The midway home

I

The leaves echo the sound of the falling rain, turning a monotonous afternoon into a soothing lullaby. Evenings descend unnoticed, and slowly dissolve into the darkening woods. Birds returning to their nests try to raise the occasional cheer but can merely manage something close to a cacophony. Nights bring lonely notes from the perching owl or a sudden reminder from the scurrying rat, when all has gone to sleep.

II

Sitting on a comfortable sofa on her last night in the house, she lets life slip through the unravelled weave of time. This house-with-a-garden luxury in the southernmost fringe of the city came to her quite unexpectedly, six months back, as she was preparing herself for another trying journey back home from office. Destiny, disguised as pseudo-benevolence, flung a chance; her impulse made the plunge.

The neat little dwelling with its beige exterior and red borders appealed to her the very moment she set foot in it. But, surprisingly, on the very first night after moving in, as she was looking at the neat mothballed shelves filled with essentials to start her new life, she experienced a deep feeling of abandonment gnawing inside her. Did she do the right thing, choosing this life at a sparsely-populated neighbourhood in a remote corner of the city in place of her warm and familiar dwelling in the suburbs? Would the new neighbourhood be kind enough to help her settle down?

However, by the time she woke up next morning, the cloud of niggling doubt had dissipated. The sight of groggy children boarding their school bus and carefree adolescents chattering their way to the tuition class were enough to bring in the easy sense of familiarity and soothe her frayed nerves.

III

Since then, each day she has woken up to mint-fresh mornings, filled with snatches of conversation between morning walkers or the thudding sound of footsteps of the lone jogger ambling past. Newspapers reach pretty late in this part of the city but the morning tea has never failed to arrive with the day's news, brought in by vegetable sellers and fishmongers who knocked daily with their wares.

Being on the fringe of a rural hinterland, the place enjoys benefits of a village life. She muses with regret that moving out from the house will deprive her from enjoying the experience of buying farm-fresh vegetables and poultry at incredibly low prices. She will surely miss the hamper of supplies that her next door neighbour has occasionally brought in to sell to generate some extra income. Over the months she has learnt to cherish these visits with almost child-like glee as they have also filled her in with local news.

IV

Through days and months, she has filled her spare time seeking vicarious pleasure watching people live their lives. The family that has amused her the most lives right next door. The man manages a jatra group, a roving play troupe, which mostly performs high-strung social plays with hilarious titles. Leading a peripatetic life and handling emotions of colourful characters in uncertain situations have given him a pacifist’s temperament. His wife, a polar opposite of the man, is a motor-mouth in her own right. As she barely gets to see him, she spends most of her time complaining about her relations, and life in general, in a high-pitched drone, while tending the flower pots and provides thorough entertainment to those who care to lend an ear.

Their son, a twenty-something know-it-all, sees no reason in attending college when he has found perfect pleasure in playing the street Romeo, roaming around on his two-wheeler. Secretly, he harbours the hope of inheriting his father's troupe one day and making plenty of money, banking on the acumen of trusted members, rather than on his own hard work.

Days, when the three of them get together, the house springs into sudden festivity — the wife makes special dishes and bemoans the tribulations that life has thrust on her, while the husband dodges the jabs with good humour, suggesting her to marry off her son and put an end to all her troubles. The boy on his part throbs with excitement to know that very soon he'll be able to abandon the uninteresting life of adolescents and play an active part in the world of grown-ups, and that too with a woman to call his own.

Just opposite her house stands an imposing two-storeyed building that remains locked most of the time, its stuccoed walls and tall columns reminiscent of the life of its owner, once spent in foreign shores. The husband-wife duo, built the house as a weekend retreat amidst sylvan surroundings, far from the din of the city. However, as both remain busy with their respective lives in two different parts of the globe, the house rarely gets to see its much-loved visitors. The sole occupant now is the caretaker-cum-gardener who makes sure that the dwelling never loses its splendour. Secretly, he longs for Lady Luck to shower her blessings, so that he can inherit the house, once the innings of the childless couple is over.

V

The things strewn all around the room bring back the moment. Six months after moving in, destiny has chosen to wield its caprice, yet another time. She’d have to leave the house and the job as well that brought her here. Preoccupied with packing her life back again into boxes and bags, she asks herself, how she feels. The answer comes with such razor-sharp clarity that, for a moment, it surprises her. For the first time she realises that in her effort to be a great voyeur, she has actually missed out on the opportunity of striking up any meaningful relationship with the place. Surely, the life here might have allowed her to weave her own stories, but these are stories where she will never feature. Being pathologically shy, she has always eschewed real contact with people, the kind of association that leaves lasting memories and makes parting painful. But the gloomy moment does not last long. Soon the restive wanderer in her feels the mad rush of excitement, as once again the prospect of exploring new pads, new windows and new lives beckons her. Reason enough to feel cheerful and get going!