Spaces

A lovely flat in Bangalore. Airy, full of light. A large balcony where the monkeys on the trees would copy mom doing surya namaskar at dawn. A red sofa-cum-bed that my sister and I shared. A big, round, glass dining table in the living room – raita in glass bowls. Mother’s grape juice, wine and jelly. Sammy, the cook, teasing me by giving me atta to lick instead of icing sugar. A plastic slide and doll’s house. Cane furniture. Falling asleep while the grown-ups seemed to talk all night long. Bob Dylan and dancing. Mother’s room – dark and cool with a green quilt, off bounds. Implicit, unquestionable, wide-eyed trust. Paints and plasticine. Temper tantrums, spankings, being locked in my room. Amelia Jane, the bald doll.

A house in the Coonoor hills. No electricity. Water from a well. Mother baking cakes over a wood fire. Cubby-holes in the walls to hold candles. Hot water bottles. Cuddling up under the quilt to hear bedtime stories. Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland. Gathering wild mushrooms and hiding them in a secret place. The smell of pine. Sister making a swing out of nylon string and a blanket for a seat. Picking up mulberries and custard apples to everyone’s delight.

Living in my mom’s friend’s home. An adorable boxer who piddles everywhere and slides across the room :) Being threatened by his unsound mom with a knife. A Muslim family with seven kids. Flying kites, playing hopscotch. Going to the village. Joyrides in best friend Ansari Banu’s brother’s auto. Being taught the alphabet at home.

Walking home in the heat from the bus-stop to the ashram. Going down to the empty basement kitchen and throwing away lunch. Reading and doing homework in the room. Sitting at the reception, importantly picking up the phone when it rang. Sex games with the girl whose family came for evening satsang. Being touched by a horny twenty-five year old. Fooling Ajayji, my supposed tutor, who never came back after the first class :) The bald, Italian swami who hid behind pillars and made alien ears at me :) All the swamis who put their meagre money together to buy me a cheap, much treasured necklace on my birthday :) Roller skates being stolen from the shoe cupboard. Throwing down clothes to the driveway of the adjacent building with an invitation for friendship.

A single, large rectangular room. Two beds at right angles. My sister slept on the couch. A white writing table with a bowl of fish and a messy shelf above it with books and cassettes. A small two-in-one, a birthday present, carried to the bathroom and placed on the flush tank while I bathed. Favourite music: Mr. Big’s Lean Into It, Extreme’s III Sides to Every Story. Hot, sweaty, happy days. The smell of summer in the air. The feel of fresh grass beneath my feet. Tae kwon do, school, crushes, secret diaries. Blood, life. A friend being barred her from meeting me after her little brother saw me kissing through the window.

My father’s home. Weekends. Dirty and messy. Fans and bathtub in the loo. Porn in the side table. Sunday morning TV. Videos. Putting toothpaste in chicken curry when there was no mint. Making beer out of sacks of potatoes. Discovering I have a half sister. And a half brother.

My aunt’s home. Doing homework on the dining table. Reading in the lobby, one eye on the clock, willing it to be a quarter to six fast so I can run home. Too shy to say I’m hungry, buying biscuits from the corner shop. Helping her count out bundles of money from uncle’s petrol pump. Playing pittoo with the neighbourhood kids.

A small flat. Small bedroom with a single window and a huge walk-in cupboard. Feeling each other up in the still, dark afternoons. Sounds of children playing in the park outside the window. Sounds of happiness and sunshine. Boredom. I should have been out there playing tennis instead.

A strange, old house. Full of mice and earthworms in the monsoon. Heavy old furniture, cobwebs. An upstairs room full of old books in cardboard boxes. A courtyard over-run with weeds and wild trees. A strange house for a newly-wed young couple. Even though I painted the doors yellow.

A hotel room. In bed with a manic-depressive. Dispassionate sex. Feeling like a spittoon.

A large flat with white tiled floor and new furniture. A huge bedroom. Living alone like an old woman with my cat. The bedroom. Cool, air-conditioned. He smelt so right, felt so right. Staying awake all night to watch him sleep. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought he would have the heart to make me feel so bereft.

His flat. A narrow bed. Looking at his moist eye in extreme close-up. Trying to enter his soul. Wondering what makes him so full of love one moment and so disinterested the next.

A hostel room cleaned about once a month. Crap stuck on the door. Baby pictures on the cupboard. References to my film on the wall – the Sistine Chapel, Steve Vai. Watching films all night. Laughter and warmth. Tomfoolery. Sexual innuendoes. Friendship. Sharing. Conversation.