The home to my memories

Daily Prompt: Moments to Remember.

Daily Prompt: Moments to Remember

The four walls and the ceiling that house you, accommodate a multitude of memories as well. From where I see it, the door opens to the image of my mother and I warming up into a tight embrace on my weekly visits. It was here on the top of this couch that I couldn’t quit dancing the day the tenth board results came out. A week later, the couch was moved to to make space for an ice slab on which my grandmother was laid after her death. Her features summed up into a faint smile; it was here that Iย kissed her for the last time before she was taken for her cremation. The right most corner on the kitchen shelf is where I had placed an earthen pot filled with water twelve years ago on our ‘griha pravesh’. It is a ritual where the daughter in the family places a pail of water in a newly bought house wishing for prosperity in the home. The image of the dining table flooded with papers more than cutlery, papers that couldn’t find a space in another location, papers that came out of the cupboard but never found their way back, papers that I would fidget with on mornings when my dad could not find his files for that day’s court hearings. The papers made out into neat stacks and settled in the cupboards before a prominent festival or a lunch or a dinner party. On the right I can hear laughter echoing from our room over the countless jokes that I have shared with my brother, from the nights when we watch our favorite movies, from the time when we imagined ourselves as the protagonists of a dark comedy. In mornings when sunlight would creep over my parents’ room through the window I would marvel at my own reflection in the mirror, the light adding radiance to my skin. In the night comes the vision of the four of us warming ourselves to food spread out over the bed, food made lovelier by our communion. The birthdays and anniversary cakes cut over this bed, the smiles in this room forming a part of so many pictures. On the same bed I had once cried profusely on the death of a character in Balika Vadhu, the image of the groom’s corpse juxtaposed with that of a dazzling fifteen year old child bride waiting for her betrothal to be honored. Though I have never since mourned a mishap on television that intensely again yet I have formed and severed associations with countless characters in this room. The telephone brings memory of the time when I had come to the conclusion that I would grow up to be a telephone operator for my unmatched proficiency in answering calls. Next is the sight of my room keeping pace with the surging number of books, clothes, shoes, keepsakes, photographs and the list goes on. An apt reflection of my indulgences in life. In this room I stand unhappily every weekend before I leave for college again. And then the door shuts to the image of my brother kissing me goodbye.

I have never been the one to invest affection in structures but now that I probe over the thoughts circling in my mind I know that if I were to be ripped off of my home, then it would account to be a sorrowful memory for today’s prompt.



Author: Palak

A young woman who is busy carving a small niche for herself in this huge world. People intrigue me and had it not been for a career charted out in finance I could have made one helluva psychologist. I am fond of reading fiction and equally fond of holding on to a story for a while so as to analyze the way it shaped up. Television, movies and slow music are some of my other interests. I am an obsessive thinker and observer and being an absolute coffee addict and semi-somniac leaves me with ample of time to be one. This blog is an attempt to take note of some of the thoughts that cross my mind and a few of my experiences.

7 thoughts on “The home to my memories”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s