When No One Was Looking: A House With Trapped Memories

When no one was looking, I found myself sitting at a lakeside. The sunshine played over the water, and reflected a lovely mix of green and blue. I looked up to see the clear cerulean sky with a few puffs of clouds, tall trees framing it. 

I had no idea what this place was.

And then I sensed something and turned to my left. I saw you walking towards me, smiling brightly. You were wearing the same red sweater I knitted for you when you were just four years old. I smiled back as I noticed a flute in your right hand. I exhaled in relief, feeling assured and relaxed. That you were coming to me. Where else would you go?

And then, suddenly, it’s all dark. Like a television has been switched off.

My eyes flick open, my heartbeat racing. I close my eyes again. I don’t want to wake up, not yet, but anxiety is not letting me sleep. I open my eyes, and they land at the wall sized, curtain-less window. My sleepiness vanishes, my anxiety diverts.

It’s not my home!

I can see the vast, greyish sky. Fluttering crowns of trees. A gentle breeze flows in as it belongs here. Maybe it does because I don't. What am I doing here? Then the realization nudges me. We arrived at this new house last night. I sigh as I look at the disorganized room. 

After a while, I am sitting on the windowsill, with a hot cup of tea, stewed with elaichi and some coffee.

This new house is on the 4th floor. The hazy morning fills me with freshness. I can’t remember the last time I was awake this early. I can see a roseate hue appearing in the sky. There’s a park in the society premises, abuzz with many people even though it has just dawned. I get a bizarre feeling. Like when you’re among so many people yet you’re alone.

There’s a group of old men, sitting on the ground, under a tree. Amaltas tree. Bunches of yellow amaltas flowers hang as if eavesdropping. Three tired women are sitting on a bench nearby, chatting. I don’t think they come for a walk. It’s just an escape from their hectic life. A chance to have some ‘me time’, away from family and mundane routine. 

A roar of laughter attracts my attention. A group of people are laughing, raising their hands up. Just like that. I take the last, cold sip, wondering how anyone can laugh without feeling it.

Who wouldn’t want such an airy house, such peaceful beauty outside their home? But, I don’t feel peace. I look around the room as though I’m trying to find something, but there’s nothing familiar I can spot. What am I looking for? Memories? Your memories that are still trapped in the old house?

Our old, rented house was a crammed tiny flat with no such views. You could just see each other’s balconies or walls and faint glimpse of a road passing by, busy, buzzing with blares. Sunlight and air struggled to find a way in. It was home that carried a lot of things – my joy, my pain. Your memories, your existence. Our togetherness. 

Your smile floods my heart and a fresh pang blooms. 

It was that house where I found you. It was that house where I lost you. The bed where you had lain, smiling. The floor where you lay lifelessly. 

The house where I saw you for the first time. Where I heard you for the last time. That cosseted your fragrance and memories carefully long after you were gone.

Suddenly, I feel a desperation to go to that old house. It’s the same feeling I experienced in the hospital where you breathed your last. How I started to feel a deep connection with that hospital room instantly when the doctor said, ‘Let him go.’ 

I felt I could stay in that crowded hospital forever if you stayed. 

But you didn't.

When you were gone, people consoled me, saying, ‘He was not yours.’ It was so ridiculous that I wanted to laugh. But I cried.

The heaviness leaves my heart and reaches to my throat and then to my eyes. It happens all the time.

There’s a kind of loneliness that I like to share with you, through your memories. It's like a tender thread connecting me with you. Nobody can snatch this thread from me, no matter where I may go. No matter how many new memories I make. 

I feel warmth on my feet, as golden sunshine enters the room. I look at the park. It’s almost empty now. Time to get busy. But, I’ll be back with a lingering melancholy to sit with you, yet again.