When is one truly free? Is it when they cut away from family and live apart? Or is it when money comes knocking at one’s doors thanks to education and employment? Or is it when one develops a sort of detachment from the judgments of parents and/or siblings? Or is it when they learn to give it back in words then and there to the numerous taunts of the same people? When exactly?
Sitting in the cramped up living room of my parents’ house in the warm glow of an emergency lamp (thanks to southwest monsoon, power cuts!), I discovered that I feel the most free when there is no one watching me. In a house that is ideally made for three adults (and currently occupied by five), privacy is something that doesn’t exist. Wherever I go, at least one pair of eyes follow, knowingly or otherwise. I am finicky about ‘space’ and I don’t really like this. But do I have a choice? I guess not.
In this backdrop, I discover that I am the free-est when there is no electricity in the house past dusk. There is darkness around me and bonus points for the pitter-patter of raindrops outside. What better way to spend the night, eh? Oh, and for company, some nice tunes by Francoise Hardy, apt for the monsoon showers.
Will a time come when I will truly be free? I sincerely hope so. That solitude is invaluable seems to dawn inside of me often these days. I wouldn’t really mind sitting quietly with my thoughts, however disturbing and stupid those are. It sure sounds scary, but what the hell, what is fear when one walks on eggshells and glass shards everyday? It is just another calamity to prepare for, just that this one’s on my own terms.