Tuesday, June 14, 2016

That house

Bangalore Diary - Part 2
June 15, 2016



That house added a new chapter in my life. But it was not my house. That’s why I used the word ‘That’.

There was a tree in front of it. Someone would always hang a small garbage bag on it and there was another one with a few dry leaves here and there, on the opposite side of the road.
 It reminded me of Samuel Beckett’s ‘Waiting for Godot’ where Vladimir and Estragon waited endlessly for someone named Godot. Their unending wait was portrayed by a tree with full of leaves slowly transforming into one with a few.

I wanted to touch those trees [the trees in front of that house :) ] but forgot to do so. There was a flat nearby and on it’s walls grew the creepers, which set a perfect background for a romantic tryst.
The street used to be deserted. Pigs, cows and bulls roamed freely. Occasionally, you could see some people taking a minute to bow and touch those cows and bulls in reverence. The bulls’ horns were too sharp that I would wonder what they would do if the animals went berserk.

From the street where ‘that’ house stood, take a few turns left and right, and then you would arrive at a main road with an array of activities - street vendors, shops, people, Paani Puri waalahs’, a temple, a women selling flowers in front of it etc etc.

 But ‘the house’ was not mine.

Interestingly, everything surrounding it had left an indelible impression on me. Perhaps, that house would be the first one in my life which absorbed only my pleasant precious moments. It might have wanted to take in some of my agonies but I had none to offer at that point of time.

I would not disclose what those moments were or whose house was that but to share a realization that you did not have to make something your own to love it and cherish it.

Pic Courtesy : http://kronikak.hu/?m=201303 / Google