Whispering Houses
Who said only haunted houses whistle, sigh, shudder, and scream? All houses talk, twitter, chat, converse, whisper and sometimes mutter to themselves. Born upon this earth, subject to age, deterioration, decay, and death; each house has a body and a soul, and has got feelings.
Houses keep chatting all the time to socialise with neighbours or to keep boredom at bay, though at a decibel level below human threshold.
House-to-House Talk
House No. A3: Hi, A6, how are you? Feeling better now? Do the new residents treat you well? Are you happy?
A6: I’m good. How about you? Yes, the new tenants are caring, almost like foster-parents. Locked up for so many years, I was suffocating. The spiders- big, black, hairy ones- had taken over the interiors; the jungle mouse, toads from the swamp, and snakes lived in the garden reclaimed by nature with tall grass and wild plants.
A3: Why was that? Had your parents abandoned you?
A6: (Sighs) Well, the stars could have been misaligned at my birth.
A3: Why do you say that?
A6: Orphaned since birth. My parents never spent even a day with me. You know how that feels, don’t you?
A3: Of course, I do. Suffered the same dejection and desolation for twelve years since birth. Vacant for years, ill-treated by occupants, some of whom were notional tenants since they paid a token rent, and the others freeloaders. Tell me whoever pours acid on the white marble floor in the bathroom or permits a pet Alsatian to chew the teak door?
But my misery ended when my parents moved in. They’re very fond of me. In fact, I’m their only child who lives with them.
A6: You’re lucky.
A3: How about your parents? Do they plan to live with you?
A6: How should I know? When they conceived me, they were oh-so-thrilled; spent much time planning our happy years in the future: morning tea on the north-western balcony overlooking the little lake fringed with verdant green filled with birdsong; reading a novel in the afternoon while gently rocking on the swing in the flower-scented garden; enjoying the delicious mangoes and chikoos (no, none of my parents have diabetes) in season, and garden-fresh vegetables in all seasons. Jhilmil sitaron ka angan hoga, rimjhim baras-ta savan hoga ….
Indeed, they ushered me into this world with much pride and elation. Then, they left the town, never to return. I’ve heard they have a better house, and a better life in a much bigger city.
But do they get to watch the iridescent blue sky from their bedroom, wake up at the kingfisher’s trilling call, inhale the gladness of the salubrious morning breeze uncontaminated by toxic fumes and caressed by the faint tunes of a distant flutist?
Why would they return to me – a decaying body with creaking joints and flagging muscles; and located in this forlorn, neglected colony lacking basic civic amenities. Just the approach road, more potholes than road, would deter anyone; how could I blame my old parents?
A3: Happiest day in your life?
A6: Griha Pravesh Day- my first birthday. All decked up with buntings and balloons and my soul sanctified with the pandit’s holy chanting. How blessed I was, how much loved by my doting parents, and admired by the select invitees. Owner’s pride, neighbours’ envy!
A3: Your saddest day?
A6: During one of his rare visits, my parent was asked, ‘Do you plan to sell it?’ and he said, ‘I may, if the offer is good.’ I know he will. I’m no heirloom, just an investment.
A3: Your worst fears?
A6: Old age, failing health, festering sores on my body, Peepul plants drilling determined roots into my fissures. End-of-life anxiety. Would I give up my soul grieving for my mother like the delicate Swarna champa tree?
A3: What happened to her?
A6: Planted lovingly by mother, she grew big and was laden every year with fragrant flowers loved by gods. I’ll wait for twenty years for my mother to return and caress me, but no longer, she had resolved. She just shrivelled and died thereafter.
A3: Any wish before you are signed away by your parents, and pulled down for a spanking new mansion by a money-bag?
A6: Sparkling laughter, prattle of babies, patter of their cotton-candy pink feet – cool kisses on my cheeks; and for my parents to live with me for at least a day and a night. Who knows they may get to know of my feelings, and rekindle their lost love for me?
Human Chat on WhatsApp
‘I wish we lived in the house we built with so much care. The air is cleaner than in this mega-city.’
‘Yes, I guess you’d have enjoyed living in your own house.’
‘For the last fifty years, we have lived in houses built by others. Never stayed a day in any of our three houses in three different cities.
I wish we had been living next door watching the same rivulet like you, dear friend. हर घर पर लिखा है रहने वाले का नाम!’
‘We wish you lived here. But I guess a house chooses who will stay there.’
‘You are right. We have never stayed in any of the houses we own. Looking forward, I fear about how our children would dispose of these houses; or, by the immutable laws of nature, these would go back to anonymity as every inch of land we occupy was once someone else’s.’
‘So true. Pointless to worry about possessing tiny parcels of land and the midget mansions we build on it.’
How Much Land Does a Man Need?
A peasant named Pahom becomes obsessed with acquiring land. Hearing of plenty of virgin land at unbelievably cheap rates, he travels far to the land of the Bashkirs where he is heartily welcomed.
He asked the Chief: How much land may I buy?
‘As much as you want.’
Barely able to hide his excitement, he asked, ‘What’s the rate, please?’
‘A thousand roubles a day.’
‘I don’t understand. What’s the rate per acre?’
‘We don’t sell by the acre. It’s a thousand roubles a day. As much land as you can walk around and mark with a spade in a day. From your chosen point, you begin walking when the sun rises, and must return there by sunset, failing which you forfeit your one thousand roubles.’
Pahom walks fast and covers a vast area, but with the sun about to set he runs in a frenzy, falling dead with the end point only a few feet away.
The story ends by answering the query in the title:
‘Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed.’
दो गज़ ज़मीन (Do Gaz Zameen)
kitnā hai bad-nasīb 'zafar' dafn ke liye
do gaz zamīn bhī na milī kū-e-yār meñ
कितना है बद-नसीब 'ज़फ़र' दफ़्न के लिए
दो गज़ ज़मीन भी न मिली कू-ए-यार में
कू-ए-यार - the street where the beloved lives, and in this verse – the beloved motherland.
“How unfortunate is Zafar, for even in death, he was deprived of two yards of land in his beloved country.”
A poignant sher by Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal Emperor of India, conveying his deep sorrow and longing for his homeland.
A Quote
Resources & References
- How Much Land Does a Man Need? A short story (1914) by Leo Tolstoy. Link: https://www.owleyes.org/text/how-much-land-does-man-need
- Do Gaz Zameen, a Radio Play (1984) by AIR, a Hindi adaptation of Tolstoy’s story. Link: https://youtu.be/qeiK2_zue8k?si=_7RFblyeEJt437cS
- Bahadur Shah Zafar’s poignant lament; Rekhta.org
- Co-Pilot
Impressive writing!
ReplyDeleteVery interesting write up
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