The Room
The room was almost the same as it had been when Shiva had last seen it ten years ago. The door still creaked when opened slowly; the walls were still a bright bubble-gum pink and the furniture was still intact. The tiny Batman stickers he had secretly stuck on the back of the room’s almirah remained unmoved and undamaged.
The only two major differences that visually convinced him that a decade had actually passed were the presence of sketches of stick men figures behind the brown mahogany cupboard; the handiwork of the young boy who had occupied the room after Shiva and his parents had vacated the house; and the complete absence of toys and children’s books on the upper shelf of the cupboard.
He rubbed his fingers on the insides of the cupboards and watched his fingertips turn white from the thick layer of dust that covered all the surfaces.
The boy’s family had occupied the house for ten years before they moved to Delhi and the house had then been repainted. When Shiva’s mother had asked him to join her and his father to get a glimpse of the house one last time before the arrival of the new tenants, he had told her he didn’t want to because he just didn’t see the point. His mother had then pointed out angrily that he wasn’t spending enough time with them anymore. His father had agreed quietly. He had accepted their request begrudgingly, but now that he was back in his childhood room, he didn’t entirely regret his choice.
The house was silent except for the muffled sound of his parents’ footsteps in the room above him. They were checking out if any damage had been done to the furniture and the toiletries in the bedroom upstairs. The room brought back memories of incidents that he barely remembered experiencing, but its associated feelings were still fresh in his mind, like they were felt just the day before.
There was, however, one particular incident that he seemed to recollect with passion and vigor. It occurred almost twelve years ago, when he was eight years old. He had been playing alone in his bedroom with his toys, when it started raining all of a sudden. He had realized then that he had been alone for almost the entire evening. He had never been away from his parents for such a long period of time. Through the rustle of the wind, which had begun along with the rain, he heard the pleasant sound of his parents chuckling outside. He had been really confused by it because he had never considered the possibility, up until then, that his mother and father laughed when he wasn’t next to them. It just didn’t seem possible. He had felt lonely then and he wanted to be near them immediately.
He had just jumped from his bed when a breeze rushed in through the window and slammed the door shut. He panicked immediately and rushed to push it open, but the door seemed to be stuck. He pushed harder, but the door remained unsympathetic. He screamed for help, banging the door as hard as he could, but the sound of his desperation was lost in the ferocious clamour of the pouring rain. When they started laughing to themselves again, he had started fearing they had left him alone in the room on purpose, that they no longer wanted him. Shiva had started crying then and he screamed more and more louder, but there was no reply. He could neither hear his mother’s concerned voice calling out his nick-name, nor his father’s hoarse, but perturbed, voice asking him what was wrong.
He had stopped screaming after about ten minutes only because his throat had become sore and heavy; by then the rain had started to pour down more furiously and the wind had gained even more momentum, howling and sliding in through the windows of his room. He had huddled himself beside the door, with his legs bent close to his face. He had felt a fear then, a fear unlike anything he had ever felt before, a fear that haunted him subconsciously for many more years.
After almost an hour, his parents had opened the door and had rushed inside as he wept. His father had explained to him, the next day, that the door hadn’t opened because he had kicked down the latch in the panic of the moment, but the reason had hardly mattered to him. From that day on, he never stayed alone in the room. The pink walls no longer felt welcoming, no longer reminded him of his favourite candy. He had felt the walls closing in on him whenever he entered the room, like they were trying to entrap him. The room had represented everything that a part of his young brain had always feared. His mother and father had tried to talk him out of his fear, but he yelled at them whenever they did and when they had finally shifted their house two years later, he had forgotten all about it.
A mild breeze now flowed in through the window and he felt soothed by it. The annoyance he had felt that morning, when he had unwillingly forced himself inside his father’s car, was gone and he was now alone and at peace. The room no longer made him anxious and he stared at the walls and, as a joke, checked if they were moving closer towards him. They didn’t. He chuckled to himself and then continued to explore every nook and corner of the room. The cupboards, the empty space under the bed and the lavender ceiling with the small, brown fan.
He heard his parents climbing down the stairs, their voices echoing through the empty hall. They were talking about the new tenants. He realised that most of the conversations his parents had with him, or among themselves, were crude and hollow. He rarely took part in any of it unless he was forced to. He didn’t hate his mother and father by any means, but he no longer felt like he needed their presence for him to feel normal, for him to feel cared. He avoided them only because he found everything about them mundane. Their jobs, their hopes and desires; all of it seemed pointless to him.
The echoes got louder as his mother and father got closer to the room and Shiva hoped they wouldn’t come to the room searching for him. He could hear them laughing now, but he didn’t want to join them because he was sure he wouldn’t find it as funny as they did.
He sat on the bed and let his eyes wander around the room. He noticed that it was larger than his room in his present house. He couldn’t believe he had hated this room over a petty incident and wished he had spent more time in it.
He fantasized about having this room to himself now. He would be able to bring in all of his books and read them there quietly; accommodate all of his friends there comfortably and work out without his head or limbs bumping into any of the nearby furniture.
He was, once again, surprised by the fact that he had hated this room, this large and bright space, once.
The breeze picked up its pace and Shiva watched the door close silently. The sound of his parents discussing reduced to muffled noises. He sighed peacefully and laid himself comfortably on the bed. He stayed there for almost an hour and when it was time to leave, he opened the door and let himself out.
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