Home

When I came to United States, you all know my room mate and I shopped our legs off at Walmart and I used to cry coming back from shopping everyday. Don’t ask!


The thing is, I built a home with her, piece by piece. Every little thing that was there in that apartment 917, was chosen by us. Not given to us. Not bought by my mommy dearest. Not handed down to us. Every little piece, be it¬†a kitchen towel or¬†a toilet bowl cleaner, was bought by us and we knew where it was kept. Isn’t that a big deal?

Over the years, it became aptly clear to me that the small things that seemed unnecessary and which I had vehemently opposed buying in the first place, were very important. So when it was time to move out of the place, my heart broke a little. We were discarding the things off like maniacs. We were handing over our priced possessions to nobodies and that made me crumble. Keep in mind that we were not shifting to another place, we were vacating it, never to stay with each other ever again.

Right there, Apartment 917, was my very first home. Not the house in Ajmer, where I had spent 12 years of my life. Not the hostel in Engineering college, where I had spent another 4 years and definitely not the paying guest situation in Gurgaon.

Home was Apartment 917, with a view of a lifetime. My two years of breakfasts were done with that view. The ocean was blue and the leaves were green in the summer. The green of the trees would slowly turn to blazing red, and yellow in the fall. The ocean would turn icy blue and the leaves would fall down like wandering souls until it was time for winter. We have watched snow storms from that window. We have watched sunshine from that window. We have watched rain from that giant ass window, and loved every moment of it.


Apartment 917 was where we both had our hearts broken. It was the same apartment where I wore my first dress. It was the same place where I was so drunk on my room mate’s birthday that I threw up all night, for the first time. Our humble abode guaranteed that I learnt to cook and¬†made out with my best friend(at the time).I learnt to make sheesha from scratch and tasted Old Monk the very first time in that apartment. Our apartment had NO furniture in the living room, I think that was the coolest. Well, now I think about it, there was this table that we hardly used which was obtained from the trash.



So yesterday when I was at Walmart again piecing together another humble abode, I had that longing ache in my heart because I was missing my room mate so much. More than that, I know what it feels like to rip apart a place that you had lovingly put together. Dreading that I might have to¬†move out again in a few months time, I feel the sadness looming over already. I feel my heart ache already. I had a roof over my head all this time, yet I¬†am hungry for the warmth of my home. The knowing¬†call of the home, the smell of your home, the walls calling you over, the¬†windows urging your soul,¬†every familiarity of it.¬†I¬†am starving, I had been starving all along without even realizing it. I am homeless. Oh, I am so¬†homeless…

 

Fin.

 

 

Ps: I obtained the idea to write from this awesome blog that I follow. https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/27030/posts/1259101456

 

Advertisements

The Life: In the United States of America…

12/12/2016  Time Unknown:Eastern Standard Time


I snoozed my alarm clock the umpteenth¬† time, because I was cozy and the warmth was too welcoming to leave.¬†The snow¬†has fallen and I give out a¬†groan. Let me tell you guys, snow looks way more cooler when falling down, but is way more bitchier once it has fallen down. For starters, my car’s windshield is buried under the snow, and I have taken a head bath. How are they two related? While I am brushing off the snow from my car, my wet hair freeze, yet again. They become hair popsicles, and I feel like I am Bob Marley with dreadlocks, only that my dreadlocks are made of ice.

12/11/2016 3:05PM Eastern Standard Time

I am in a queue of an Indian restaurant(Yep, I am a sucker of Indian food), where they serve lunch buffet. The butter Naan is not there, so I take the rice and wait for the naan to come. The Naan did come, but my fellow Indians took the naan, as if taking it for bhaiyaji, mausiji, mausaji, pappu ke papa and auntyji and for themselves. The scene was similar to your unimportant relative’s wedding where you have arrived to just hog on the food, but another unknown person to you has arrived for precisely the same reason and he has beaten you up in the competition.

I slightly elbowed in a ladylike manner to my fellow Indian and grabbed the last piece with a smug smile. After all, two can play the game.

12/7/2016  5:45PM Eastern Standard Time

I am frantically trying to make sense of my exam paper of Java. It is a known secret that I am pathetic at computer languages, any computer language. Since its a mandatory course,¬† I had to take it. So, while I am sitting there building on the pressure of reading the exam paper, the guy in front of me succumbed to the same pressure and farted. Noisily. I looked around to see whether anyone has noticed the fart of a life time, but everyone was bent down engrossed in their exam paper. I closed my eyes waiting for the smell to come and engulf me in my tortured state. I knew the rule of a well done fart: “Sound travels faster than the smell”. However, to my huge relief it never came. Ahhh, it never came!

By the way, not that it matters, but the person infront of me was not from India or anywhere from Asia…Take your pick…

09/01/2013 1:30 PM Eastern Standard Time


I have met my future room mate just 5 minutes ago, and¬† another batch mate of ours comes towards us. She frantically congratulated my room mate, for receiving her GA from the very first semester. Then came another kudos from another Indian batch mate. We passed the library and there were people staring. I then turned and asked my future room mate, trying to understand her accolade before congratulating, “What’s a GA?”

“Its a Graduate Assistantship, like an on-campus job”, she replied.

“Ok, so why is everybody congratulating you?”,¬†I asked again.

“You have to really struggle for a GA, you need to apply to a professor and¬†then he interviews you…” she said,” Also you get paid and¬†receive some scholarship”.

Ahaan…That pinched a little. I absolutely had no idea.

Of course when you get a job that pays you, you can apply for a Social Security Number. Of course you can apply for a credit card if you have a social security number. Of course, once you have a credit card  you need to build your credit history. Of course, the credit history does not get built by only one credit card, you need multiple cards to upkeep your FICO score. Of course,  your FICO score is scrutinized  by your future employer, by your future landlord, by your future car company, and so on. Of course nobody told me that, I had to figure it out.

Of course, when I eventually had a job that paid, the social security office of Quincy, Massachusetts respectfully asked me to step outside the building because my mother’s maiden name was same as my mother’s married name. Talk about being thorough?

09/05/2013 6 PM Eastern Standard Time


I hate shopping for the house. Plus my room mate has just spent good 30 minutes between two aisles, color coordinating her bathroom blue or teal or something along the lines of light blue. By the time¬†we reached the kitchenware, I was plodding like¬†the¬†Frankenstein’s beast and cursing Walmart for having a million square feet of floor space.

I¬†am actually irritated more, because after barely landing into the States, I have to spend 100’s of dollars (talk about conversion and then buying) on buying not Gucci or Prada but bathroom cleaners and kitchen towels and toilet papers and daal and spoons and Lyzol.

Shit.

02/01/2014 11 AM Eastern Standard Time


I tried the weighing machine. GOD DAMN IT! The numbers made no sense, or the numbers added to too much. Or, am I holding a baby inside of me? The baby should be an elephant’s baby to weigh that much in a mere womb.

Don’t worry mommy dearest, I was not pregnant. I was just ballooning.

 

05/05/2016 9 AM Eastern Standard Time


Angel is with me and I needed to cook, but the hot¬†plate is giving a temper and I had to do my dirty laundry. Rule of thumb 1: Try to do your laundry on a weekend because there will be no fresh work clothes left mid week. There will be no clean socks, no matter how many new pairs of socks you buy. Rule of Thumb 2: Try and complete your assignment on a weekend because if you leave it for a weekday and attempt to do it after work, you will curse the lord. You will do a shitty job, and you will get shitty marks. Rule of Thumb 3: Don’t bring your work home on a weekend.

Then Karma says, “Break the thumb or break the rule”.

And who doesn’t comply with Karma?

Fin

 

Afterthoughts:

Hey there!

Thank you for making it till here. I assume that you have read the first two in the 3 piece series. If you haven’t, you can browse to The Loss: In the United States of America and The Love: In the United States of America…Its not mandatory but it is highly recommended.

Chitwan Puri, my mentor and my soul mate, my wife to be in another lifetime, and my partner in treason in any country, told me that she is looking for something light in the next article. Even though I have absolutely no control over the thought process and the mood swings(not dependent on the ‘time of the month’), I gave it a try. Love, Yadav