Belonging...

A melange of emotions comes into play when I talk about the house that I grew up in.. An abode where my childhood still stays.. Each time I come here, a journey into my memories sets off..a stroll past the lanes of nostalgia. The house smells of bonds, that Ma and Pa formed over decades, bonds with their kids, with the extended family, with the people who come around as indispensable help. The small little joys are all over the place. Papa, his meticulousness speaks louder than his words. His organisation is so very visible to even an untrained eye. It is as intense as it was when I used to be at work, here at my table, in those days of yore. His morning rituals, we scoffed at them then, his dust cloth not sparing any nook and cranny. Though I was hesitant to express, but there was a silent sheepish thankfulness for my spiky clean book shelf and other paraphernalia in my room. A part of him was always thinking of means of polishing our academics, how those well planned hours over maths and science, those discussions on subjects of relevance that went on to shape us as individuals. Sundays were up for a rigorous schedule, we sulked and worked around excuses, forgetting that he too, was sacrificing his social life for us. Quite characteristically, he expects me to put in the same toil for my daughters. Try as i might, to fill  his shoes, I always fall a few step shorter. If I could do my smallest bit for him, it would be this, to give my kids, the sincerity and depth of the upbringing that he's given us. Living by the ideal " money saved is money earned", he made sure, we had abundance of everything that was important to us as students, simultaneously teaching us to exercise restraint wherever required.

My heart could delve deeper into its own crevices to peep into the years gone by, but my eyes wander around to  the shiny wooden shelf hanging on the wall, housing the smart snack boxes smugly sitting on their respective places, changed immediately at the outset of a crack or other minor injury, calling me to show the variety that they possess. Papa has had a penchant for snack boxes and wooden knick knacks for as long as I can remember. His almirah would put the cleanest of the lot to shame. With an eye for detail, he has maintained this house, that his father bought 70 years back. The air is rife with the smell of the freshly done paint along with the aroma of wood. It brings back all those times when the house exuded a rejuvenated charm. Needless to say, the house is ever so grateful for all that smothering and pampering.Its ample ventilation ensures that winters are tough and we hop about in caps and mufflers even inside, but the warmth of my lovelies has made many a winter worth its while.

Ma, a free spirited lady, spreads joys around in her own little but meaningful ways.. She knows how to weave happiness, the confetti of which floats in the air. Finding divine in the mundane, she leaves a story of her touch at every corner of the house. Her love doesn't give a damn about class, it just has to be. I once saw her hanging an unclaimed baby shoe in the house, which she found on he road by the riverside  and dreaded the idea of leaving it there lest someone tramples on it . The street children do not fail to wave at their aunty who gives them biscuits and chocolates while passing by.

  The money plant climber rolled around a string has grown up with us in this verandah.. not to mention scores of others, lending a woody, vintage character to the house, thriving on love for age.   There is always something or the other that it carries along, these days those Christmasy decorations and paper kites are lucky to have embraced the leaves for a few months now. The artist in her is deftly making paintings in all the free time that she gets after teaching drawing and painting to the various children of the town. A new technique is underway every other day, the web is to be thanked. The paintings are all over the place and beyond that may be.. For she gifts a painting to all those we've known, on occasions that are sometimes special and not so special at other times. I hope the people cherish her paintings as much as she cherishes them.She doesn't let me sell those pieces for they are too close to her heart to be sent away for money. A jiffy is what it takes for her to finish a task, a painting, a meal or a trip to thee market. She is always been nimble. I wish I could be half as quick as her. More than that I wish she is as twinkle toed till eternity.

Time flows by and the fondness for the house takes deeper roots. The house where my heart still thrives. Be it always blessed and prosperous, warm and benevolent, hospitable and pleasant.