in continuation of my topic on home, there are 10 things that i hate when i am at home; i came up with this list since i am spending an uncomfortable and unreasonable amount of time at home..

1. answering the door.

2. when people call me and ask me what i am up to.

3. the concept of breakfast because most often i wake up past the breakfast time.

4. fixed timing for lunch and dinner or sleep.

5. walking around fully clothed. when i am alone i dress up in my best rags hence that explains point 1.

6. empty refrigerator. i like it when i know there is plenty to eat and i don't have to go out and get something.

7. i like having conversation with myself and hate it when somehow it gets interrupted.

8. small errands like picking up the dry clothes or filling up the water that needs to be done in the stipulated time.

9. talking and smiling with guests who i dont really care about.

10. watching TV in a group. i like to watch it alone and not have people crowd over me and ask me questions.

lame list but thought i will put it anyways...

The word 'HOME' means a lot to a lot of people but what it essentially brings is the sense of belonging where you are allowed to shed all your inhibitions and just be yourself. for me the definition of home is confusing, i have stayed in three different houses is calcutta, two in hyderabad and two in chennai; in some cases people also differed. therefore, it is difficult for me to conjure up a mental image of my sense of belonging. but a month back i went to calcutta to the house where i spent most of my growing years. it was the same house where i got my first room. the house under the new owner was under going renovations and seeing it change broke my heart. i felt that all my childhood memories were being taken away by the new house and destroying the image of my childhood home.

it was my Tara (Gone with the wind - Scarlett's house) . the small gate leading to the porch and then the drawing room and the huge bedroom. next came the hall, the bathroom, kitchen and right at the end was my small room. the room had two windows; one overlooked the small green patch and the other the courtyard. my single bed hugging the wall faced the windows. the shutters of the windows never closed and the first thing when i got up in the morning i used to see the hibiscus tree with or without the flowers. i had a small cupboard and book case with big drawers underneath where i kept my school books and other unnecessary items and secrets that made up most of my childhood. those were wooden furnitures my grandfather's time which none of my folks had the courage to throw away. then there two trunks which belonged to my mother. she used those ancient trunks when she was in the hostel. what those trunks contained i never knew but on top of that were my school uniforms and a suitcase full of my good clothes. since i kept all my good clothes in the suitcase right next to the window, it got stolen one not so fine night. then right next to my bed was my study table and a stool. i remember whenever i got down to study my musical neighbour and his wife would start singing classical songs. i tried stopping them by throwing stones at their windows but it was very difficult to curb down their enthusiasm. as years went by their son also joined in the concert. then there was the rack attached to my wall which had all my grandfathers books, the priceless collection, the only thing that i had rightfully inherited from him. due to space constraints when those books were removed from my room, i had tears in my eyes. i liked taking care of them. lastly the posters that adorned the wall, the intentionally vague and rebellious ones drawn during my teenage years and the ones appreciated by my art teacher. i obviously wudnt forget the clothesline that ran across the room and from which hung my wet under garments. i used to forget taking them down and often they were the first ones to greet any guests who came unannounced to my room. the door of my room never used to shut properly and i used to position by study table in such a way that i get a direct view of the tv in the drawing room. this strategy obviously took a toll on my 10th results.

that room taught me the meaning to privacy, space and independence and i guess that was my home. the famous novel Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier started with the sentence "Last night I dreamt that I went back to Manderly again" - i always remembered this sentence and i dream of my Manderly when i am asked about my home.

love stories are always so over-rated and exaggerated. everyone on this earth are scrambling to search for the perfect love and everyone has their fantasies about that. times have changed, terms like generation gap, the x generation or the y generation are being used constantly, but the perception of love still remains the same; the girl expects her man to save her and become the hero of her life and the man wants a girl who needs to be saved. barbara cartland's description of exquisite kisses, johanna lindsey's periodic romantic novels and the finally mills and boons are constantly churned out to fill one's satiating hunger for love and lust. the hero and heroine's name change, situation changes but wants and desires never change because everybody wants a happily ever after. even a hardcore cyninist would agree that all these books are feel good and it helps restore faith in your dreams and hopes.

i dont think, i know anyone who doesn't like dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge. the universal opinion about it being that its feel-good. movies like DDLJ, notting hill, pretty woman never fails to bring a smile and tear on your face even though you are watching it for the 25th time.

being a cynic, i must confess that i have read my fair share of mills and boons and watched pretty woman more than a respectable number of times. for a flitting second even i thought a rab ne bana di jodi is possible. may be i am self confessed romanticist. i like to call myself a feminist but i also like it when a guy opens the door for me and offers to carry my luggage. i would like to be saved too.

but my perfect love stories are not the ones without the happy endings. love should be above all emotions, neither should it be defined as a conquest or sacrifice. love means that moment, the look, the passion and intensity and the confidence that makes u secure about your feelings that doesn't require acceptance and support from the society neither does it require a happily ever after.

the greatest love story of scarlet and rhett butler in gone with the wind makes me feel that two people who are so fit for each other yet not meant to be together. their love was so strong and overwhelming that it was impossible to imagine them happy and together. In wuthering heigths catherine and heathcliff's love is not about marriage and permanent bliss but its about the love that is selfish and only cares about personal gratification yet so eternal in its ways. Graham Greene's the end of an affair, is again about unrequited love and passion that establishes love beyond fidelity and within the bounds of a constitution.

i enjoy morbidty otherwise love becomes way too rational. when it becomes rational and starts making sense, you start putting it into your everyday life and attach it to the small small things that sometimes become so important that it becomes impossible for love itself to hold its feet.

a perfect love story doesnt have a princess locked in a tower, it doesnt have a knight in shining armour and it certainly is not a great story to share. it is that love story that you cannot share with your grandchildren and you take it to your grave. it is one where you dont stop coveting. it is the one which you have kept it away from the rigors of marriage and society. the lasting look and lingering touch is what you reminisce that u can claim as rightfully yours. it is the one sin that is so pure to you.

P.S : None of this has to be true. As Oscar Wilde has said "They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever."