A Room of Mine Own

I pushed the door open, threw myself straight on the big bed, and cried my heart out. There was no need to bang it close or to lock it as no single soul existed to hear my cries. I vented out my anger, frustration and emotions as I looked up to frame hung on wall near my bed. It was a picture of my mom and dad. I looked at my mom with tearful eyes and sorrowful heart and wished that she were with me.

After what I call ‘cleansing of my soul’, I got back to normal and started to scroll through net. Seeing battery low, I reached out to plug-in for my laptop, which always remains where it is. The room, as I gazed and looked around was beautiful. It had nothing special artifacts or painting or any decorative items to call it ‘costly’, but it had millions of memories, which, I had spent, with my mom, dad and brother.

There were memories of my childhood and teenage and all talks that I did with my mom when she was alive. The pranks that I played on my brother and vice versa - that were still fresh. We did not limit our mischief to that room only, but anything we had a fight, both of us would head here for settlement. We turn our parents into teachers, counselors, friends, companion and much more in this very room.

Today, the room still holds its value. Because every time my dad is back from work or I return after college, we know that if we do not find each other anywhere then it would be here only. It goes for my brother too. Whenever he returns from his workplace (Karnataka) to his home, we always fight as who will get to stay there with dad the most. Usually, I win but sometimes I give up for him.

Each corner of the room is special. There are two entrances to that room. One that I use to come or walk away in anger. Second entrance opening to my veranda is the one, which, most of time remains closed.

The room has two cupboards, having their own story behind it. They were old, plain and simple since my dad’s childhood. One of them was in my room, nearby. As soon as my clothes, jewelers and cosmetics started to flow out, I demanded new cupboard that was immediately fulfilled. And, that is how this room, which is my parents bedroom got two cupboards.

Yes, I cannot call this room mine own because it is not mine; yet I spend most of the time there in deep thoughts. I write, create, gossip, dance, sing, lie down and do every humanly thing possible in this room. I owe most of my creations, poems and prose, to this room. It is not just any room but a place where my imaginations take it wings and fly off to unknown and unheard cities and world.

None of my belongings can be seen except books, as I take on reading after my dad, that are nicely lined up in one of the cupboards. Still, the feeling that I get when I am here is a feeling that I do not get anywhere. The huge bed, where I spread myself and with frame of my parents above, I feel blessed.

Next to their frame, is Lord Krishna’s frame in which, I devoutly put my faith. Whenever I suffering from any disease, illness, depression or writer’s block - I know that this room has miracle air that eases me off all things.

With memories of past still afresh, present and with blessings of mom and god, I feel different in this room. I experience peace, calmness and contentment when I am here. As I know, the way I belong to this place and the way it belongs to me are priceless.