My old room

December is one of the most beautiful months in Kerala. Vrischika Kaattu (Winds of Scorpio) is at its peak. The sun is out. I feel a strong force of Nostalgia today. I’m writing this from the most apt place – my old room at my parent’s house. 

I opened one of the cupboards to find my old stamp collection. They remind me of days spent in awe, exploring the globe through these tiny pieces of paper. I guess, I always wanted to travel. I had a decent coin collection. I still do. They must be somewhere around here. My mom keeps everything. 

Next to it are my old books, they smell nice. A blend of ink, paper, and a hint of time passed. Their pages are now yellow and slightly brittle. I found some college notes, with familiar handwriting in them. It was notes written by my then girlfriend, now wife. It’s crazy to think that I’m married to this person now. 

The room has changed a lot. The walls have been painted at least twice. Each layer subtly covers the echoes of the past. Beneath those layers of paint lies my expression, imagination and childhood dreams. I used to draw a lot. There is a lot of “wall art” beneath this. Those were mostly sceneries. Rising sun, mountains, birds and a tiny house. 

The room also has a new fan and AC now, replacing the old fan that used to hum in the background. That hum is a comforting noise for most Indians. The new fan is still too young to make the noises. The shelves have modern doors and a mirror.

Despite these changes, the essence of the room remains. There is a harmonious coexistence of past and present. The essence of my younger self still lingers here, in the stamps, in the smell of the books, in the faded drawings – a comforting reminder that some parts of us remain timeless, unaffected by the relentless march of time.

From reading Balarama on Friday morning to reading Seneca, I grew up.