MY ROOM

       I’ve never had a room all to myself, I’ve always shared it with someone or the other, until the 5th grade, with my brother and occasionally my grandmother. It wasn’t a very nice experience, because at that point, my brother was the bully who would always make fun of me and say nasty things.

       But in 2006 we shifted and I shared a room with my grandmother, it was a lot more peaceful,  the room was in a way moulded for us, twin beds on either side of the room. Arranged in a manner that that sunlight would shine through my window early in the morning to make sure I can’t sleep in and her window let in soft light, reflected by other buildings. As both of us grew, so did the room, the curtains changed to a pleasing lavender and the stars on the ceiling fell off.

      At the age of 78, my grandmother is quite the picture of serenity, she’s wise and graceful, mellow and religious, quite the opposite of me, a hyper, clumsy, agnostic teenager. But we still have an understanding, we balance each other out and the room follows, her picture of Krishna is balanced by my picture of Goa, her religious books by my fiction. And despite having generations between us we still manage to go beyond the mere bonds of a family and be each other’s companion. My nights of insomnia are never lonely because of her comforting presence and her hourly bathroom breaks. This room has 96 years of life in it and it witnesses the harmony shared by us.