Saturday, August 05, 2006

Of no fixed address

I am in transit. It's my last couple of months in this place, that has been my home for the last two years, before I move on to a new address. I have never been particularly fond of the city, but thankfully, I can't say the same of my shelter. There's something about it that makes me feel all happy and peaceful inside. Even when I am not really feeling either of the two emotions. But at the end of the day when I come back to my attic room, with its modest furnishings, forever ailing wirings, and mad jumble of books that stare at you from every available corner, it's as if I have returned to my own space. Which is what a home is supposed to be all about. I know. But then, a place of shelter is not always home. And often, a home is not all that you want it to be.

I have had a sedentary life for the greater part of my twenty-six years. It did include shifting house once, but after the initial fuss (and a terribly protracted one at that) I grew to love it so much, that, about a decade later, when it was time to say goodbye, I realised that I had accumulated too much baggage. It was difficult to move on, without leaving behind something or the other. Half a memory here, a bunch of sunny smiles there, bits and pieces that I just couldn't sweep up in my palms and get back with me for lack of space.

So when I moved to this new city, I decided to carry everything with me. The collection of an entire life. Not that it's been a very long life, but enough years to pile up the luggage. Lots of memory, lots of light, lots of truths boxed up neatly amongst moth-eaten wisdom, boxes of shadow, boxes of hope. But I never get down to unpacking completely. I have been looking out for a shelter which would be big enough to fit all my knick-knacks since. I almost found one a couple of years back in J school, in a charming cubby-hole called Room Number 25, but it was a temporary arrangement and the next tenant arrived as soon as I began unpacking.

Ever since I have been cautious about the baggage I accumulate. It takes a lot to keep the ones already there in ship-shape condition, and I can do without the added burden.

But I am afraid that when I leave this place, I might just find my hands a little heavier with the weight of associations that I have gathered here. It won't hurt for long, time will take care of that. But I'll probably miss the box that carries reminiscences of acquaintances made over board games, chocolate truffle pastries, girls' night out and easy concern, with terrible longing every now and then.

This is what I hate so much about packing. I never know what to take with me and what to leave behind.


Blogger nobody you know said...

very very.....pretty!!!extremely touching...coz somewhere i also know how it feels...........

6:43 PM GMT+5:30  
Blogger spiderman! said...

perfect use of the word...."baggage" it is...

2:51 PM GMT+5:30  

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