Sense and Sensibility
The other day, when I accepted a dinner invitation, I spent a perfectly pleasant evening at a relative’s residence, but I almost let out a sigh of relief as the evening came to a close and I said my thanks. I couldn’t really put my finger on what exactly made me feel relieved but decided to let it go. And just like it happens so often, the answer dawned on me the next morning after a good night’s sleep.
You see, there could be evenings that are boring or those that are nothing more than a social outing where your attendance counts more than your presence. It would be normal to feel stifled when suffering one of those. But this wasn’t one of them. Here, the hosts were perfectly congenial - the vibe warm and the belly, delectably full. Yet, I couldn’t shake off a faint stifling feeling. And the morning after, I figured out that fortunately, though it wasn’t the folks themselves, it was their highly curated, almost sterile apartment.
You see, every single thing was shiny and new. From the cutlery on the table to perfectly folded napkins - from the art on the walls to the wallpaper itself and the upholstery to the drapes right down to the coffee table books - everything had a sparkle and dazzle about them. It was as though the price tag of every item had only just been removed. And so quite oddly, while the house was perfectly comfortable, it wasn’t comforting.
Now don’t get me wrong. I am pretty capable of being quite Monica Geller herself and a stickler for a neat and tidy home. But the peeve here wasn’t the tidiness as much as it was the newness of everything.
And that got me thinking of how lucky we were to have memory-soaked stuff in our homes that has been passed down to us over generations. Art and bric-a-brac may not necessarily be exorbitant but are deeply valuable because they have been collected during family holidays or painstakingly purchased to mark milestones. A piece of furniture, a chair, that has been sitting in for years but continues to endure and remain handsome with just some minor dusting and care. A statement mirror that bears the slightest crack but continues to soldier on. Books that have gotten dog-eared but bear warm inscriptions. Everything that transforms a house and elevates it to a home, making it lived in and personal, giving it the stamp of the homemaker. Or as ‘Asian Paints’ famously said, ‘Har ghar kuch kehta hae’.
As our metropolises increasingly break away from living in simple stand-alone houses to snazzier high rises and apartments, where everything from the skyline to the street name may be new, the sense of belonging and continuity may have to be shouldered by handed down things as unassuming as a set of hand crocheted napkins or an old sitar, which once tuned, continues to sing a classic, fusing novelty into eternity, turning houses into homes.
Supriya Newar is a writer and poet from Calcutta. Besides being a music aficionado, she is also an avid traveller, particularly drawn to places that have a je ne sais quoi about them. She may be reached at [email protected]
