Never Again

The Driveway

29 March 2020

Dear Dairy,

I woke up today morning, followed my morning routine, and then got ready for going to Dalhousie.

Now, you must be wondering why I am going to Dalhousie. Well, to understand that, you must know about everything that happened yesterday. Yesterday, was such an eventful day. I didn't even get time to share it with you, dear diary.

So, I went to the office yesterday, because my boss, Mr. Singh, had organised a meeting, and it was important, so he didn't want to discuss it on Zoom.

I reached the office at 9 a.m. sharp. There, I found Mr. Singh, waiting. There was another person with him as well. I greeted Mr. Singh, and then he introduced me to the other man.

Turns out they are old friends, and he also happened to be our client. Mr. Singh told me that his friend, Mr. Prakash was a film producer, and that he wanted me to write a movie-script for him.

I gave a sarcastic laugh and said, "Sir, I am a graphic designer. All I can do is design a poster for his movie." To this Mr. Singh replied, "Oh come one, don't be so modest. We've read your book, and we know that you are an excellent writer." I said, "I appreciate the fact that you liked my book, but I wrote that book 2 years ago sir." To which Mr. Prakash responded, "That doesn't matter. Once a writer always a writer. All you need is the spirit to write, which I am pretty sure, you already have." I said that I needed some time to give it a thought.

Later that day, Mr. Singh called me to his office, and made me an offer that I couldn't deny. He said, "You'll get promoted, and I'll give a bonus if you make a good script." Now, I didn't have a choice. So, I agreed to make the script.

In the evening, I returned home, and turned on the news. I don't usually watch the news, because it is mostly filled with negativity, and it was no different today. The first thing that I see is that the lockdown is being extended due to a rise in COVID cases.

I am tired of living in this small apartment. It feels like I am trapped in a cage. On top of that, the land-lady keeps annoying me every other day, by sending me to purchase items that she requires. I knew that I cannot write a script. Not when I am surrounded by all the distractions that Delhi has to offer. So, I decided to go back to my home-town, Dalhousie.

All of a sudden I felt a flush of emotions, I had reached my home-town. I grew-up in Dalhousie, and had a lot of good memories from my time there, but I also had many bad memories. I had left this place in the past and didn't want to remember any bit of it. Yet, here I am, back in my home-town, after all these years.

I parked my car in the driveway, and decided to take a look at the surroundings. It had mostly remained the same.

As I stood there with the car keys in my hand, I couldn't help but think of the fact, that all the moments I spent here, have now become memories, and the people have become lessons.

'719' was written in bold on one of the walls. That's another thing about moving back home. I suddenly felt that I was a prince who had moved back to his castle, given that my family owns a huge bungalow in Dalhousie. Just the garage and outhouse are bigger than my studio apartment in Delhi. I feel the 'studio' in 'studio apartment' is only as good as the delusion provided by 'happily' in 'happily married'. My studio apartment in Delhi is a rat hole but quite tastefully done up with cheap furnishings that I found on the Big Billion Day sale.

But, everything comes at a cost. Sometimes, individual freedom comes at the cost of relationships. Sometimes, staying cloistered comes at the cost of a fancy city life.

I moved past the garage, and unlocked the front door. I wasn't ready to visit the place just yet. But, I didn't have much of a choice. As, I opened the door, reality struck me hard. Entering my home felt like entering a black hole of memories.

Having spent my entire life in Dalhousie, everything reminds me of something. Hometowns cast this weird spell on you. They make you see eternity in a moment. They make you feel the range of emotions you've experienced in a lifetime, in a moment. They make you see flashes of uncountable unclear pictures from the past, in a moment.

The year 2014 flashed in front of my eyes all over again.

'Everyone has to find their way back home once in their lives. Some part of me is glad that the pandemic made me find mine,' I thought to myself, as I looked around. This house has been unoccupied for years. My parents had shifted from here when I left for college. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. Time had moved, indeed.

While my home required a thorough cleaning, it was still a beautiful abode that was done up first by its previous owner and then by my mom. It's a huge, British-style wooden cottage with glimpses of India's colonial past.

My mom wasn't very fond of the absence of colour in our colonial-style home. Mandala art and Jaipuri sheets that she brought back from trips to Rajasthan were proof that India was independent.

The courtyard in front of the cottage is vast and has a lush garden. It houses an outhouse on one side. It is a gated residence amidst the hills.

Tall Victorian-style lamps are omnipresent in the cottage as well as the courtyard. If a faint-hearted person were to arrive at my home, it would certainly remind them of a haunted house.

There are two bedrooms adjacent to the living area and kitchen. The third bedroom was always the kids' room and is on the first floor with a small terrace next to it. The bedroom is like an attic.

I spent my childhood in this attic. I had a double bed, and a study table next to the bed. Then our cupboards standing on the same fashion on the other side.

I am my parents' only child, and I know that all of their love and attention was showered on me. But I hater my current situation. I would've preferred a happy family to stay with through the lockdown. The mere thought of spending my days as a recluse in the hills fuels my anxiety.

As I entered the attic and arranged my things to prepare for my stay of God knows how long, the memory of a conversation between Mom and Dad resurfaced.

When I was in the eighth standard, we went for a school trip to Shimla. It was the first time I had left home for so many days without my parents.

Upon returning home after the trip, Mom and Dad had rushed out to hug me. 'I have prepared your favourite Rajma Chaawal,' Mom said.

'With too much oil and salt that can make one unwell,' Dad interrupted.

'Better than not having prepared for our son's arrival at all,' Mom shot back and added, "just because you don't like oily food it doesn't mean we all have to eat like patients.' And with that, she left for the kitchen.

Even after many years of marriage, they continued to quarrel like kindergarteners. Their marriage is as everlastingly pure as the promise on a bottle of glacial water. However, at that moment, I had felt reassured that everything was fine at home. Had they not got into a tiff, I would have smelt danger. They would often tease each other.

Setting anew in my old home, I started to read about our galaxy. You know, my diary, I have this weird habit of reading anything under the sun, above the sun, and about the sun. It just makes me feel at peace.

Anyway, don't have much else to share. That's all for now.

Good Night!

Lots of love,

Priyansh