The House

It had been a few hours. It could have been a few weeks or a few years for all i cared. My elbows hurt by the harsh wooden table. The room was sparse and had a woody smell about it. I looked up to see a thatched roof. It had wooden planks built across the walls. This house was probably built many decades ago. People no longer seem to make such houses anymore.

The floor had the reddish tinge, the kind which wears off to take a pale brown. Had it been new it would have rubbed off on my feet. The room was about 15 feet long and about 10 feet wide, three doors one on each side except the one on my left. I don’t see anything clearly outside. My view si hazy. The side on my right also had two windows right beside each side of the door. It looked archaic, the doors would have been closed years ago, it didn’t matter. I was bored.

I got up and pulled open the door behind me. Sun light warmed up my face, for a second i stood there transfixed, soaking myself in, feeling the warmth creep into my body. It felt good, warm, I just stood there with my eyes closed for a few minutes. I opened it to see yellow paddy fields for as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t yellow, it was golden, the sun’s rays brought out the colour really well.

I half expected a tree somewhere in the field, mostly in the center, humans always loved symmetry. It makes them feel stable, balanced. I couldn’t quite place the feeling. I felt warm, a little dazed but definitely happy. What was i happy about?? I didn’t have a reason, it just felt good. I felt free, yes .. an unencumbered view for miles, it made me feel free.

I didn’t want to venture out, i was half afraid i would destroy the vision. Maybe the vision would not live up to my expectations. I wanted a cigarette. I looked around but the room was empty. I put in both my palms inside my trouser pockets, a bit lazily, a bit to stretch my arms, it felt nice. I found a cigarette packet in my right pocket along with a match. Funny i have not smoked in quite a while now.

The house suddenly seemed higher. It seemed higher than earlier. The field towards the far end seemed to just dip a little lower. They dipped a little more. I felt high, i thought it was the cigarette. I realized i have not lit one yet. The house felt as if it was on top a hill. I lit my cigarette and inhaled deeply. It screwed the view, i threw the cigarette down, then wondered whether i should have stubbed it.

I realised it didn’t really matter. I felt the light breeze hit my face, it hit because it began abruptly. I wished to have the moment last forever, but feared it wont. Funny i always seemed to have thought of happiness as short lived. Now why would that be so?

The house seen from afar had a very woody, creaky, slightly burnt exterior. It could have been called a cabin, it really was only a cabin. You need a few basic necessities to make a house. like people to live in for instance. Nobody lives in a cabin. The sun at the far end gave the house a slightly sinister look. It’s funny that on such a beautiful day, amidst such a beautiful field, amongst the gold tinged afternoon, i see cabin which is cold and dark.


I see a path amidst the field, it is horizontal to my vision and stretches all the way to the far right from the far left. The path is probably dusty, i might see a car there some day blowing a little cloud of dust. It might probably blow a horn, the ones which you never hear on a city street. City horns are always harsh. They; like their owners are noisy, loud and very much against tranquility.

I saw a car right then. It was a taxi cab the one with the yellow top and black body. They always remind me of Bombay. This one had a horn just as harsh! I had begin to cringe with the noise, the endless cacophony of people jostling around among the streets, the mutterings, the nothings, the chatter, the voices. It all came in suddenly as i woke up with a start. For a second, i was trying to think, where was i?
It was morning mayhem at my house. My mom oscillated between ironing her blouse and the kitchen. She was grumbling about the maid not coming in on time. Dad called out again for me, it disturbed the inner tranquil i had every morning. He has been doing this every time for 28 years now. 28 years!! Why did i come back? Why did i have to choose my parents place of all people? Could i not have rented out an apartment? But then i would not be saving as much money now would i?

I had peace for a few years, a home away from home is what i had wanted and what i had. A few years of bliss! Didn’t i love them? I did, i knew i did because i was angry when BobaMama had an altercation with my mom. I wanted to protect her, i had wished him away. Didn’t work. My dad looked really tired. He didn’t really need to work. But then he did, if only to protect his sanity. I wished he could and would relax a little more. But wishes never really come true.

I pushed my groggy self towards the bathroom and about five minutes later emerged thinking i should not have spent so much time watching movies into the night. They screw up my sleep time. And sleep-times are important. Come to think of i, my sleep times are always invariably screwed. I find new un-inspiring ways to screw them.

Like i watched two movies back to back until 3.30 am and had to wake up at 7 feeling drunk. Then there was a time when i read late into the night reading Ayn Rand, arguing over her book with myself, fighting over it in my mind. Twice i had concluded Ayn Rand was really just a smart woman who came up with something sensible. Twice i changed it to, she was super smart and bold even if bit of a sensationalist. I argued into the wee hours of the morning and hit the bed at about seven in the morning. Woke up at five past eight. I felt dead!!

Being dead is a good feeling i think. I could not feel the ground much, i could pretty much not feel anything. I remember this feeling from many years ago when i had smoked weed. It had an uplifting feeling. ‘DeaD’ wasn’t really uplifting, it was pretty much nothing actually. I was off to work in another hour and half. Life seemed to take over after this point. Funny it’s my life but it half seems to be controlled by factors i really purport to control. How is that for irony?


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