I love your house

There are positive sides to cancer coming into your life in whichever way it chooses. I would have never believed I would be writing these lines, and had someone suggested the idea, I would have socked her/his face! And yet here I am writing about the 'good' that cancer brings along. Apologies for using this picture again but this post would not make any sense if not illustrated. Here is how the story goes. A few blogs ago I used this picture to remember the good old days, the ones before Mr Hodgkin decided to move in with us. A dear friend, I consider her so though we have never net, write the following words: As much as I love this picture, it is the background that draws me - what a warm home you have; much lived in, slightly worn, each piece with a story to share. I love your house!  How true she was. I could never truly understand let alone express why I flew into a rage, or almost, when some suggested we redo the house, and make it 'modern' or whatever other word used. When anyone, even those close to me, suggested we break the house down and make flats and thus money, the only excuse I could come up with was that this was the legacy of my parents, and for me it kept them alive. True there have been moments when I too have been infuriated by the cost of maintaining this house, but those were short lived. 

My friend's words and the elephant in the room that cancer brings along, do make you conscious of the fact that we often that your time on this planet is not infinite and that death is lurking somewhere in the future. It is time to make your bucket list and tick the items as soon as you can. I can never thank my friend enough for making me see my house with my heart instead of looking at the cracks, the faded paint or the water leaks that come each monsoon. As I look at this picture I see baby photographs of my kids, a picture of my parents in their prime, books that are an intrinsic part of who I am, the Dali ashtray a maid broke but that we quickly glues together as best we  could. I can also see part of the blind that is quite tattered but still plays its role and yes one has a story, some maybe innocuous but others need to be told as in our world where the written world has almost disappeared, stories die with you unless you tell them.

Yes this house is much lived in. I built it with my parents. We faced unbelievable obstacles and even litigation. I remembering moving in with my mother when it is was still half built. And even when it was sort of finished we barely had money to furnish it. But it was home and we loved it. It was a place where my parents could finally settle of years of the nomadic life that comes with being a diplomat. It is the place where my parents could finally display all they had bought in the places we were posted and never mind if a Chinese Celadon plate was next to a Greek Amphora, it looked just right! It is the house where I got married and so did my daughter, the place a brought my grandson when he came to India for the first time. It is replete with memories that give it the warmth and comfort of a home. It is time I walked through it and let my memory run wild. I know it will be a treat where all the senses will come alive. 

True there will be sad memories and happy ones but is that not what life is all about.

Thank you Saras for opening my eyes and allowing me to fall in love with my home again, and thank you Mr Hodgkin for reminding me that time is short!