The first time I visited the house, I thought I had the wrong keys. I called the security and he showed me how to open the door, which was basically to twist the key the other way round, as if you are locking the door. The fans and lights worked if you switched it OFF. Water taps needed to be twisted the other way round. From the hot water tap, of course, gushed out icy cold water.
The second time I went there, there were two warm and welcoming humans, an oddball fur-ball and a gazillion plants.
Few things happened after I moved into the house. (1) I began waking up early. It is difficult not to, when there is a cat breathing on your face at 6 in the AM, demanding to be fed. (2) I started bullet journaling. One of the girls I live with, presented me with a dot-grid journal and it has become an essential part of my quotidian. I have carved out my own system of using it and it drives my daily activities. (3) I started going on these long walks again. The best lanes of Indira Nagar are chosen to walk in, the taller and denser the trees in a lane, better its chances to be on my walking route. The weather is always early morning cold. One where you long for mugs of hot beverages just like you do for warm hugs..
One of the first bonding experience I had with the strangers in the house was when I offered to cook my all-time favorite Palak Paneer recipe (that I had nailed). And within minutes, thanks to a faulty mixie jar, was standing in a kitchen that was a sea of green. And for days, we would find spinach stains at spots we missed and exclaim how on earth it managed to get there!
I especially love mornings at the house. The others wake with the sun too. They are either seen drawing, caught up in a creative flow or lost in obscure Japanese novels in their favorite papasan chair. The evenings are better than the mornings. The house gets filled with lively music, soft lights and a hint of fragrance from a random scented candle with a whimsical name like ‘Fresh fall morning’ or ‘Valley of flowers’. The house, along with the others in it, embodied everything the Danes referred to as hygge. It felt strangely nice and cozy to live in the house and especially to live with these wonderful strangers.
Everything mattered, the array of tiny potted succulents, the many cute clay objects stuck to the fridge, the ginger kitten that was obsessed with the pigeons, and so did the the shower with the perfect water pressure. Between the girl who obsessively cleaned everything and introduced me to Adrian Tomine’s graphic novels and the girl who needed to document everything in pictures and clicked my very first polaroid, between watching cheesy movies eating greasy noodles from Taste of Tibet and preparing the most detailed shopping list of ingredients for Sadya and throwing a festive banquet for Onam for a bunch of people, I found home and belonging. I caught myself feeling happy again in The House of Opposites.
