Walls that know joy, rooms that hold love

During my childhood, on Sunday mornings, I would wake up to the sounds of genial laughter and chatter of guests from the sitting room. Before I would open the bedroom door, I knew all seats in the spacious lobby would already be occupied and the ringing of the doorbell would signify more coming in.

Our family was the first to move to the city and the house was the favoured destination of relatives, living abroad and in India, who put weekends to good use, paying us a visit and also answering international calls on the landline phone from their kith and kin settled overseas.

Cousins and friends would often flock to spend the vacations with us, finding company in five jovial children and in the process forging life-long bonds.

The gates of the house were always open and welcoming just like the hearts of its dwellers. My parents, being good conversationalists, were happy to engage in delightful talks and threw parties in style.

Spread over 15,000 square feet, the house presents a captivating picture with elevated walls and sloped roofs. Each room has large windows offering a view of the sprawling lawn that surrounds the house on three sides. Even after 30 years, the design of the house has needed no remodelling.

There was never a dull moment and the house resonated with the sounds of children playing, TV on full volume and grandmother calling out to the house help.

The wheels of time turned and we began losing the pillars of the family, with the passing away of my grandmother and father. Yet, my mother resolutely held the fort, got her children married and the house continued to beckon us with the same warmth. Since I got married in the same city, a shopping errand was incomplete without a quick visit home.

A few years ago, while my mother was visiting my brother and sister in Canada, I had an extended stay at her house. One morning, as I stood in the beautiful garden admiring the lovely blooms, I felt that more people should come and appreciate the alluring outcome of my mother’s gardening prowess. That’s when I thought of holding story and book reading sessions for children there and named the venture, The Fable Garden. The concept was well received in the city and the house seemed to be a vibrant place once again.

Recently, life dealt a blow and the house lost its sole owner, my mother. As we tried to cope with the loss, every grieving relative seemed to ask, “So what about the house now?

The house symbolises so many memories and emotions that it can’t be viewed as a mere structure of bricks and mortar, but as a living, breathing part of the family.

I could envision the fate of the house if it was placed under lock and key until one of the siblings found the time to get it aired and cleaned. Now, I dread crossing this lane and look at the forlorn edifice and miss my parents all the more.

Just like the story we all read back in school, before it turns into the Giant’s garden where the spring forgot to come, perhaps it could be made the centre of creativity and imagination, inviting the seekers into its fold.

THE HOUSE SYMBOLISES SO MANY MEMORIES AND EMOTIONS THAT IT CAN’T BE VIEWED AS A MERE STRUCTURE OF BRICKS AND MORTAR