A year and half ago, I found myself in a peculiar situation. I was moving back to the town I was from (having lived in another for work for a couple of years) and I had to move back in with my parents. The thought both excited and terrified me. I was happy because I didn’t need to worry about what I’d have to cook for dinner or about the laundry not being done. Scared because I had gotten used to living life on my own terms, aka living unhealthy and whimsically and now I’d have to someone to answer to.
Oh, and the main reason? I was mostly terrified because I had to move in to their house and then move OUT very shortly. To move IN with my boyfriend. So I had to spend most of this stop- gap move -in with them trying to convince them about why I wanted to move OUT. (Yeah, you can imagine, a South Indian girl from a 'good family', not only wanted to rent a house and live separately in the same city as her parents, but she ALSO wanted to move IN with her boyfriend. Shaantam Paapam.)
In those months, the conversations with my parents mostly revolved around topics like these: a) Pickle: explaining to them that I find that pickle is an essential part of my meal and that’s why I eat so much of it, and no, I don’t think I’ll stop b) Living in Sin: trying to explain to them why live-in relationships were not SIN and why I wanted to move in with the Love Of my Life (Lets call him LOL for convenience).
These months were spent eating nice homely food,having super fun pyjama parties and bonding with my baby sister, talking to LOL and being excited about looking for a house and setting up a home, fighting with my parents about well, almost everything, missing the life I’d left behind- my roommates, my penthouse-, getting used to the very, very new job role and job environment. And mostly freaking out about everything.
You see, ‘change’ and I have a very love-hate relationship.
I go looking for ‘change’ every few months- I’m a person who gets fed up of life the way it is and wants it to be ‘different’ and ‘dynamic’, but when it actually happens- oh my, I have a near nervous breakdown. ‘Trying to cope’ I tell myself and all my poor friends who are always trying their damned best to be supportive to a mad girl who will at one heartbeat be crying and pleading for change and in the next crying ABOUT that very change! (I love you guys- you know who you are!).
Anyway, while I was still fighting for this live-in relationship at home, I was almost also regretting making the decision- It was turning out to be way harder than I thought to find a decent home to live in. After all of three rounds of looking for houses, LOL declared that he’s done.
So there I was: All alone, making spreadsheets with To-Do lists, calling brokers and trying to make them understand that a hole, the size of a letterbox, cannot be a home. My patience was running out, the insanity was setting in.
And there LOL was: Sending me little joyful texts that said, ‘hey babe, what about a bathtub? Or maybe a big balcony with a grill for BBQ parties?’ And although all I wanted to do was poison his green tea, I’d text back and say, ‘Hey babe. What about the budget? Did a rich, 100 year old grand-aunt die and leave you money recently?’
After many useless brokers, useless real estate online and offline portals I decided to go on ‘walks’. FINALLY, thanks to many ‘Walks’ around the area we wanted to live in, talking to every gurkha and watchman and thanks to my best friend RO’s patience and generosity, one rainy night, I found the house LOL and I moved into.