My home, my castle!

Last Saturday, I celebrated my birthday with friends and family. I brought it in with my two best buddies, Roseanne and Elbert, and then spent the rest of the weekend with my Dad and my brother's family. Ate some awesome food, had some really random conversations with my little niece, and ate some more. It was a wonderful weekend. The kind that reminds you of how blessed you really are.

And I feel truly blessed when I step into my house. It's my space and feels like home. And it has evolved a bit since the last time I posted pictures. Here are some of the new pictures of my beautiful little castle.

My Own Wonderland!

Someone recently said to me that you live only once, but you sleep every night. How true! My bedroom is the most private, intimate space I can create for myself right now. So it was that I started with an unsightly hole in the wall, a discolored blue bed left by the owner, and bare walls.

The less you have to work with, the better you can see an idea in your head. Material clutter hampers creativity. So I got to work. I got the bed removed and got more space in return. I got two thick mattresses kept on the floor, and that’s my bed. The windows got draped in blue and two chairs from the loft found new life with a kiss of white paint.

The old set of closets, brown and dull, stood there silently as every other corner of the house found its share of vibrant colors. So I dressed it up a little. The closet, I mean. It looks so alive now, and happy.

I sleep every night in this little wonderland of mine. Soon new colors will find their way into this room. Like fishes in green grass. Like red cows in a violet field. Like yellow birds in a Indigo sky. And I slip into dreams as colorful as the things around me. Not bad!

My Home And I

The relationship between my house and me is thriving. It responds to my needs, it flourishes under my care, and it fills my life with warmth. I think I am going to make my house my Valentine this year. I will buy it some flowers and I will buy it a gift. We will have a quiet date, with a nice dinner for one, and some candles and good music. It sounds better than bouquets and gifts and fake notes which now hold no meaning. True feelings are held within. They are expressed without a sound. Love is a wordless emotion. I think I am falling in love. I feel as if I am in love when I can smell the fresh, hand-washed laundry. I feel on top of the world when I cut and chop vegetables, and watch my simple meals cook. I feel great walking from room to room, watching all the happy colors unfold in my life.

I went through a phase when every memory became regret. When I could not look back without breaking down. When I did not put up the mirrors on the walls, because I could not bear to look at myself. But my house has made all that go away.
I feel a little more like myself every day. I am growing back into my skin. And it feels good. I am sticking to my promise of no clutter. So far, I haven’t bought any furniture for the house, and it doesn’t seem to be complaining. I found two run-down chairs in the loft, and painted them white. I sent away the old bed that was lying in the bedroom, and got two mattresses, that now make my bed. The living room has two bookshelves and some floor seating. My kitchen has all the things I will use for cooking, and nothing else. And as I rid myself of the clutter around me, I feel my life lightening up. I feel as if for the first time in years, I have space to breathe. I am there for my friends I lot more than before. I can see things I did not before. I have become more tolerant, especially with myself.





So far so good. It’s not like there aren’t any bad days. But as long as I can balance them with good ones, I guess this plan is working. On a less solemn note, I felt that the wardrobe in my bedroom needed a make-over. What do you think of Phase I?

Food For Soul

The kitchen is almost set now. I need a shelf, and a table for the microwave, and I am done. I remember the time when kitchen was not just a place where one cooked. Mom would make me sit on the kitchen slab, and I would tell her about my day at the school. She made the food look fun, making a smiley face on the bread, and putting a carrot nose on a small plate full of rice. She always served the food hot, and wanted to know everything about my day. Every subject, from Hindi to History, was discussed. I’d complain about the teachers, and she’d laugh. Then she’d tell me something interesting from her day: Something that a seven year old would find interesting and happy.

Food was simple, and always tasted so good. It wasn’t cooked from ready-cut vegetables, or pre-mixed spices. She did not have the fancy equipment I have. She used pestle and mortar, and made butter at home. And we could eat all we wanted, but we never did put on any weight. She did not get any snacks in the house. We would munch on carrots, or she’d cook something fresh. I was too young to acknowledge, or even register the hard work that went into making it the happiest time of my life. She worked, but never ignored the house. And could always be counted upon to make the perfect “pressure cooker” cake.

Then, years later, I got married and my kitchen was different. It had an OTG, a microwave, a hand blender, a food processor, and my refrigerator was stocked with ready to serve, frozen meals. My dinner was cooked in preservatives, garnished with artificial flavoring, and was served hot off the microwave. I cooked, but did what we commonly refer to as “short-cut” cooking. It’s not that I did not know cooking, I just wasn’t interested. I did not realize that your kitchen, and the food you cook in it, ties your family together. We had house-help who cooked. And I wasn’t even there to see what she was doing. My family ate food made by a paid employee. It had all the right spices and all the wrong emotions. You become what you eat. Since there was no involvement with the process, we became distant, aloof.

In my new kitchen, I have a refrigerator, but it only has fresh vegetables and fruits. The freezer only has ice that I will use for fresh, home-made juices and cold soups. My microwave will mostly be used on the “bake” setting. And there will be no house-help doing the cooking. I will knead the dough, chop the vegetables, puree them in my compact grinder, and finally, I will use a pestle and mortar. The kitchen is full of colors, and soon, it will have friends coming over, sharing stories. We will cook, and tell each other about our day, and we will eat the food that I will make from my mother’s old recipes. Maybe, I will make a smiley on the bread, and garnish the rice with a carrot nose.

What makes a home?

What makes a home? Is it the customized furniture, expensive gadgets, or the large crystal vases? Is it the Lava Lamps, the one-of-a-kind chandeliers, or rare ferns? To me, the home is made of small things. Like Old Gods in new forms. Like the Lord Ganesha here… in his “most awesome ever” avatar… a Russian Doll! Bought off a street side hawker at Colaba Causeway. I like.