not very complicated. Because every problem ended with a ride to Kalkaji to get ice cream or a walk with mom in every breezy campus or a drive all the way to India Gate at night and back. They say two years is not enough time to make a place your home but for me, this became home as soon as I unpacked the last carton box. And it was still home when I packed my last carton. And it is still home when I revisit the grave of memories that I could not take with me back to IIT and then to college, that has now been turned into a guest house.
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