My Room

I had managed to pack my few precious and fragile artifacts and cadeaux amidst the barbaric acts of violence manifested upon my books and clothes by a team of movers and packers when I realised that my room was almost empty. The last of the carton boxes left the room along with the barbarian handling it, leaving me with an empty room. My empty room.  A room that I had occupied for six years. 

A room where I grew.

 

My parents relocated to Malleswaram from Rajajinagar, in Bangalore - just a month before my naissance - with my brother who was seven. The house that the four of us moved into (technically 3 and a half as I was yet to make my grand appearance) was big enough for four people but had only one of each facility like any other old houses built to house a grand family of five perhaps. A veranda, a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom and 'comme les francais', les toilettes (one). 

Brought into that house in full flesh five days after being born, I grew up in a locality that housed a temple at one end of the road and a bar – yes a bar – on the other end. And let me make it clear, I had never felt safer before. The inmates of the bar took to liking my family, called my mother ‘amma’, dad ‘sir’ and the two of us i.e. brother and me, putta and putti (little ones).  Whenever I pass by, I look fondly at that house. I lived there for 22 years in all innocence and happiness and then dad and  mom realised that the once upon a time large house started squeezing around us as the ‘putta’ and ‘putti’ were all grown and required their own turf.

That is how I came to occupy ‘A Room’.

My Room.

The very thought of moving into a new home excited me.  We were taken to a newly vacated home in Malleswaram (don’t become a sinner by asking why didn’t we consider any other area in the city) for a ‘decco’. The house was on the first floor and opened to a huge living room flanked by two rooms onto the left and right respectively. Trust me having lived in a single bedroom and a single bathroom house; I was elated beyond imagination when the room with the attached bath was awarded to me.  We moved in within a week. And thus began my journey in a room that was mine.

And for six whole years, it was mine.

A room where I grew.

A room to which I carried everything that I had ever possessed  and tried squeezing in the innocence that was mine. But again, you can only fit a few things in a room. You have to let go when you have to let go. And in that room, I let go a few things which had clung to me, some on my own and some taken away.

The room was a witness to my first love and first break up. Right from the frenzy of the romantic ardour taking over my senses to the tears that flooded my eyes and rolled down my cheeks whilst the floor supported my body which couldn’t heave itself on its foot thanks to the pain in its heart, the room saw it all.

The room witnessed a bonding between my best friend and me like never before. It is between these four walls that secrets, wishes and desires flew from the lip to the ear. We spoke without having to bother about walls and their ears. This is where I learnt that everybody grows up and that your best friend is bound to make decisions that might not comfort the bond that you share with her but life in its fullest form is different from one to another. We all have to go our own way. Don’t we?

It was my refuge from a world that never came to accept my school of thought. I would lock myself up and stay in till I felt at peace. The room was a perfect hideout in the middle of the night to run back to ‘Harry Potter’ thanks to the gnawing curiosity in my mind the story created. The reason was always’ Mom I need to visit the loo.’ And she knew I wouldn’t use the other one. I never slept in my room though. I can’t sleep alone.

A million other memories are attached to my room.

This is the place that comforted me when I faced bitter truths about life. And this is exactly where I learnt that every relationship goes through a test of time and just a few of them are rebels. The rest wither and die. I learnt that words sometimes lack density and not everything said is true. I learnt here that people who come into your life have no need to stay and some just wander to plunder and leave when confronted. Not everybody is your best friend. And throughout all this the floor of ‘My Room’ always supported me whenever I needed someone to sob to.

I changed jobs, I met new people, I befriended some and abandoned a few (I had to). And in the meanwhile from 23 I had come to call myself a 29 year old, someone to whom peace mattered more than any other possession and space mattered much more than the world itself. I lost myself, gave up looking and then discovered where I was. And when I was on the verge of that great discovery, time had come to pack my bags again.  This time neither had I outgrown the room nor had it shrunk in size overnight but I guess, my chapter in that room was over. I had to move on.

I know not what the other room has in store for me, I may change more rooms after this one but what ‘My Room’ holds, taught me and made into is closer to my heart than perhaps any other that I would live in.

I sat on the cold floor looking at my empty room. It looked exactly the same like the day it did when I first stepped in, when all of a sudden my brother walked in to shake me out of my reverie to ask if nothing was left behind.

I told him that nothing was left. He walked away. But I didn't tell him that something was still left.

Me.