" Har ghar kuch kehta hai..."
says an Asian paints advertisement. Very true. Every house will tell you a story of thousand dreams, dreams woven by two bright luminant eyes who wish to find a settlement in this rat racing world. I am going to be a civil engineer in two years, a designer of dreams! It gives me a real good feeling. But every time I think of designing a house, some childhood dreams come back to life.
My dwelling. My home. My small and happy world! Walls of my colours, curtains of the type i love, doors and windows of the kind I want... where I would find peace, solace, tranquil, where there would be love, delight and radiance, where I could slow down and rest in the arms of those I love, where I can embrace, touch, communicate, where I feel blessed. Yes, My home, my abode of dreams. In the words of Lisa Emry–
“Home is the place your heart residesHome is the place that you decideHome is the womb that holds the soulHome is the place where one is whole…”
The next moment begin in my mind a series of questions, like a slide show on a projector-
Do I really want a dwelling, where my travel would cease and I would settle?
Does a permanent dwelling place actually exist?
It never did so far. But the element of ‘mine’ was present in each of the dwelling I took shelter in till date, then how do I say they were not my abode?
My house, where I took birth, I walked and played, I grew up from a sibling to a young lady, was it not my abode?
My school, where I learnt to share, to play, to love, to pray…. Everything, was it not my lodging? I still feel my presence in every wall of its’, in the corridors, the furniture, the playground, everywhere… I reside there, in the playground grass, in the garden mud, in the assembly air.
Did I not belong to the empty streets of my hometown, I loved to stroll on and spend time in reflection? Was not the riverside mine, where I had spent lovely moments with friends, tossing stones in the blue water? The Blue Bridge, The IIT Campus, The Stadium, the road connecting my school to the city, were they not mine?
And today, this university, I study in, The G. B. Pant University of Agriculture & Technology , giving shelter to numerous like me and where I am living these very beautiful years of my youth, how do I deny it is not my abode?
This hostel I reside in today and which has sheltered thousands of those inexplicable moments in the life of a girl of nineteen, which she wants to hide from the rest of the world; is it not my residence?
My room, where I rejoiced, I cried, wove lovely dreams of a splendid future, embellished its walls and ceiling, will I have no right to it after I pass out from The University?
The University auditorium, the college canteen, the parks and farms, the roads I walked on with loved ones, were they not mine?
Surely, they were. I reside in them and they in me. They were my abode, but my permanent abode? Does it exist? Do I want it? And more importantly, do I need it?
I met this person on my way, so much like me and yet so different. I discovered his dreams and fears, listened to his side of the story and I could write an epic on him. I meet thousands like him everyday, waiting for an ear to narrate their unheard tales, tales of heaven and hell, dreams and hopelessness, valor and fear. I can’t go home, the home I dreamt of; and rest in two comforting arms. I got to stop on my way and listen to these unheard legends. They are waiting to become a part of my verses and ballads, my literary world. I can hear them calling out to me as if hailing-
“Hundred more years, you should live!”
I have spent memorable moments with all these people. I can’t go home leaving them unheard. I can give them voice. I can give words to thousand unsaid emotions. This is what matters to me more than anything else. This unending journey is what matters and not that destination I dreamt of in my childhood where the travel would end and all motion cease.
And if my journey deprives me of my abode, I have no regrets