Skip to main content

My Home My Kingdom

Bobby, one of my 3 cats, while I was writing this post.
For some time he was on my lap and then found a better place on my printer.


The white paint on the walls just below the windowsills are stained with the pawprints of my cats. When someone asked me why I let my cats stain my otherwise clean white walls, my answer was simple: “It’s my house, they’re my cats.” My cats have the freedom to enter through any open window of my house. I clean the stains left by them once a week or so which means the stains remain there most of the days. The last time I got my house painted I asked the painter to help me with this problem. “Why not apply a washable paint just below the windows?” I asked. “That won’t look good,” he said. “We’ll use a wall paint which can be cleaned with a wet piece of cloth,” he continued when I looked unhappy with what he said. The wet cloth doesn’t really remove all the pawmarks . It doesn’t matter. Because my cats are more important to me than the chastity of the whiteness of the walls of my house.

I live in a state whose people build ostentatious houses by spending almost all their savings and also huge loans taken from banks. When I came to Kerala from Delhi seven years ago, I went around looking for a house to buy. My agent showed me quite many houses all of which were beyond my budget. I learnt that they were all built by people who wanted to show off more than they could afford to. I didn’t want to show off anything. Finally I constructed a house of my own. No ostentation at all. A simple house. Good enough for two of us and the cats that joined us eventually from nowhere.

There’s space for some guests too though I hardly have them. I was supposed to be an antisocial creature in the folklores of my Shillong years (my youth). Then I became asocial in my Delhi years (middle age). Now I have withdrawn myself from the society so much that I don’t know what they think of me and it doesn’t bother me at all. My cats are better company and the stains they leave on my walls aren’t as bad as the blood stains carried by news reports day after day. 

When I took a break

PS. Triggered by Indispire Edition 426: should your home reflect how you live or how you want to portray home to others? #myhome

 

Comments

  1. Hari OM
    Quite right! I might be inclined to use a transparent sticky plastic (like for covering books) alone beneath the sills... just for ease of clean and all that. But yeah, what's a pawmark or several over the joy of the cats' company?! YAM xx

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's a wonderful suggestion, Yamini. Thank you. I take it. 👍

      Delete
  2. Sometimes we can trust animals more than humans(the most dangerous crooked creature in the whole world ) . Moreover those who knows you in personal will continue to accept u in the way you are . All the students who had got a chance to be in your class are blessed just like me 🙂

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Delighted to hear this. My students are the only society I now have. That's why I continue in the profession.

      Delete
  3. That's a sweet post.
    I send well wishes to you and your feline friends. :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Everything is Politics

Politics begins to contaminate everything like an epidemic when ideology dies. Death of ideology is the most glaring fault line on the rock of present Indian democracy. Before the present regime took charge of the country, political parties were driven by certain underlying ideologies though corruption was on the rise from Indira Gandhi’s time onwards. Mahatma Gandhi’s ideology was rooted in nonviolence. Nothing could shake the Mahatma’s faith in that ideal. Nehru was a staunch secularist who longed to make India a nation of rational people who will reap the abundant benefits proffered by science and technology. Even the violent left parties had the ideal of socialism to guide them. The most heartless political theory of globalisation was driven by the ideology of wealth-creation for all. When there is no ideology whatever, politics of the foulest kind begins to corrode the very soul of the nation. And that is precisely what is happening to present India. Everything is politics

Mango Trees and Cats

Appu and Dessie, two of our cats, love to sleep under the two mango trees in front of our house these days. During the daytime, that is, when the temperature threatens to brush 40 degrees Celsius. The shade beneath the mango trees remains a cool 28 degrees or so. Mango trees have this tremendous cooling effect. When I constructed the house, the area in front had no touch of greenery as you can see in the pic below.  Now the same area, which was totally arid then, looks like what's below:  Appu and Dessie find their bower in that coolness.  I wanted to have a lot of colours around my house. I tried growing all sorts of flower plants and failed rather miserably. The climate changes are beyond the plants’ tolerance levels. Moreover, all sorts of insects and pests come from nowhere and damage the plants. Crotons survive and even thrive. I haven’t given up hope with the others yet. There are a few adeniums, rhoeos, ixoras, zinnias and so on growing in the pots. They are trying their

Brownie and I - a love affair

The last snap I took of Brownie That Brownie went away without giving me a hint is what makes her absence so painful. It’s nearly a month and I know now for certain that she won’t return. Worse, I know that she didn’t want to leave me. She couldn’t have. Brownie is the only creature who could make me do what she wanted. She had the liberty to walk into my bedroom at any time of the night and wake me up for a bite of her favourite food. She would sit below the bed and meow. If I didn’t get up and follow her, she would climb on the bed and meow to my face. She knew I would get up and follow her to the cupboard where bags of cat food were stored.  My Mistress in my study Brownie was not my only cat; there were three others. But none of the other three ever made the kind of demands that Brownie made. If any of them came to eat the food I served Brownie at odd hours of the night, Brownie would flatly refuse to eat with them in spite of the fact that it was she who had brought me out of

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart