PEOPLE LIKE HOUSES …..and then there are people like houses. Some of them are really grand, not only outwardly, but inwardly too. They are made of contours, arches, and spikes and minarets. They are imposing, but attractive. You also feel grand when you are with them. There might be a cobweb or two hanging in an unattended corner, but on the whole, the grand people are neat, clean, and give you a feeling of overwhelming light, air, and quite enough space. But nonetheless, one feels that they ought to be visited, admired and then left. These people are not to be lived with. Others are like cozy little homes set in the backdrop of a green hill. They look pretty, but however there are always neatly washed green curtains across every window, and a moderately tall compound wall around them. They usually can boast of a garden, and that garden is somehow as stuffy, as rigid and as confined as the insides of their kitchens. These people harp on order and look askance at everything even a little bit disarrayed. They themselves lack individuality, and do not like it in others. Usually there are only a few, clear-cut, rectangular or square rooms in these houses, and a curve or two splashed in for good measure. You can usually exhaust every nook and corner of these people within a day or two after having lived with them, but you at once want to linger and to move on. There is an atmosphere of utter complacency, almost stupid comfort, about these people. You know they can offer you nothing new in an entire life, and would vehemently resist the slightest alteration. Yet others live like houses served with a notice for demolition because they are redundant, or superfluous, or had no business to exist in the first place. There is an aura of apology all around their faces. They are always diffident, always wanting to get their way but observing every known nuance of good manners, and trying not to hurt others before they can assert themselves. They go about in life as if no definite course of action is meant for them, but they must choose between two or more courses. Choice, even in simple matters where one could avoid choice, is their favorite pastime. Many of them are cloned, like apartments. They have restraints all around them. Of space, of light, of laws. They behave aggressively, taking refuge in their non-identity. They continue to invent and impose new, non-sensible rules all the time on those who visit them, and to derive delight from the slight discomfort of their visitors. Some are like poor huts, all being laid bare. You just cast a glance at them, and you come to know there really isn’t much more than what meets the eye. They are not at all furnished, not decent, just an odd assortment of some gear that goes to make a house. Some people are like small, roadside houses, cozy and lonely, but warm and waiting for others, visitors or neighbors. They usually have open windows, affording a visitor a peek inside, or a whiff of what’s cooking, just enough to make up his mind before entering. They offer a good seating place, a warm beverage, and something giving warmth in winters if not actually a fireplace. Some are period pieces, not only by contemporary standards, but always. They would have been period pieces even in antiquity. They have mahogany doors, and roofs, and big mirrors placed at advantageous places. They are only large looking, but there isn’t really much moving space in them. They are burdened with thousands of centuries of culture-imposed both from without and from within, but mostly from within. They might have worn, faded curtains hanging over rusting window-sills, and the doors might creak heavily even when a small wind shakes them. Houses either love space, or hate it. They are built either to live in, or to go on living in. So are people.
Posted on: Sun, 07 Jul 2013 12:28:05 +0000