It was a very small apartment. A hall, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, loo, balcony. It was something which I would today think ideal for my single living. I would most probably complain about the size of the kitchen and the old world separation of the loo and the bathroom. And curse the steep stairs to the second floor.
Eventually, that balcony got converted into a room. For a long time there was a half wall, a sort of fence, separating the bedroom and the balcony room. As children we loved to cross that fence and go back and forth the two rooms. Often we would use that fence as the vantage point to sit and observe the goings on.
And there was a lot going on in that house. At any given time the house boasted of the most eclectic combinations of people, conversations, and activities. In that house I have watched serious art house films and live cricket matches, heard the latest chartbuster or the rare old song recovered from some archive, played card games involving any number of people. The circle of players could get as wide as there were people, even if our knees and shoulders hit each other and to get up meant a shake up of the whole circle. There were people but never a din, for I have read many a book there. Others have learnt intricate embroidery designs or the latest knitting pattern even as another group of people were putting together the model of a building. And all this over the most amazing food.
The couple who made that home were not the most progressive of people. They had their share of conservatism, superstitions and hang-ups. But what made them distinctive was their openness. They were ready to listen, in fact eager to hear and know more, whether or not they agreed or approved. To date, they are the only people in the family (at least among the older ones) with whom I have shared any detail of my research.
Their home, the small apartment, reflected this openness and invited diversity with spontaneity and unaffected hospitality.
The two of them don’t live in that house any more. They don’t live any longer. But for me and I think for all of us who lived there, that small house was an huge rich experiment in a whole way of life, some part of which I hope I have imbibed.
4 comments:
athai and athimber do seem to have been a big inspiration in your life? ...
it is difficult to fathom the truth that they live no longer..but they do ..in all such memories..
somehow doesn't register at all that I'll never see them again, espcially athai..(prolly becuz i was not around..)
in that house i heard that babri masjid had been demolished...
that house wasn't small, or for single living. it is big, full of ppl, full of life. somehow athai/athimber never seemed the same after they left that house.
anu- i know exactly what u mean. in a way i hope it never registers.
rama- i remembered the babri masjid too! and u are right, i always associate them with that house. but thats because i have seen less of them after they left the house. but for you it would be different i guess.
I dont even remember the other room being a balcony.. but i do remember the thing v always used to cross into the other room.. and adults saying - padadh adathla patudoon.. ( bad tamil - meaning u will be bruised where it doesnt get bruised.. english just doesnt seem to express it but u knw what i mean!) and even i think of that house when i think of them. its a precious memory!
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