I left my Bandra home yesterday. My building is going for redevelopment, so the house will be broken. I'll come back to a bigger house on a higher floor. This house, the one I left, will be gone, though. And with it, all the information that made me 'owner' of the place.
Like knowing that the better views are from the side windows, instead of the main ones.
That eating porridge on the floor of my rather large kitchen, listening to the bird songs, is the best way to begin a new year.
That, when it rains, while the rest of the city gets wet and flooded, the little square world framed by my window pane gets magical.
That sitting slightly crooked on my cane furniture is the best angle to paint your toe-nails.
That lying down between the joints of my sofa-cum-bed is uncomfortable; but it's worth every ache to see the moonlight trapped in the hair of the person next to you.
That the third fold of the left curtain has a tiny smidgeon of tamarind paste.
That, although, it is only a 1 B-H-K, it can resemble any place on earth in the magic hours of dawn.
That butterflies, in my home, always flit in through the windows and fly out through the door.
That, if you keep silent...really silent...in the heart of the afternoon, you will hear music.
That if you sing when it's drizzling, your notes will wash the marble floor and rainbows will gleam on them when the sun comes out later.
That days and nights will alternate in beauty, intensity, ache, and passion - much like friends and lovers do.
That the hardest part of me will get undone when I realize this - I'm the only person who knows where the garbage bags are stacked.
It's strange...the things that make me special here.