Happinest!

The room looked just as I love it. Dark, clean and with things exactly the way I left them in the morning. I could see my favourite chair in its place and my charger lying on the bed. I noticed the empty glass of water resting on the table. The image from the portrait smiled at me. The bed was neat and the blankets folded, just as I liked. The room emanated fragrance in a way I can’t describe. It was the smell of home; the smell that tells me I am at a place where my heart belongs. The sea-green walls gave me comfort. The curtains flew as if to show they were happy to have me back. The clock that stopped working two days ago caught my attention and the calendar had to be changed. The cupboards stared at me. The marbled floor shone. Sun light protruded through the slight opening in the window. I noticed the scattered particles of dust that sat on the top most almarah and sighed like I do every day. The fact that I don’t find time to dust it off surprised me, like every day.

I call this room my cave, a place where I can sit for hours doing absolutely nothing and still feel contented. The room that saw me grow and the walls that know all my secrets. The books that I love adorn the biggest shelf and my portraits the other. What will I not give to stay here forever? Through the years, I could never fathom my obsession with the four walls. Why is it that I lose all boundaries and go into thinking sprees that I usually cannot enter elsewhere? What is it that happens to me when I enter this particular room? Is it just a feeling of comfort or is it all in my head? Do the colours make my mind think or do the experiences within these four walls ring a bell?

Is it me or is it you too? Do you have places that haunt you, places that make you think?  Amidst the baffling activities each day and all the untold stories, I find keen audience in the inanimate room that I obsess about. I guess, the silence here allows me to think in a way I want to and helps me shatter the boundaries I have set for myself. Like no other part of the house, my room makes me feel at home. Situated right in the middle of the house, it makes me feel authoritative allowing me to supervise. The fact that nobody can walk in without being seen by me, the fact that no snacks can be secretly sneaked in and the fact that the kitchen is hardly ten steps away might be a very good reason I am obsessed.

It’s been 11 years we had moved into the house and since then I have been trying to come up with a logical explanation as to why this room is dear to me. I am pretty sure it’s not because I sleep there or because my things are in there, because if that's case, my things are found in every room of the house. There is a reason I can’t come up with or maybe there isn’t a reason at all. If I know that someone else feels the same too, I’ll know it has to do with the connection one shares.

My room gives me ideas to write but also leaves me tongue tied with the inability to write. Just as I was wondering about how long to put up with this bout, I pulled out my book of ideas from beneath the bed. With a million thoughts wandering in my head, with uncountable sentences I wrote and stopped mid-way and re-calling all the suggestions I heard, I stared at the half written words and sentences in my book. Today, I decided to tie them all in a loop and write whatever comes to my head. And, I am glad I did it. After nearly a three month hiatus, it gives me joy to fill a page and flip it to the next. I don’t know where all these words disappeared for so long, maybe all the therapy I needed was to talk to someone about it and get down to work.

I sat down beside the rectangular window, pushing aside the curtains and allowing the sunlight stream in abundance. My eyes scanned across the bright room, giving me just the exact push I needed.

What a room did, nothing else could!