Sometimes, just sometimes, it hurts to not belong. Anywhere. To anyone.
Its one of those things that I successfully brush on the carpet mostly.
Sometimes, just sometimes, the most extra ordinary sense of pathos gets triggered by the most incongrous question.
The guy I’m in love with asked for the umpteenth time – will you move here?
aka “will you move to my place in R T Nagar once we’re married”.
Innocent question. Fair enough question. It’s usually the girl who moves to the guy’s place anyways. Plus his parents are there. Plus, its a larger place than mine .. plus a whole lot of things.
Then why does it trigger an almost flood of senseless tear while I’m sitting in office. I just hope no one walks past and sees my eyes.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’ve just moved in (actually, moved in 6 months ago) to my own place. “My own place”. A place I’ve wanted and dreamed of for so many goddam years. A place which I got not for investment reasons or because prices were rising, but because I wanted a “roof” over my head. A place which I could call my own. I could belong. I wasnt at the mercy of landlords, where I could do what I want… and more than anything else… so that I dont have to shift every year. So that I dont have to spend the better part of 6 months at every new place figuring out about maids, nearby shops, finding new roads, eateries, utilities, introducing myself to new neighbours, changing the address on more than a dozen documents, and updating the correspondence address in a million places.
I wanted a place of my own so that I dont have to keep changing postal address, transfering a phone connections, internet connections, gas connections, aqua gaurd.
All seemingly mundane every day tasks. But its got bugging now that I’ve been doing it every year for the last 5 years. By myself. Along with a full time job. If you dont know what I mean try getting any company to come and transfer a phone connection – when you are available only during “non-office” hours. Even if you take a day off from office just to wait for them, they’ll decide to turn up the next day……
I spend the first 6 months every year “settling in” to a new place, locality, city. About 2-3 months travelling. And the rest .. well flies..
This is my 6th house since I graduated in 2001.
It’s been almost 6 months since I moved in to my new house. And I love it. For the simple reason that it’s all mine. Its my sweat and blood. Its the place I created for myself, to allow myself to put down roots. To give myself some stability.
I still have some boxes unpacked. The place still looks like I moved in 2-3 weeks ago. My files are still dumped in packets under the TV cabinet. The computer table is still a make-shift setup with everything-that-didnt-find-a-place-anywhere-else dumped there. The utility is still full of stuff I havent figured out where to keep. The balcony still has spare tiles. Some electrical connections still dont function. The kitchen sink still leaks sporadically.
Just havent had the time to set it up.
What with work and travel and the never ending list of issues/fixes that still need to get done – I simply dont have the time or energy to set up house properly.
All he did was ask me about moving.
And I’m ready to burst into tears.
Do you know how difficult it is for me to get a simple address proof? And every damn thing today requires one. And every damn place has their own set of “accepted” proofs.
– I dont have a ration card or voters id
– My passport has a Bombay address from my hostel days when it was made.
– My 2 wheeler driving lisence has a random CMH road address from the days when I first moved to Bangalore with my first job and used the agent’s address coz he could smudge the proof for that.
– My 4 wheeler lisence has a Indira Nagar 80ft road address where I was staying at that time.
– My PAN card has a delhi/pune address where I was at that time.
– I dont have a BSNL connection.
– By now, I’ve directed most correspondence to my office address.
Last 6 months, I’ve had to convince so many vendors that a flat’s registration papers are “valid” address proof.
It is foolish. Really. An innocent question, a passing comment, triggering a unjustified flood of emotions. Par dil kya kare………..