"Even to envision a room, how much we sacrifice, how we compromise바카라¦but"
My grandmother would often say these words with a heavy heart. I was young. The concept of a room doesn바카라™t take deep root in a child바카라™s mind. Yet, every girl knows in her heart the idea of a dreamy room. She begins her search for that room as soon as she steps into adolescence. Throughout the journey from adolescence to youth, youth to maturity, and into old age, that room persists as an unfulfilled dream. But does that mean we should abandon our dreams?
During our tenure in the hostel, four of us shared a single room, each allocated a cot positioned in the four corners. The room, approximately fifteen by eighteen feet, featured an attached washroom. Under each cot, we stored a box brought from home, containing our most treasured belongings hidden with utmost secrecy. That cot effectively became our personal space. In this vast world, a three-by-five-foot cot served as our sanctuary. But was it genuinely ours?
As we tolerated the hostel's distasteful environment, oppressive heat, and unappetizing food, while fantasizing about a future occupation, the fantasy of a stunningly decorated room persisted, alongside the fantasy of a thriving profession. We assumed that, once employed, we would build our own home, as young men typically do. Consequently, we studied with unyielding resolve.
Perhaps the room we fantasize about isn't a tangible space, but rather a state of mind. A haven of inner tranquility, where we can withdraw from the world and find solace in our own company. A place where we can be ourselves, without pretension or apology.
Among us was Sudipta, a beautiful and brilliant companion. One day, a friend revealed to us that, of the four of us, only Sudipta was fortunate enough to have her own room, given to her by her parents. From that day, we saw Sudipta in a new light as an extraordinary individual. The fact that a fourteen-year-old girl had her own room left us utterly astonished!
In times of distress, whether it was disputes with my sister over sleeping arrangements, my brother's unauthorized use of my pen, or the need for a secure location to store cherished love letters from adolescence, I craved the solitude of my own room. When my mother intervened in our conflicts, she would chastise me, cautioning, "Cultivate adaptability! Eschew selfish tendencies! It's rare for girls to have their own rooms, so it's essential to temper excessive longing!"
I would cry softly, envisioning a future where I had my own room. I was confident in its certainty! A spotless white bed, a compact study table, sunlight pouring through the window onto the floor, reclining on the sunlit patterns reading Rabindranath, a glass bowl filled with the fragrance of jasmine바카라¦ and바카라¦ and바카라¦ Girls often lack their own rooms; thus, they spend their lives beautifying others' rooms, mistakenly perceiving them as their own sanctuary!
My grandmother would say. Her eyes would glimmer with a melancholic breeze. The tips of her snowy hair seemed to weave moonlight. Her sharp eyes held the fire of a princess, but faded. The wrinkled skin near her cheeks carried the history of countless stories. Seeing my tears, she바카라™d say,
"You바카라™ll never have anything of your own! Not a room! Not a door! Just lost in a false dream바카라¦" 바카라” She바카라™d trail off, leaving her words unfinished.
I have immense respect for Krishna-di, a woman with a vibrant spirit and strong personality, who once confided in me: "One room is always taken by my husband, and another by my son. Entering either room would disturb them both, so I reside in the kitchen or living room instead. At night, I sometimes sleep beside my son or drift off to sleep on the sofa. My husband's snoring is remarkably loud."
When I fell in love, my partner vowed that we would possess a small, charming home. A peaceful river would flow nearby, and the majestic Himalayas would be visible in the distance, with vast expanses of green fields stretching towards the horizon. Our modest two-room dwelling would feature one room dedicated to reading and a library, equipped with two study tables. In that moment, I loved him with all my heart, and we both became captivated by our dreams, envisioning our ideal home. Regrettably, as our love matured, our dreams gradually lost their appeal. The river dried up, and the challenges of living in the mountains became apparent. The two-room house we once aspired to became an unattainable dream, feasible only in a remote Himalayan village called 'Grahan.' While visiting was possible, building a home there was not an option. Ultimately, we came to realize that in this ever-changing world, the need for a separate room had become obsolete, as everything seemed ephemeral.
"A separate room for girls! A separate room for women! Can that ever be a reality?Astonishing!"
I found myself revisiting my grandmother's narrative. At the age of nine, she entered into matrimony. Prior to the wedding ceremony, her family elucidated that her husband's residence would constitute her permanent abode, whereas her parents' household was merely a temporary, two-day sojourn. They assured her that the realization of all her aspirations would occur within her husband's household. Furthermore, they informed her that a woman's life is divided between two residences: her paternal home and her husband's home. Upon arriving at the latter at fourteen, subsequent to her menarche, her eyes were filled with visions of a serene and beautiful room that would be hers alone.
And there it was바카라”a room adorned with roses and tuberose, exuding elegance.
She carefully placed the box she brought from her family home in one corner. The other side featured a massive bed. Putting aside the pain of leaving her childhood home, she perceived herself as the mistress of this room. Yet, a knock at the door ensued. Her mother-in-law was standing there. Consequently, her tender heart's dream was shattered. She realized this wasn't her room바카라”it was theirs, hers and her husband's.
Despite everything, she was happy. New love, and she was the bride of the house, the future mistress of all its wealth. One day! But when?
Forget wealth바카라”just a room! Where her sarees hung in the wardrobe, her powder was before the mirror, where she could do as she pleased!
At four in the morning, she would exit the room, prior to the others waking, and could only return after they had fallen asleep. As a newly married bride, she was aware that forsaking household chores to linger in her room would invite unflattering comments. In the afternoon, subsequent to lunch, she would take a brief respite on the kitchen veranda, concealed from view. Yet, her aspirations remained unabated. She reflected that when she became a mature bride, this room would undoubtedly belong to her.
That too turned out to be an empty ambition.
Her sons and daughters were the first to claim the room, followed by her grandchildren. Now, she is left with only that ancient box from her parental home. Even that, her grandchildren sometimes seize.
In fact, every girl is a displaced nomad who dedicates her life to fantasizing about her own sanctuary, but that sanctuary is never genuinely hers, even in today's era.
She dreams on. She lives. Her misguided love ultimately leads to the loss of the dream itself. Yet, she loves, even as the dream fades.
But does the dream ever truly cease to exist? Does it ever fully disappear?
