A Pocketful Of Peace

11. Confined Spaces

It was well beyond midnight when Aman walked in through the main door. As always, Prasanna was engrossed in his news paper. Aman wanted to tell him that the task was accomplished without his help and that he need not concern himself with worrying about it anymore. But then, as an afterthought, he gave up the idea of yet another war of words and changed his course towards his room upstairs. Prasanna didn't shift an inch from his place. Aman wondered whether he had taken any note of Aman's arrival. He shook his head and tried to dismiss the ideas and thoughts about his eccentric uncle as he climbed the steps to his room. If anything, Aman was thankful for the way this cottage was designed. The ground floor had a living room, kitchen and two bedrooms out of which Prasanna treated one as his heavenly retreat, while the second room was supposedly a guestroom. Never in his life span of 24 years had Aman witnessed a guest at their humble residence. If anything, he had over the years; witnessed the room become a warehouse.

The upper floor was an entirely another story. Oh yes! A storey, which solely belonged to Aman. This floor had just one room, which Aman used as a bedroom-cum-study. Adjacent to his room was a washroom, almost as big as his room! Rest of the space was occupied by a terrace garden. A pleasant space which allowed his mind and body to escape the otherwise confined spaces of his room. The terrace had an independent entry opposite his room but could be accessed through his room as well. At this late hour though, Aman avoided the urge to open the terrace and instead, turned towards the door knob of his own room.

As he opened the door and walked inside, Aman realized that he was stepping into this room for the first time since returning here. It was his second night under this roof and still, he hadn't unpacked. In the name of luggage, he had brought with himself a small handbag and a backpack. He unloaded the contents on the bed and started putting them away into the right places.

His laptop was put to rest on the study table. Though it belonged to a much younger Aman, may be the one who studied in grade six or seven; it had fond memories associated with his childhood when he and Sandy used to sit there for group study.

The few clothes that he had brought with him were neatly arranged in a pile and put away into the cupboard. Though aged and rickety, the cupboard had held itself as a whole entity and was a witness to many timetables, flow charts and assignment schedules. The handwritten notes were still visible on the pieces of paper that were stuck there for more than a decade now.

The window overlooking the backyard was pushed open and a gust of cool wind blew in, diverting Aman's attention to a loose stack of papers as it was disrupted and the cut outs of papers flew in every direction. Aman recalled them to be printouts and application forms to various institutes when he was still applying for a post graduate seat. Soon, he thought he would have to add to the list. Only this time, the applications would be for job interviews. He had contemplated applying for a PhD but then realized he was short of funds. Even if he was somehow able to apply, it would be very difficult to sustain on his own, without a scholarship to begin with. His dreams of higher education were neatly folded and packed away into the deep recesses of his brain. He was cream of the cream. The best of brains in his field and yet, he was opting out of the research field. His decision had baffled his professors back at the University but he had been firm on his decision. Carefully, he put the papers back in order and put them neatly into a folder on the book shelf. A few nails were hanging out of their places on the book shelf. Aman remembered hammering them into their respective places when he was assembling the shelf. He had made it from scratch. Old, worn out and fallen logs of wood from nearby jungles, discarded floor boards from Katti Appa's Kitchen; had all found their way into his hands and into the house on his bicycle. He had worked diligently and had given them a new purpose to sustain. His own book shelf! He made a mental note to hammer the nails in the morning, lest he woke up his uncle and another verbal match ensued.