To me, you will be unique in all the world.

In my last post, I tried to the best of my ability to pen down what the house I live in -  C 15   Enclave -  means to me. The picture you see was taken a minute ago and to me this is the most beautiful place on the planet. Pictures lie a little, we all know that. The paint is peeling off and there are cracks in the walls but these are all battle scars my house bears proudly as it has survived these battles with dignity and courage and never crumbled. Every year Mother Nature is as bountiful as ever and the plants and flowers hide the ungainly scars better than the best face job! Come to think of it, it is these very bits of crumbling plaster and peeling paint that make this brick and mortar structure into a living home replete with stories and memories.

I just realised one more reason why the story of St Exupery's Little Prince has resonated in my heart and soul at every step of my life. Just life the Little Prince, I too have longed for my planet and my rose. You see they tamed me and in the words the Fox tells the Little prince: if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world. My house is unique to me. And that is not all as the Fox reveals: You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose. I am responsible for my planet and cannot leave it uncared and unloved.

I want to quote what the Little Prince tells all the roses about his rose, the one he tamed and who tamed him: You're beautiful, but you're empty...One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.

That is what my house means to me, more so after the death of my parents. Yes I could die for it. I know there have been times when the innumerable problems of plumbing and leaking and creaking have made me go ballistic and I have heard myself say let us break it down and build flats, more so as it would also fill the far too rapidly  emptying pockets, but it was reason speaking. Somehow it is Ranjan who spoke from the heart and resisted such an aberration.

Breaking this house, even if it makes financial sense, would be as traumatic as the moment a child aged 4, 7, 12 etc was told to sort her toys and books as one was moving to the other end of the world. The agony of deciding which doll would have to be sacrificed was agonising. In my own way I had to mourn a lost child far too early in life. Dolls became books and clothes and the beat went on. True along the way, just like the Little Prince I too met my share of weirdos but also saw the world and met people who I may not be in touch with, but who have remained in my heart. Thank God for memories!

When I had to face the daunting task of making an empty shell home again after its true progenitors left, it was these very memories that helped me turn it into a safe haven again. Memories and the lessons learnt along the way, the biggest one being to see with your heart. So I set out the task scouring reminiscences of days gone by carefully and patiently so that nothing is forgotten forever. Some stories were happy, others poignant and yet others infuriating, but with the passing of time a certain mellowness enters your life and you learn to view things in a softer light. And then you also have the wisdom gathered along your life that colours the way you see things.

It is strange how objects I had barely looked at, and even some I had never liked, suddenly became real and talked to me. Each in its own place in my house and its own story to tell and each story is a stroll down memory lane. But it is not only the objects or the pieces of furniture that are precious. These could be packed away in boxes and carried to a new place. What about the walls and the doors and the floor the ones who have been a mute witness to the story of my life. Each one whispers words of comfort when I need it and gives the strength of their half a century tenacity. Some are walls that hear me cry or watched me bang my heads against them. They shared my happiness, my frustration, my pain and my hurts. Can I ever watch them be broken down. No, never. Just like me, this house has a story to tell: mine! I can never pack it in a box, however large, and walk away.