All's well that ends well - especially when it comes to a room!

My brother and I have lived a middle class existence, as middle class as it gets. We started off with a joint family where the all pervasive Mother-in-law (suddenly I am taking my mom's side) controlled all of us, all decisions for the family. She decided what we ate, when we slept, what we wore and when who went out. Actually, it wasn't as bad as that just appeared to be. Basically, like in most joint families "then" (I don't know what it is like now to be a part of joint family), one senior member of the family was the local bank. And when that happens, we pretty much know who controls the show. Economics can make or break a country, a state, a city and pretty much a household too.

We moved to being a nuclear family pretty early on in life. One of the few reasons I should thank my father's coveted Government job - it got him transferred out of that joint family set up. In retrospect, that was the single most positive thing to have happened to us. There have been hundreds of fantastic occurrences that have taken place in our lives, but if I were to compare, they would all pale in comparison to this one.

Anyway, nuclear as we were, we continued living the middle class existence. For all our growing up years, home was always the government flats that were always located in the best areas of the city but were small and very basic. Of course during those years, size didn't even strike us as a problem. We always managed to make the house a cozy, comfortable home. When we were in Bangalore, we had a 3 bedroom apartment but for some reason, my stupid brother (then, not now. Now he is a super cool dude), would always insist on sharing the room with me. I have NO clue why, but I remember telling my folks that we should have separate rooms so that I could "do up" mine like a girl's room, but my brother just wouldn't allow for it. And since he was the younger brat, guess who always won!

I remember grudging the fact that I could never have a room to myself. Today when I think of it, I realize that even if I did have a room to myself, I doubt I would have been able to do it up as MY room. I don't think I had any aesthetic sense at that point in time.

It was the same story when we moved to Chennai. Actually I guess by then I had gotten so used to sharing my room with my brother that it had ceased being a problem. Though I still remember secretly wishing I had a room to myself.

I did, soon enough. In Mumbai. Of course in hostel I had to share my room with 3 other fantastic girls so we each only got a corner. But I remember, my corner was the most colorful of them all. Photographs, kitsch, cards, stuff. I was happy I had a room with a corner that I could do up with my sensibility and that was a good start.

The corner soon grew into a full room, with sea view, at Carter Rd. How fancy. Actually not. It was all I could afford as an advertising start-up professional. The room was basic, compact, with a bed, shelf, almirah and TV taking up all possible space. I wasn't complaining, I finally got my own room. But I couldn't do much with it. So it didn't feel all that gratifying, not in the least like the end of my journey of seeking MY OWN ROOM.

Like the corner had become a room in Mumbai, the room soon became an entire apartment in Bangalore. 2 rooms, a hall, 2 gorgeous balconies, kitchen et all, all to myself. I excitedly did up the place with whatever I could manage, with how much ever time I could manage before my time was completely dedicated to my boyfriend then. So it wasn't much but it was a decent haven.

I thought that was the end of my journey of seeking my own "space". It probably was. But the little girl who had always wanted her own room that she could do up, was still left un-satiated somewhere. Somewhere, deep down, maybe the little girl never grew up and never gave up wanting a room. Maybe it didn't matter if I had an entire apartment to myself because to that little girl, she never got her room. Until now. Which is why, today, as I have moved back in with my parents, to live with them after 4 years of complete independence, after having gone through the heart ache of giving up my apartment, after having gone through emotional turmoil of leaving behind a lot of me behind in that apartment, I am still sitting peacefully here, in my new little room, writing this blog.

It was a challenge compressing my entire apartment into my small room but suddenly much of my despair of moving back in with my folks has disappeared. I finally have my own room. In my parent's house. Like I should have when I was growing up. But what the hell, I am happy going to back to being a teenager. And no better time for becoming a child again because my parents have grown up (finally) and I guess it all makes sense now.