House of Memories
It's 4 AM, I can't sleep. It's jet lag I guess. Whoever said it's a small world obviously did not sit in a flight for 10 hours to get from one country to another. And that was only half the journey.
A long summer lies ahead. A break well needed and deserved begins. A wait that has lasted long enough lives its final stages.
So much peace with in the soul.
No restlessness, living in the present moment with no gravity pulling me to the past and no illusions walking me to the future.
No needs that need fulfillment by others.
Seeing lives change around me; some beginning new eras, some ending old ones.
In the city where I spent most of my life; where everything has a history to it.
This house where I grew up. Now, I visit it like a visitor.
My room where every drawer had a collection of something that was dear to my heart; now, it lies abandoned. It's tenant; the maid.
The garden outside; where cousins and siblings made a play bakery with cakes made from mud. It lies arid, with no water to even create mud.
Every Friday, I would help my father in gardening. I didn't learn much gardening but it sure planted some great memories of time spent together.
The large space around the house; how many games of hide n seek have I played here.
The black chairs in the veranda; I sure go back a long way with them. I have a picture of myself when I was a year old on those chairs. Through out my school years, I would wait every morning for my school bus on these very chairs. And today, I walk past them like a stranger.
The living room in which I have learnt about family, seen family members interact, my classroom to learn about the intricacies of human relationships, the duality of human beings, the beauty and ugliness of blood relationships.
My memories of my deceased grandfather lie in this room. My memories of my deceased aunt also prance here.
How these memories seem so mine and yet so detached.
The dining room; how many get togethers with friends has it hosted. How many b'day have I celebrated in it....I clearly remember each one from my 10th b'day to my 21st b'day being celebrated in this dining room. With always some close friends, a sibling, our maid, my parents and a few relatives.
These 18 stairs; I still remember when we first moved in, I was just in second grade. I was thrilled to be in a house with stairs. I would count them countless times in a day. It allowed me to practice my counting skills and excited me every time to know it had 18 stairs.
I played my first challenging jumping games on these stairs. From being able to jump from just 4 steps, I graduated to 15 steps. Wasn't that an achievement in my young mind.
These tall walls, how they seem so over powering and yet so protective.
If life is a learning ground; then this house is the classroom where I spent the most time and met the most characters.
How one house can store such a magnitude of memories, how it still feels more homely than any other home.
It's the house from where I derived the concept of home.
No matter where I go, where I am...It will always be my house, my home.
A long summer lies ahead. A break well needed and deserved begins. A wait that has lasted long enough lives its final stages.
So much peace with in the soul.
No restlessness, living in the present moment with no gravity pulling me to the past and no illusions walking me to the future.
No needs that need fulfillment by others.
Seeing lives change around me; some beginning new eras, some ending old ones.
In the city where I spent most of my life; where everything has a history to it.
This house where I grew up. Now, I visit it like a visitor.
My room where every drawer had a collection of something that was dear to my heart; now, it lies abandoned. It's tenant; the maid.
The garden outside; where cousins and siblings made a play bakery with cakes made from mud. It lies arid, with no water to even create mud.
Every Friday, I would help my father in gardening. I didn't learn much gardening but it sure planted some great memories of time spent together.
The large space around the house; how many games of hide n seek have I played here.
The black chairs in the veranda; I sure go back a long way with them. I have a picture of myself when I was a year old on those chairs. Through out my school years, I would wait every morning for my school bus on these very chairs. And today, I walk past them like a stranger.
The living room in which I have learnt about family, seen family members interact, my classroom to learn about the intricacies of human relationships, the duality of human beings, the beauty and ugliness of blood relationships.
My memories of my deceased grandfather lie in this room. My memories of my deceased aunt also prance here.
How these memories seem so mine and yet so detached.
The dining room; how many get togethers with friends has it hosted. How many b'day have I celebrated in it....I clearly remember each one from my 10th b'day to my 21st b'day being celebrated in this dining room. With always some close friends, a sibling, our maid, my parents and a few relatives.
These 18 stairs; I still remember when we first moved in, I was just in second grade. I was thrilled to be in a house with stairs. I would count them countless times in a day. It allowed me to practice my counting skills and excited me every time to know it had 18 stairs.
I played my first challenging jumping games on these stairs. From being able to jump from just 4 steps, I graduated to 15 steps. Wasn't that an achievement in my young mind.
These tall walls, how they seem so over powering and yet so protective.
If life is a learning ground; then this house is the classroom where I spent the most time and met the most characters.
How one house can store such a magnitude of memories, how it still feels more homely than any other home.
It's the house from where I derived the concept of home.
No matter where I go, where I am...It will always be my house, my home.
posted by Enigma at 5:21 PM
2 Comments:
Strangely enough I stopped feeling that way about my home in Karachi a couple of years ago when my grandfather died.Having children changes everything,your whole point of reference shifts.At least in my case.You realize that it usually one person who cements all the memories.
Hope you were not offended by the pork reference in my last blog.
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