My entire home could be put into a dozen odd boxes. I live life as a fauji wife, an almost nomadic existence, moving places and making a new home every few years, or sometimes even months!!!
For the initial twenty five years of my life, home was Bangalore! Seldom had I moved out of the city, except for short holidays. And then, I was baptized into the Armed Forces fraternity. As the flight took off, soaring high into the sky, I found it difficult to come to terms with the shock and realization that the city of Bangalore would no longer be my home. But surely, I never did imagine that change would be the only constant thing, in my years ahead. And my whole notion of what a home is, would find a new meaning.
Learning to build a home almost everywhere
As I first set foot into the cantonment, that would soon become such an essential part of my life, I was impressed, by the neatly laid out roads, and the perfectly manicured lawns. And that was just that. I was soon, moving from one part of the country to another every few years, managing in cramped transit/mess rooms for months, before turning old apartment complexes into beautiful soulful homes. The wait for the “A type” dwelling, as parts of my luggage would lie packed in a garage elsewhere. And when I finally settle down in an entitled home, it would be time to move out, yet again.
Homes are what we make of it
From the process of cleaning up quarters, which could be a nerve wrecking job in rustic places, all with the creepy crawly insects, I have learnt to convert dilapidated structures into a home. Cover up the walls and its deep peg holes; make a cozy little corner to read with cushions lined against walls, and convert trunks into settees. I have learnt to be the plumber and electrician too, fixing old lamps and leaking faucets. Life surely has its own way of teaching you.
A home is not actually about the concrete rooms and structures. There’s much more to it…
A home with the gracious host
Amidst the uncertainties of postings are the social routines the home witnesses. In a kitchen belonging to a bygone era, I churn up meals in a jiffy, when young officers gate crash for a decent meal. Squealing children, parties and get together, are a norm, irrespective of the size of the home, as I double up as both father and mother, with the usually absent spouse.
Packing memories in boxes
And when it’s time to move, I pack up the household and the fond memories created, ‘cause at the end of the day it is all that matters. Life goes on for a fauji wife, ready for yet another place, ready for yet another chapter.
*Featured Image : Pexels