House That Has Learned To Dry.

 

The floor is bone-chilling, as if walking on ice, barefoot. Wasn't it warm the night before? Glass-finish tiles that usually reflect faces now lay mucky, bespattered with dirt that was alien, but now feels native.

The sofa is lying crooked as if doing some yoga pose, that has gone wrong. The centre table has lost it's centre of gravity. Tea was served on this table, now the table stands in the muddy water that looks like spilled tea. Shoe cupboard is hoarding shoes like a fisherman carries fish in a tub to sell. Doors of this cupboard show empty spaces but the top is burdened with the weight, the weight of shoes that usually carry the weight of feet.

Vases are down on the ground and the flowers have lost their colours. Even if artifical, the fragrance is now putrid. You cannot distinguish a rose from a lily. Show pieces, enthusiastically bought from far off places, are now unrecognisable. Where did they belong to before this debacle? What was their origin? Were they meant to get wrecked?

The living room that was frequented by family and friends, lies empty, muck covered. 

The chairs are disoriented and moved away from the table. As if asking for a divorce after years of adjusting. Table is  crammed with containers, tiffins, boxes and bags, instead of a sumptuous meal. The kitchen trolleys are wide open with zilch inventory, looking like a deserted space. Whatever the remainder is smothered with mud. 

Once aromatic, smelling of masalas, kadak chai or freshly brewed coffee, savory snacks, roasted papads or flavourful courses, now the kitchen stinks of drain water. Mud covered surfaces of usually spick and span ambience, leaving an unpleasant afterimage. 

Beds loaded with stuff that doesn't belong there. Pillows wrapped in polythene, boxes filled with gadgets, cables and wires hanging out. Bags stuffed with memories—albums, photo frames, journals. Vacated cupboard spaces not serving the purpose they were carved for, smelling void without the valuables they safe guard. Cosmetics, makeup boxes don't fill the bill anymore. They cannot correct the imperfections or blemishes that have scarred the hearts. Books are stacked not in the shelves but in safe spaces that water can't reach. Relief! Atleast knowledge could be rescued from the clutches of tragedy. 

Wait! Is that the favourite board game? The one that brought laughter when the whole family played together! That made the house come alive! It is lying lifeless now, with pieces drenched in turbidity. Laughter echoes have been dampened by the unruly water.

Bathroom that is used to maintain hygiene is now covered in filth. Ironically, it needs a wash now. Toilets are clogged and so are the hopes of betterment. How will the sorrows be flushed down that cause heartburn and soul-burn too?

Scanning the whole place, the place that doesn't look anything close to familiar now, exhausts the energy. Comfortingly livable space suddenly turned into an uninhabitable expanse.

But we have to continue to live......through all these natural/man-made disasters.....

If we lose our hope, that's our real disaster - Dalai Lama.

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