A Room of One's Own

 

After a long time, I felt at peace in a space. Of course, I love my own house. It is mine, so why not? Filled with the smell of my perfume and cooking, reverberating with the laughter of my children or their yelling. Mostly, my own yelling. My house is not a quiet zone. There are some houses, the occupants of which are calm and closed. I have seen such people and such houses, sometimes envied them, and at others pitied them. But houses are not meant to be quiet. 

However, I challenge anyone who writes to do it in my house. It is an impossible task. The noise and the energy of the house is so vibrant it doesn't suit the writing process. I often sneak away to write under trees and on benches and sometimes even my balcony, the only place I can find solace in the house. 

Afternoons are the only time the house is quiet and I have a schedule that allows me to utilise this time. But afternoons are sleepy and I'm the kind of person who has already peaked before midday or pick up late at night. I generally slump towards afternoons in my energy levels. 

But this place, this was where I found my own space again. We have purchased another house that will soon start renovation and hopefully be put up for rent by next year. 

But it has such a beautiful, peaceful energy that i decided to go there and write today. And my instincts were right about it. Words flowed out of me, with no one to talk or judge or disturb. It is time I wrote fearlessly and without shame. When an hour passed by in minutes and I realised it had been 60 minutes and 2000 words already, I smiled to myself. 

I have always been the kind of person who wanted to live alone. As a young girl, I begged to be sent off to boarding school. As a working woman, I set off to live alone time and again. When I bought my own house in Bombay, I finally felt that my wandering days were over. I had my own house. I often think of that house and my days there living alone and reminisce of both the peace and the despair I experienced. 

I love my home right now, it has given me my identity and my roots. But this new place, it seems like a secret hideout just for me. I know I don't have it for long, but I intend to enjoy the few days I can to find my solitary inspiration in it again. 

Someday, I hope to find that home I still dream of. The one near the river with its old architecture and open porch where I will grow old till my time comes to go. 

Till then, a room should suffice. 

'So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.'

- Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

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