What does your ideal home look like?
When I was young and inexperienced my concept of ideal home was the one seen on the glossy pages of home decor magazines. Growing older I realized homes should be more functional than showy.
At present, I own a small ground floor flat fronted by an extended ‘green’ space which I love to call my garden. The garden came into existence to protect my privacy as my neighbours did not think it inappropriate to park their bikes and scooters close to my windows. In order to obviate the scope of breach of security I potted a few plants and grew some trees and fenced off the space.
The balcony is a home to a bunch of strays. The tree branches are the playgrounds of a litter of mischievous squirrels who are fond of chewing off the air conditioner and broadband wires. The afternoon guests caw away to glory whereas mornings and evenings are chirpy and carry the fragrance of abundant greenery.
I believe in simplicity so the drawing cum dining hall boasts of a large window overlooking the adjacent park. The drawing space is practically the living room while meal time is more than often a relaxed affair on the couch.
My mother’s room again has a wide window covering one whole wall for proper ventilation. The room literally resembles a hospital ward cramped with life saving machines like the oxygen concentrator, suction machine and sometimes the BIPAP too.
My dream room is home to a queen size bed. My summers are spent on cool bedspreads and winters folded in fluffy quilts and rajais. Rinky alternately sprawls on the cold floor and a huge sleepwell mattress covered with thick coverlets as per seasonal requirement.
The utility room was once the backyard. Now it opens up to a strip of light through a huge steel framed glass door. The room changed contours too often in the past two and a half decades from a family room to a study. Now it has an eclectic mix of large immovable cabinets, trolley, a roof touching book shelf with writing desk, mother’s rocking chair, an unsmart TV pinned to the wall and a horde of electrical appliances. This uncharacteristic spacious store is separated from the rest by rollable bamboo curtains.
The tiled kitchen has managed to survive the onslaughts of time. A small passage by the side opens on to the stairs to the upper floors.
The flat is well planned and wears a lived in look. My friend who owns a palatial house finds it cozy and comfy and very livable. The furniture is an assortment of very large and very small pieces from a copied Victorian straight back with ottoman to a huge inclinable hospital bed to a miniscule chest to a cute little Jaipuri side table to a medium sized box divan.
The floor is of mosaic and not marbled. There is no artificial false ceilings or hidden light fixtures. I am fond of various types of lamps but. And the overall feel is one of the olden times of comfort and not opulent luxury quite opposite to the ethos embraced by this city and its predominant culture.
Cleanliness is my prior concern as I am allergic to dust. However, in this city to be dust free is an impossibility. I am an extremely housebound person. My house is my burrow. I know it’s not perfect but I identify with it’s character. I am also extremely superstitious. I hardly invite anybody home lest they spoil the vibes of my sacro sanctum. Only people with whom I am extremely comfortable can enter my den. That’s idiyosincratic!!
The other name for this city is snobbery. People living here have a set idea how a home should look – POPed ceilings, plastic painted or glazed tiled walls, ornate chandeliers hanging down, over sized intricately designed dining table with cushioned chairs, sliding fiber doors, french style windows opening onto extended verandas, steel framed grilled doors, home theatres, open kitchens with granite slabs – the whole facade oozing pots of money from source unknown.
Multi storeyed buildings change hands frequently and torn down and rebuilt. Flats are renovated to look like kothis or fashionable houses with spiralling iron staircases connecting the floors. Grandeur and opulence strewn everywhere in the midst of which my humble dwelling with unaltered archaic infrastructure stands testament to a bygone era which went by understated elegance as it’s hallmark.
I have a few compulsive behaviours though. I guess it’s genetically transmitted. You may find a whole lot of things scattered around but they are placed in a symmetry of their own indicating a method to madness. Like the clothes stand has to stand straight in the balcony. The planter at a particular angle. The cobweb brush should not slant over the inverter so on and so forth. My aunt (father’s younger sister) has always been my role model so far as housekeeping is concerned. She is the duster lady of the family moping and dusting and shining and rubbing. Her house is spic and span. Even the toilet brush looks newly bought all the time. Whenever I catch up with her over phone her first query is whether I have tidied my flat. 😲😲
But my flat represents me the owner – scatterbrained, confused, always in dilemma, trying to bring order to disorder and failing miserably and accepting in the long run that coexistence with chaos is the rule of Nature.
Last but not the least my Puja corner or the place of worship is a cute little dismantleable shelf right at the Ishaan Kon or North-east side as per Vastu and our family priest. Our family deity graces my domain with her presence and keeps an eye on our health, safety (I won’t say wealth because there’s none) and wisdom. Rest is immaterial and inconsequential.
