HOUSE

In our street, it was only Sunderrajan Mama’s house was an independent one; it cannot be termed as a posh bungalow. But, it carried a charm and majesty of its own. In fact, it was an ordinary house but a big one in the old style.

When most of the small, medium and big houses in Adyar were getting demolished and new flats of all sizes and shapes coming up, Sunderrajan Mama’s house stood alone as a sore thumb among many high rise structures. In fact, it did not have any specialty. It wore the look of an old man like him with ancient yellow color and doors with half of it fixed with slim iron rods. But, for me, it carried a mystic majesty and beauty. So, whenever I cross the house, I used to stand for a second or more to see the house and relish its majesty and beauty I have mentioned earlier. It was surrounded by a lot of plants and trees also.

Sunderrajan Mama was alone in the house. His wife passed away long back and his son and daughter have settled in US and UK. He belonged to the old generation Masters Degree in English Language and Literature. He spoke chaste and attractive English and he was also excellent in writing.

He cooked his meal just rice alone with a pressure cooker. He was getting sambar, rasam and curry from the neighboring mess. Though he was aged and lived alone, I have never seen him wasting his time. Most of the time he kept engaging himself with gardening, reading or attending carnatic music concerts at Mylapore and Adyar. Sometimes, one could see him sitting in an easy chair in the open foyer of his house chatting with his friends from neighborhood.

I am a friend to Mama not by age but because of our interest in cricket. He knew all the popular players for cricket of yesteryears to the present and when he explains their strengths and weaknesses in his chaste English it would be interesting and a pleasure to listen.

One day, in my over enthusiasm and his leniency with me I asked that question.

‘Mama, I don’t know why you are so adamant in not selling this old house?’

He stroked his bald head and looked at the night sky and twinkling stars. He did not reply immediately.

I suddenly felt guilty that whether I have posed a question to him forgetting the age difference between us. But, there was no sign of anger or irritation on Mama’s face. I kept quite. Mama suddenly smiled at me and asked. ‘You all think that a house is an inanimate object, right?

For a second I blinked. Then replied: ‘Yes, isn’t it? Then what else?’

‘You see Krishna,’ Mama continued. ‘You all accept that even plants have life and feelings and the science has proved it. Plants grow if they hear good music and all that. If it is so, why not a house should have life? Why we should construe it as just cement and bricks?’

‘But plants grow Mama, do houses grow?’

Mama again caressed his head. ‘True. But, if you consider growth, how much a man grows? Only up to an age. After that what... gray hair, vision problems and ageing only?’

‘I don’t understand you, Mama’

‘You won’t understand. House is also like human beings’

‘How?’

‘We take special care in constructing a house .That is growth. After some time, we need to repair the house. Isn’t it similar to our body?’

I laughed.

‘Mama, your argument may be logically correct. But, humans have brain, mind, desire, hatred, depression and so many feelings. Do you say a house has all these?’

‘It is there. Should feelings be exposed? There are several people who do not show their feelings outside, you know?’

‘You are saying all these for argument. You say a house too has feelings. Don’t try to con me’

Mama laughed once again.

‘You cannot understand Krishna, because you are young and you are in your twenties. As you grow you may understand what I said and you will. This house was constructed by my Appa when I was young. I know how much involved he was in the construction of this house. When he died, I was forty years old. He took promise from me that I should not meddle with this house. That time onwards I started feeling for this house. A special and unique attraction. This house is the standing testimony to many of the good and bad things happened in my life and family. How many functions? How many festivals? All are memorable events. Every room in this house is special to me. When I see them my memories go down the lane and recall all the events. How can I forget them? I cannot. This house is my best friend. A family member. How it can be sold to someone for a price and go and live in flats which are like birds’ nests? That too, just for the sake of money?’

Mama breathed heavily because of his emotional continuous talk. I understood that he was disturbed and so I kept quiet.

‘You know, I have made promise to this house that I will not alter, demolish or sell. My son and daughter persuaded me several times to sell this property. They want me to sell this to someone for money and go and live with them. What is money? They have enough and more by earning and living in the foreign country. I told categorically that I will not sell and come there. For them it is just property. But, for me it is my family member and close friend’

‘You feel that your house is precious than your children?’ my youthful arrogance overtook my inherent respect for him.

Mama looked at me intently.

‘Yes. It is precious only’

I did not reply.

‘You feel why I am saying like this? I know my children after twenty eighth years. But, I know this house for the past seventy eight years. My connection with this house is something like a relationship. That cannot be shirked or dropped.’

To be honest, the arguments, logics and stubborn attitude of Mama were surprising to me. I just swallowed within me one another question which came to my mind. But, Sunderrajan Mama in his life would have seen many like me. So he himself asked the question in my mind.

‘What do you want to say? What will happen to this house after my death?’

I gave a stupid grin.

Mama closed his eyes for a minute. ‘I am confident that nothing will happen to this house even after my death’

Without my asking ‘how’, Mama continued. ‘Every night before going to sleep I am conversing with this house. Once, on such an instance, the house itself told me that ‘don’t worry Sunder. Nothing will happen to me’.

I felt scared to continue the topic further. I started having the doubt whether Mama has turned crazy. House…talking...what nonsense, I thought the old man had turned senile!

‘Okay...Mama, leave it. Let us talk something else’ I changed the topic.

After seven days of this conversation, Sunderrajan Mama died in his sleep. The milk man and paper boy saw him dead and informed the neighbors.

Sunderrajan Mama’s son and daughter came from abroad and performed his last rites. They went back.

For nearly three months the house remained locked. Whenever I cross the house I used to feel sad for Mama and also wonder when this house is also going to be demolished.

Suddenly, one day when I was passing the house, I saw the main door of Mama’s house kept opened. In the same place where Mama used to sit in his easy chair, one man was lying with his hands folded on his chest. I looked at him more intently. It was Mama’s son Sirvatsan, in US.

‘Oh, probably he would have come to sell this house’ I thought, but I entered the compound opening the gate. ‘Hello, Sir’ I smiled at him and he opened his eyes and smiled at me and replied ‘Hi’ with American accent.

‘When did you come?’ I queried.

‘Two days ago. I am sorry. I can’t recognize you...you are…?’ left the question hanging.

‘I live in a flat in this street’s corner building. Sunderrajan Mama is a friend to me’ I said.

He enquired about me and I explained.

‘When you are going back to US?’ I asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders in the typical American style.

‘Well, I am not going back. I have come here for good.’

My eyebrows rose.

‘Really...why?’

‘I have no life there. My wife died in a car accident last month. My son and daughter are not there with me. They live in different places. What am I going to do alone there? So I felt that I should come and stay in this ancestral house of my dad. So I came.’

I was really surprised.

‘Are you not going to modify this house?’ I asked.

‘Why? Why should I modify or change? I like it as it is. I like it the way it is....’

‘But…’

He suddenly spoke as if he is sharing a secret with me.

‘You know something? This house has life. It spoke to me one night. It requested me to not to modify or change and allow to be like this.’

My eyes almost popped out of my face.

He asked, ‘Do you think I am crazy?’

I nodded my head in the negative manner. ‘No. I am surprised because you are saying the same thing what Sunderrajan Mama confided to me one day.’

‘Is it? In that case, you must be a close friend to my dad. Then you are also a friend to me, like this house.’ He put his hands around my shoulders with a friendly smile.

I stared at the old fashioned, with two doors, half of it covered with thin iron rods house with a lot of trees around in the compound.

I felt as if Sunderrajan Mama was laughing at me from somewhere; but, it was not Mama...it was the house!