safe spaces
My grandparents’ driveway, chasing birds with cotton towels that doubled up as weapons. My other grandparents’ terrace. The slab of granite outside their home. The car smelling of jasmine. Their kitchen smelling of freshly brewed coffee. The house on the eve of Diwali.
The sandpit and the courtyard adjoining the Montessori classrooms. The primary school quadrangle. The sick room with a bed by the window. The yoga room on the top floor where sun struck the blue walls and made the entire space green. The workroom that Minks and I escaped from. The gazebo near the gate. My tenth grade classroom. The other staircase along the side of the building. The math tuition classroom and the staircase leading up to it. The grocery store nearby.
The Shatabdi ride from Bangalore to Chennai with my mother. The road-trip from Bangalore to Bandipur with my father. Car rides to and from our grandparents’ home. Returning. Any space with my brother.
Rides on Bus #3 with Shoto. Shoto’s bunk bed, and the memories of learning how to play pick-up-sticks, what a Tamagotchi was, and the names of her illustrious soft-toy collection. The space where she generously lent me Diddl sheets. Her kitchen counter where I tried fish for the very first time and ate Italian food cooked by her father. Her bathroom. The bar table in her basement where we pretended to be grown ups. Minks’ voice. Her bedroom, kitchen, and the blue living room. The clubhouse in Sahi’s apartment. The Hippocampus library. Kutli’s bedroom, living room, and the kitchen where I’d raid her fridge. Chu’s living room. Mahima’s apartment and homely kitchen.
The University libraries that housed all the economics, philosophy, politics, psychology, and literature books. The space between the two shelves holding all the works in literary theory. The shade under the trees in the football field. Our dorm room in the final year of law school. Classroom #27. Nondescript corners around campus. The T4 mess.
The verandah. My childhood bathroom. My bedroom with Rufus sitting on my bed or on the floor. The terrace with Rufus sunning himself in the blazing afternoon sun. The kitchen. The cupboard where my father kept all his ties that I’d squeeze myself into. My parents’ bed with all five of us (Rufus included) in it. The neighbourhood. The gym nearby and the commute to and fro.
Crowded concerts that I attend all by myself. My therapist’s couch. My favourite corner by the window in my favourite coffee shop. The massage parlour in Phuket where the masseuse made me weep. My desk at work. Auto rides. The basement where I dance. Walks around the neighbourhood in the evening or when it’s dark. The bedroom in my previous apartment and the living room in my current one. The memory of it all on rough days, like this one.