Its been a sweltering summer this year in Delhi. For last two days the thermometer has dwindled around at 46-47 degrees Celsius. Its the start of my third week in the new house I just moved into by myself. I got a little over-ambitious and ended up taking a two bedroom-hall-kitchen apartment as opposed to the one bedroom-hall-kitchen I had originally planned to look for. This one had windows. Lots of windows. And tiny little balconies attached to every room. It was one of those houses that fills you with joy and excitement the moment you enter it. So I upped my budget and just took it. Later on, I realized that it is a top floor house and it basically turns into an oven in the day during the peak Delhi summers. Even my AC is struggling on its extreme efforts to bring the temperature of the bedroom down but now down enough. The genius that I am, I realized if I run the tiny otherwise non-functional desert cooler inside the air conditioned room, then it vomits out really chilled air which I really love. I know I will be super broke once the electricity bills comes in. But what the hell, these months are harsh and I want to retain some bit of the excitement and joy over taking this house and not let it succumb to the heat and transform into utter resentment.
I am a graphic designer. I was working as an Art Director till about last year. I saved up a lot of money, quit the job and took a long break from work. Around 6-8 months. Best months in the recent years as it was a longstanding desire that was fulfilled- I wanted to take a break year after college which my Dad prohibited me from. Now that I am earning my own bread independently, there was no stopping me. I starting freelancing and consulting for a startup company working from home. The money isn't great, most months it is hand to mouth survival. But no more 9 to 5. It's been a year. The first downfall of starting to work from home is you get disillusioned about the line between personal time and work time. It all gets muddled together. And in my last house my bed and my beloved desktop (which is the elixir of my life, especially my profession) were placed in the same room. Consequently work was constantly haunted by laziness and procrastination and inversely sleep was perpetually policed by deadlines 24x7. There is no routine. I have been trying to establish one, but self-discipline is an adamant bitch.
So in the new house I thought, 'Hey! Now that I have an extra room, I'll make it into a separate study. And my bedroom will be just a bedroom.' Seemed like a fine idea and I placed my bed very promisingly right in the centre of the room. You see, I come from a broken family of middle class to upper middle class working parents. I never had a bedroom to myself. I started living independently three years ago and obviously upgrading my lifestyle was out of question. Every room that I ever inhabited, the bed was one of the many other functional elements tucked onto some corner or a side like my study table, computer, bookshelf, a giant almirah and the dressing table. And the rooms weren't huge either. They were just about large enough to fit everything leaving no empty wall space. So having just a single sized bed placed in the centre of the room was some weird kind of experience of a relative luxury for me in this new house. I lay on it making plans to eventually save up some money and buy a queen sized bed to replace this one. I always toyed with the idea of waking up on a morning next to someone cherished sleeping beside me. Huddling up together on a single sized bed doesn't really make up for a comfortable sleep, so the mornings are usually more like "Ok. Go away. I need some space!"
Thanks to the crazy heat, it has been just impossible to use the designated 'study' room. My work has been severely affected as I try to use my desktop for the least possible time. Last night, I gave up. I moved the bed away from the centre and along one of the walls like it always had been. And dragged my whole desktop into the bedroom. I was like fuck it. Alas, functionality trumps luxury. And as I lay there on the bed, suddenly it felt so intimidatingly familiar. Like this was just about right. I don't need a larger bed than this. This one is just sufficient enough. It is not like I am waking up next to someone every other morning. Maybe waking up alone on a queen sized bed would actually feel even more lame than waking up in this one. Immediately my feminist side started revolting at me in my head "What the fuck, Dude? Why are you so pathetic that your enjoyment over something entirely depends on the companionship of another person? Has it even occurred to you that half of your friends own double sized beds because they like to sleep spaciously alone? Jeez! Talk about first world problems, man!" I just rolled my eyes and muttered to myself, "Yeah, yeah. There's no one else in the room. So let's just be honest here, shall we?"
So I woke up next morning and walked into the so-called study and stared at the non-functional emptiness partially broken by all the unpacked boxes and sacks which lay victim to the summer procrastination; and wondered: This room is turning out into a really expensive storage. I hope the summer heat dies down soon so that I can start using the room again. Otherwise it just absolutely sucks to regret being over-ambitious and hopeful enough to actually decide to expand your life one step further for a change..."