‘Baba, aren’t we rich?’ My six years old daughter Niva asked me.
‘What makes you ask that?’ I asked her.
‘Our neighbours have a two storeyed house. We live in a single storeyed house. Why don’t we live in a two storeyed house like them?’ She asked. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we didn’t own the single storeyed house that we lived either. It was a rented premises.
I lived my first sixteen years of life in a rented house. My mother would hanker for a house of our own. ‘We should have a roof of our own over our head, no matter if the house is of only two rooms.’ My mother would say all the time. A house was something we lacked. It was something that would bring some security to our lives. No wonders I always dreamt of large houses. A house with a swing in the courtyard was my dream. I would spot the houses with swings without fail while walking, while travelling by buses and trains.
Finally when I completed sixteen years of age we had a house of our own. Not a palatial building. But a small apartment. A house which my mother had bought after withdrawing her savings and when they were found to be inadequate by selling her gold ornaments. I lived in that house for six years. After that I moved out for education and latter to earn a living.
Living as paying guests in Mumbai was an adjustment, particularly when the budget was tight. The house with the swing was a distant dream. May be that is the reason why it seemed even more attractive.
Whenever I went to my friends and relatives, the first thing that I noticed was their house. I walked through streets admiring the beautiful houses and the lucky population that lived in it. Even while reading books and watching movies the houses caught my attention. Authors like Shashi Deshpande spend a great deal of ink in describing the houses in their novels. Perhaps they too like to weave their dream houses.
Soon I got a nice paying job. Now I had money in my hands. But the price of the houses had sky rocketed too. Plus there were not many options available either. The dream of a house remained a dream. With time the dream became a wound in my heart, a wound that would take long to heal. I started becoming angry at my fate. Why hadn’t I inherited a nice mansion from my forefathers? Honestly, I became jealous of my friends and relatives who had inherited landed properties.
My job was transferable and I would change houses frequently. Every house was different. Every house had plus points as well as some flaws. Some were airy and bright. Some dingy but conveniently located, at a stone’s throw from my work place and child’s school. No matter how they were I had learnt a lesson never to get attached to a house for I wouldn’t stay for a period of more than three years in it.
Even if I had bought a house of my dreams, was I going to stay in it forever? The answer is in the negative. I may stay after my retirement. I may not stay either. It is because I have only one child and I don’t know in which part of the world her destiny would take her. If she requires my assistance, I will have to be with her. So buying a house, won’t be a wise decision.
A house doesn’t generate a decent return on income. Plus with time it gets old and requires repairs. With time my choice of houses has changed too. Now I don’t want a house in a busy street. I would like to have a house in the country side surrounded by the hills and forests. I want to hear the gurgling sound of the stream from my windows and not that of the vehicular traffic. With rented houses I have the option of staying in multiple towns which offer varied surroundings. One cannot have this luxury if you are bounded to a house which you call your own. Do you own the house or the house owns you? A house has a place only in the mind. Once removed out of the mind all that remains are walls of brick and mortar.
House and life are so similar. We think we own them, but we don’t. We get to enjoy them only for a little period of time, a fact that many don’t realize during their life times.
Mahesh Sowani is an eminent author.