The much awaited house tour

I’ve been promising you this since I moved here a year and a half ago. Apologies for delivering so late, but I guess I was just never happy with the way the place turned out. The house was too big with empty corners, a too small living room, large rooms with awkward walls and too many windows. The paintings were never up where I wanted them, the balconies were nothing on my Delhi terrace garden and the stairs were killing my knees.

So we’re moving house. Yet again. Apparently we’re just nomadic by kismat.  The furniture has been turned round and around and shifted and given away and borrowed and lent and we’ve not had a moment of peace. When we moved out of our last house the old landlord left us with, “Sometimes houses don’t suit people – if that happens, I’d love to have you back here.” Err… thanks old man for blighting the place before we even set foot in it. The last year has been miserable for us in more ways than one. No decent househelp, crazy distances that forced me to quit my job, loneliness everytime I looked out of the high rise even though we were surrounded by friends, and a general sense of not being home yet.

Inspite of that we soldiered on and then one day I snapped and told the OA we had to move out of here. This was still not feeling like home. And I am a huge believer in places feeling like home. In creating a home. So we’re moving. I figured if I don’t give you the royal tour now, I’d never get around to it. So here goes. Enjoy.

There is a strong cross breeze at the front door and I've lost a lot of my decorative stuff. So I decided to use unbreakable things such as books. This is a pile of only red covered books set on a green runner with accents of yellow and green. Take that, strong wind.

The first living room arrangement a la Indian railways. I changed it pretty soon.

This was the second option. Lovely for lounging on the couch in the winter afternoon sun. But it blocked the window AC.

Christmas brought inspiration and we finally found the best arrangement while making space for the tree.

And with the arrangement came new cream sofa covers. Clearly people with two kids never learn.

So whaddya think? I also added a new rug that according to the OA only looks older than everything else. The man has no taste. No, I'm the one exception in his life, thank you very much!

Dining room in summer. The chik is made of pretty white chikan counterpanes that I gave up all hope of using after two kids. Sadly you can't tell in this picture.

The staircase leading up to the bedrooms and away from the public areas. The spot you're looking down at is the reading nook.

Corridor between dining and drawing. We were lucky to find a little daru nook again! I don't know why builders keep putting these in.

In the winter this corner of the dining room gets the most delicious sun and I drag the rocking chair here to work while I oversee the kids' homework/craft or meals.

The reading and music nook. This is before we put up the pictures so it looks half-dressed.

Better and aerial view of the nook. Taken while hanging off the stairs and risking my neck for you.

The colour coordinated book shelf that you may also smirk at . Can't help being anal!

One of the table settings during Christmas season. The Bean laid this.

Just for kicks, sharing the Diwali table setting. The tablemats have a fine gold design that you can't see in this light. I laid the table and did the rangolis etc. The OA cooked dinner. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful family tradition :p

A little row of lamps and cacti on the way up the stairs. They got the most sun and they loved it.

Some showed their appreciation by flowering promptly.

An old masala jar stuffed with greens and guarded by an old warrior on an elephant.

This is the same bookshelf as above, and holds some of the most precious books I own.

Guest room. The collage of pictures includes sketches by my cousin and some ancient postcards that my grandaunt used to send my grandmother from around the world, including my favourites - embroidered flamenco dancers.

The only untouched book shelf in this house - this one carries my cook books :p

A corner of the bathroom. I love the white pot.

And since we're talking bathrooms, I give you the frog guarding the powder room.

The balcony on the lower floor - the guest room looks out on to it.

And this is what it looks like if you're lying in bed and looking out of the guestroom windows.

This room went from being the kids' play room to the OA's temporary office for the six months he worked from home. It is now our laundry room cum second guest room so will not be shared in its present avatar!

Another view of the lower balcony, leading out of the dining room.

Because an AC backside always looks ugly!

After I got the lovely escritoire from the parents I gave the kids my plain old table. Yes, I'm mean that way.

But I was kind enough to set it up for them, right down to lining it with pretty paper. The OA spent half the night pointing and laughing at me. Feel free to do the same.

Because nothing fills up the senses more than a fragrant night and a cool night breeze wafting into your bedroom as you sleep with the doors left wide open. I guess there are some things I'll miss about living high up among the clouds.

The Brat reading on the bed, a box of dinosaurs kept for comfort at his legs. The Bean is as always busy with art and craft at her desk. They wanted these posters and I couldn't think of a way to do it without ruining the walls. So ribbons and clothespins it was.

A corner of our bedroom. Again, I've never really been happy with the way it turned out.

And I'm sure you remember this nook under the stairs for the kids. It's now their cycle stand!

In the worst of summer I removed the rug, left the floor cool, put up an inexpensive bit of chik and hung a couple of toys from the staircase to entertain them. Oh, and added some dancing bamboos.

The other end of their room. This was the day we spent making pirate masks and putting up a show for erm.. no one.

This is part of the balcony leading out of my bedroom.

This is the balcony leading out of my bedroom. Perfect for a morning cup of tea on a still day. On a breezy day its deadly.

Oh! And this was my last bit of genius Black and whites taken ONLY by friends. This way I have a wall full of art that has great value for me even if it's not a Hussain.

And this is my favourite - a Mughal miniature by none other than the talented Lavanya Karthik (http://lavanyakarthik.wordpress.com/), featuring the OA and I in a romantic setting, with the Gurgaon skyline behind us. And oh, the two babies hanging like monkeys from a tree. Now this one I'd not exchange for a Hussain.

Because nothing fills up the senses more than a fragrant night and a cool night breeze wafting into your bedroom. I guess there are some things I'll miss about living high up among the clouds.

I believe you met Ms Escritoire in an old post. She belonged to my grandmother who was a writer, poet and artist. Each time I sit down to write I worry that I'm not living up to her expectations, even as I appreciate the privilege of owning her desk now.

Because I owe you a Diwali post. This year we lit up that window and kept fire crackers etc to a minimum.

A kitchen shelf. I love the old hen and the fat ladybird with some green on her back.

And the birdbath in my living room balcony for those who missed it when I last posted about it.

For anything I might have left out, go to the decor tag. 

Around the world in 100 bookshelves

So have you all heard of the Around the World in 100 Bookshelves project? No? Go over to papertigers.org and read about it there. It’s been on for a while and as usual I promised myself I’d do it someday but procrastinated. I finally pulled up my socks and hesitantly mailed the pictures in a couple of days ago wondering if it was over, but I was in luck. They are still running the project. So here you go. The Brat and Bean’s bookshelf makes it to the papertiger bookshelf project!

And since we’re on the topic of bookshelves I thought I’d share some of mine too. We should have a bookshelf project for adults too!

 

This one is in my bedroom, under the TV with the DVD player etc on top of it.

 

The old CD rack comes back in a new avatar. Anyone remember that I used it in the bathroom in the old house?

This is the lounging corner in the living room. Music and books -what more could one want?

 

From left to right, Tambi and the OA as babies.

Just a close up so that you can see the books are all mixed up and not arranged by author, genre or alphabet. A fact I intend to remedy really soon.

The bedside table that doubles up as a bookshelf all the time.

The bookshelf that holds my *choke* cooking books. It is rarely touched but much loved.

From summer

 

… to winter…

 

look how my garden grows!

 

With love, from home

Last night a truck arrived from my home (Should I call it my parents’ home?), carrying a couple of bits of furniture I’d asked my mother for, the last time I visited her home. They have an old house full to the seams with old furniture, some are antiques (they have FOUR dining tables – can you believe that?!) and they have more than they know what to do with.

Anyhow, this time I was home Ma asked me if I wanted anything. I love the way my parents think. “This is your time to set up home and there’s no point my leaving you cupboards and teak consoles when I die, because by then you’d have set up home and will have no need for it. I would rather you take anything you want, right now while you are still young and have room for it” says Ma.

Now if I had my way I’d bring away the old four poster bed (it’s the kind you see in old Bengali films, with a little set of steps leading up to it) or my grandmother’s old carved cupboard with the Belgian mirror that reflects perfectly. But I don’t think they’d even come up the damn 14 floors and fit through the doorway into my apartment. So I picked wisely. Now that I am back to working almost full time from home, along with the OA, I picked the old escritoire and a simple book rack for the children’s room. And a painting by this gentleman, who stayed with a family friend in Allahabad and painted the ghat (riverside). At least I hope I found the right link.

A few nights ago Ma called and said they were loading up the truck and did I want anything else? I picked a simple triangular rack that goes perfectly in my dining room. I don’t know why I picked it, but that it is a piece of furniture that belongs not to my grandparents, but to my parents. They had it made 20 years ago in Munnar and everytime I look at it, it takes me back to the mist rolling into our home in the hills and Ma calling us for crepes at tea time. I know, I know I’m a whiny, soppy woman. Ignore me.

So anyway, the truck arrived last night and with it, came a little army. Men from my parents’ business, painter, polisher, helper. They were sent to buff up everything that might have got chipped on the way and anything else that I might want done. I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before and as I was soon to find out, there was a lot more than I had asked for.

The OA went down to collect the stuff and I generally hopped from foot to foot in excitement and finally unable to contain myself, woke the kids up to be part of the chaos (clearly I’m an idiot and a terrible mother!). The Bean slept on but the Brat who was dozing, jumped out of bed and joined in the fun gladly. I am so glad he got to be part of the general excitement of  -This way! you lift that corner! watch that wall! and so on. The furniture was unwrapped and I realised how much more they’d packed in. A day bed for the office that the OA and I will be sharing, the lovely old escritoire, the corner stand, the book rack… and paintings. And massive framed pieces of cross stitch, done by my mother’s hand. I cherish them so much more, now that she has a spondylitis problem and will probably never again undertake such massive pieces. She’s done a beautiful piece on The Last Supper and it graces their dining room at home.

Anyhow, what took my breath away, were the potted plants. She sent me at least 20 healthy well grown plants. They’d cost me a fortune if I attempted buying them in Delhi. And probably emptied a corner of her terrace. Isn’t that typical of a parent? To deny themselves, just to give you? As someone remarked when they walked out of the lift, straight into my plants – My God, it looks like a forest. One of my favourites is ten feet tall and I’ve got it at my door.  There’s a little story behind it.

I was home a couple of weeks ago (can I tell you a secret? I’ve been home thrice in one month!) and I was re-doing the house for them. I dragged this lovely plant down from their balcony and put it at their door like a sentinel. And as I was shifting things around I mentioned in an offhand remark that I wish I lived close enough to just carry it back home. And as the truck pulled away from the house, my father got them to stop and loaded up the plant. It’s heavy and it’s old and it might have got damaged but it’s reached me in perfect condition. Protected by their love, no doubt. I don’t believe my scatter brained father who doesn’t know how old I am, would remember an offhand remark of that sort.

Years ago, a friend in hostel would get parcels from home every couple of weeks. Those were early days when my very young parents were struggling to set up their business and they just about remembered to put my fees in the mail each month. I’d watch her parcel with a hint of envy – food, clothes, a little handbag, a box of bronzing pearls, nail polish remover, coffee… And I’d say – coffee? why would your mom send you a packet of coffee? And she’d smile and say, “Ma misses being a part of my life and it makes her happy to think that each morning when I sip my coffee, she’s had something to do with it. “

Well, over the last few years, that has been the deal with my parents. And so as the truck was unloaded I found myself in possession of three beautiful old hand embroidered sarees, a suit and a blazer for the OA, planters for my pots, a little leather three legged stool from Sri Lanka for the kids’ room and so much more. I sat there digging into the crates with all the joy of a five year old, my eyes filling up with tears as I thought of my parents painstakingly making up this goody bag for me. The OA abused and cursed as he and the men carried up the furniture and he begged the building to make an exception and let us get the truck in against the building rules. It was an open truck and it looked like rain. In the midst of this though, apparently, he sent my mother an SMS, telling her that he loves her and dad. I was shocked to hear of it today. It’s so un-OA-like.

Anyway, the mad sibling, aka Tambi, is sitting in the US and cursing and frothing at the mouth – “What? Now you send people to polish her house every time she has guests coming?”  Who asked him to go live at the world’s end, I ask him rudely. If he lived closer, he’d have all of us to help with home and baby (ah ha, see, this is psychological warfare so that he moves back home). My dad, always happy to cause trouble, added – “You better come home if you want anything. She’s already walking off with the family silver.” Gah. I haven’t touched a piece of the old crockery and I can tell you they have some lovely stuff. It’s just pointless with the kids and the fact that the maids washing it are sure to smash something.

So the house is a mess today. But my plants are up, the memory-making-dining table is being stripped and re-polished and I’m running around like a headless chicken. My arms are scraped and bleeding from all the bougainvillea I shifted around. The maid who cooked and cleaned left because she said she had TB so I’ve got a house full of people to feed, paint and chemicals all over, two children running wild and stories to hand in (and oh, the water purifier has packed up so we have no water!). Thankfully it was the weekend and Cousin J was with me, helping with the babies and dragging them out from under chairs and tables and feeding them. The OA looked around in disbelief at how comfortable we both were with sitting in the mess, feeling very at home with the hammering and yammering. I grin and tell her – “A woman makes a home darling, and she is one who carries on tradition. It’s not the man’s family’s traditions that get carried on. So remember – wherever you go, may the chaos go with you.” We giggle and she solemnly answers – “I will, Tita. I do try to cause as much confusion as I can, wherever I go.” The OA rolls his eyes in disgust and gets back to lifting something heavy.

But this is what I remember of my home. Through my growing years my parents slogged to do up the house and give us a home and never stopped trying to make it better. Furniture shone, the floor was waxed, curtains were fresh, plants were tended to, and the sibling and I were given little pieces of sandpaper and told to sit down quietly next to the carpenter and not trouble. It was during those days that Tambi made me a set of furniture for my dolls. Real little wooden chairs and tables. Today as parents the OA and I spend time and energy reading to the kids, taking them to cultural events and doing all sorts – at times falling prey to that new age notion of ‘quality time’. And yet, some of my best memories come from just being present while my parents lived life. Being a part of their struggle, having no routine or schedule and learning to wing it. Some of my favourite life lessons were just from being a part of their life and not getting in the way and forcing them to stop and do something merely age appropriate. On the other hand, those were different days and times and they didn’t have the luxury of doing that.  Thankfully, today as the house was shined up, the children too, behaved brilliantly. They didn’t touch the chemicals, no little paws on the newly varnished furniture, they patiently waited until I gave them their very delayed lunch, lay down quietly and napped through the noise and didn’t complain when we were unable to take them down to play on the swings. I am sorry I ever doubted them.

Tucked into a corner of the bag I am digging around in, are the keys to the escritoire and as I hand them to the OA and say – ‘Happy new desk, baby,’ I’m full of a sense of contentment. This desk has been with our family for years and now the OA’s shiny little laptop sits atop it. The new and the old bound together. From an old family to a new one setting up home. Some bits new and earned through our hard work. Others, handed down as heirlooms, with love. I felt strangely grown up.

For no reason, the Brat wandered up to me just then and said – “Ma, there is magic in our house.”

I don’t know why he said it, but the OA looked at him and then at me, and we both grinned. Yes, there is.

PS: Don’t you guys get started on pictures. I’ll show you some when I’m good and ready. Patience is a virtue.

Happy Diwali 2010

Edited to add: This piece I came across on Sivakasi.

The toughest part of parenting has been for me, the tightrope I walk between my principles and what is best for my child. I’ve often had to back down on something I believe deeply in because it doesn’t suit my child. Firecrackers is one such issue.

I’ve loved Diwali all my life for the colour and the light. But over the last few years I’ve grown more sensitive. To child labour. To the environment. But I’ve ignored the little voice at the back of my head because of the kids.  Until recently when I realised that their schools have begun to campaign against firecrackers. It disturbs the peace, the stray dogs are terrified, the streets are littered, a haze of smog hangs over the city and everyone is wheezing. But it’s still so beautiful! One part of me says “Aw… let them enjoy their childhood.” Another part screams.. “what about the little kids in Sivakasi losing their childhood slaving over these?”

This year, yet again the Bean started wheezing as soon as the crackers began. I sat there holding her inhaler and mask over her mouth while the crackers went off outside. Later at night after most of it had died down we went into the lawn to watch the last few revellers light up some anaars. As we sat there cheering and screaming, a little boy got burnt. Not too badly, but enough to singe the back of his legs.  A harsh reminder of what can happen if you’re not careful.

We got up and walked back home, the Bean clinging to me like a baby monkey, wrapped within the shawl I was wearing. “Mama, it’s like being inside your stomach. I’m all warm and inside you. We are one yooman (human) being.” Yes, I smile. It is. And in those days it was simpler to take decisions on what you thought was best for a child. Today each decision I take turns around and looks me earnestly in the eye and asks – “You might think this is right. But is this what they’d want to do? Will they thank you for this choice you’re making? What about ten years from now?”

A lot of what we do is simply for the familiarity of it (a similar debate is on at Kiran’s place). I often come across people who say “Oh well I don’t believe in that but I do it just to keep my parents/ inlaws happy/ it reminds me of my childhood/ it is a deeply ingrained habit/ it’s just a sweet tradition I want to carry on. Rarely do we stop to think of the origins of a rule/ dictat. Most often we get caught up in the beauty of the picture and forget about the subtle message it might pass on to our children. Often we do it just not to upset the apple cart and slowly the habit becomes one we’re too cowardly to break. Too scared to get out of the rut. Sometimes we convince ourselves that we believe in it when actually we just do it because we’re too lazy to change things. Many a time we’re unwilling to pick up a new and beautiful custom because it’s not something we believe in or have grown up with.

Over the years I’ve given each tradition or habit some thought to see if it makes sense. One of the first few was to overcome my qualms about eating prasad. I now eat it everywhere and try not to let baggage interfere. The second one was having my father walk me down the aisle. I wanted both my parents to give me away because  I did feel I was leaving one family to set up my own unit with the OA. I got the lines changed too. But as we started our wedding march, mum and dad on either side, mum broke down crying and couldn’t move. Someone pulled her away. I walked on in a daze, absolutely livid. They say old habits die hard. But over the years I’ve seen my parents break a religious tenet and accept prasad simply because they don’t want to hurt peoples’ feelings. I respect them so much more for it because almost all older people I know, take pride in the purity of tradition and ancient customs, rarely stopping to think of whether it is still relevant or sensible. It’s just given me yet another reason to respect my parents. And also one more reason to not respect old people who think they deserve respect because of their age/caste/community and the way they hold on to old, regressive customs.

What have you changed/stopped doing, inspite of growing up with it as a tradition/custom/habit – simply because you don’t believe in it/ it goes against your principles/ you don’t want to pass it on to your children. So this Diwali I wish you light, love, happiness, health, choices, free will, safety and prosperity.

And oh, here’s a tradition I will try not to break – Diwali decor pictures.

The Brat and Bean sit guard over a white urli with white floating flowers and a white candle.

The OA experimented with putting a few red petals in but we both agreed that it looked best left pure white so that is his hand you see, pulling the last red bit out.

A gift from Boo that fits right in…

That’s the OA. Anyone who says the Brat looks like him and not me, gets their IP blocked. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The house is made differently so this year I have less outside and more inside. My bookshelves are full of lights. Yes, we’re an absolute fire hazard. I am on standby with an extinguisher hanging around my neck.  I love that pretty marble cutwork lamp. A gift from my parents.

The entry way. I plan to paint that mirror frame but we’ll talk about that some other day.

A serene Buddha keeps peace in our home. Isn’t it beautiful that you can find Buddhas in every home no matter what the community? Says something about the religion and the people.

More little candles and holders in bookshelves. Along with first edition books that are over a 100 years old. Foolish is what I am.

Cousin J framed in the doorway, puts in the finishing touches. She’s the little artist who will be making the rangoli for us. Yes, I’ll give you more pictures tomorrow when we really set about doing up the house.

The balcony barely supports tea lights but the view of the other lit up homes across Gurgaon more than makes up for it.

The garden will never be forgotten of course, so there are little lights nestled among the plants. Can you spy the little pink lily still going strong? I’m so proud of it.