My room

I have never had a room for myself in my house. As far as I can remember, I have always slept in the living room on the spare diwan. I am not complaining, though. I always have the liberty to watch TV late at night. Albeit my luxury would be complemented with the same TV blaring pravachans early next morning. Being a partitioned house, it was more like a few compartments of a train with a pantry car in between. Linear. You couldn't get to the bedroom without going through the living, dining room and crossing the bathroom and kitchen on the side. So everytime someone passed by the highway, I got to hear either " abhi tak soya nahi" , or " abhi tak so raha hai".  At times it was irritating, but deep inside, I knew people cared about me.

Fast forward 10 years. I have a room of my own now. A penthouse unit with a terrace. Textured walls, attached bath and a walk in wardrobe. My dad ensured that the vent for AC ducts were made at the right place. It gets too hot in summers, you know. My mom made additional efforts to supervise the painters and plumbers. Moms are perfectionists, aren't they ? She also planted a few seasonal flowers in those earthen pots, colored in saffron. Even though I hadn't moved in yet, she ensured the maid swept and mopped the marbled floor every alternate day. In the evenings, she switches on the lights as is the tradition in our culture. Goddess Lakshmi doesn't enter a dark house.

Then one fine morning, the earthquake struck.