It was the home that saw her as a single-soon-to-be-married girl, trying to choose her new future home. Then looking over everything from the installation of the chandeliers, to the curtains, to the furniture…even the pesticide treatment. As a bride, cleaning the mess her bachelor husband had made just the day before they got married, hands adorned with dark brown henna, but holding a broom. The home that was decorated top to bottom with the flowers used in her wedding hall, the festivities withering away as the flowers did.
The home that heard the news of her being selected for residency, and on whose threshold she stood barefoot, breaking the news to her husband who was in the car.
The home that saw a wife cleaning and tidying it, whenever she was alone, humming sweet songs. Cooking endlessly in her beloved kitchen, because it comforted her. The plants in the garden, who were her babies, checked on, tended to. The birds she watched everyday for hours on end, eating the food left out on the bird table, bathing in the water the gardener took care was always there.
She named it – The Nest, and rightly so. It was the home that saw the couple getting excited when they came to know they were finally going to be parents. The home that saw her throwing up everytime she went near her precious kitchen because there was “this smell” in a corner. The home that saw her spending hours just planning what she was going to do once the baby came.
The home that her baby first lived in. Her first address. The home that saw a new mother struggling and being insecure about taking care of the fragile little one. The home where endless nights and days were spent trying to entertain, feed and put to sleep a newborn princess. The days where just going out for a walk in the garden or to the lake was the highlight of the day. The days when it was raining continously, and the home looked beautiful and a mother and baby were stuck inside with nothing to do but read and sing songs all day. The home, who at one time, was able to fit in 2 cars, but with the arrival of the little one could not anymore, as car doors needed to be opened wide.
The home that saw the baby grow in days, achieving one milestone after another. From lying down on it’s floor all day, to sitting on it. Then slowly crawling into every corner of it. The days spent in the baby walker trying to go up the stairs (not realising it was not even possible). And then the time came when it was possible to walk around that home, while holding to it’s walls….The nursery changing looks all the time to accomodate the growing baby.
It’s the first Ramadan of the baby, and the home is all dressed up! Oh the baby is a year old today. The home is filled with people, laughter, joy, noise. How does time pass away so quickly. They have spent more than 2 years in this home.
And now it’s time to leave.
I don’t want to see it the last time. The last memories I have of it are of my daughter’s birthday, soon after which I was preparing for a board exam, while looking for a new home. These memories are enough. I will hold on to them forever. I did not stop and reflect even once while packing, I did not want to spoil it. It’s funny how a place made of steel and concrete can make water run from your eyes. I did not want to touch those walls one last time, no. I did not want to even lock the back door one last time… not at all!!
The home has seen her smile for no reason, and cry for none at all.
Get angry and fight, and then even forget the reason of it all.
It has seen her unable to sleep for days on end, and seen her struggle to stay awake after a duty oncall.
The home in whose confines she felt both frightened and secure, the home that had once meant everything and all.
The home who embraced her as a bride, the home who almost mothered her child.
The home into whose hollowness she would vent, yet sometimes filled with chatter, the home that saw what friendship meant.
It was the home that held her deepest secrets, and the home that told them all….
p.s – i could not read this post again to check it.
Featured image by : Kilarin (Donald Hines) on Flickr