Living in a Room

Once I saw my brother studying in Kitchen, and wondered how could he possibly study there: its distracting, noisy and smelly. I was not in Kathmandu then, I was home. I had two rooms back then- I had my bed and study materials in one, and in another; broken or to-be-broken electric devices.

I came to Kathmandu after SLC to stay with my cousin brother and sister in a room. We had our kitchen, two cloth-hangers, two beds, book-case, water-drums, rice-sack and ourselves- all squeezed in one tiny room. It had only one small window, that was symbolic of the size of our room when compared to the house we were living.

Whenever I told people that I lived in a room, they would say how wonderful life I was living. When I asked why they would reply that I had no intruder in my private or personal life, I could do anything I wanted. Well, this is partly true, but there is an inner-story to this.

When you are living in a room, you don’t have a personal life that is attached to you only, you have a shared-personal life. Even if we don’t wish, we can’t keep it to ourselves. Even opening an eye at a wrong time becomes an invasion. And there is very less you can do as you wish because, most of the times, you are busy doing what you need to rather than want to.

We used to be visited by relatives and friends often, once in a month was like a rule. The visit would not be a short one, it mostly would last for a week. There was not much difference I found between Nepal Yatayat, by which I used to go to my college, and my room. The only difference was- it was far more easy and comfortable to stand in Nepal Yatayat than to sit and sleep in my room. It would feel like steam-room during summer, and it would turn into a furnace while cooking food.

My cousin-brother left for home since he got a job there. Now, it was only me and my sister. We studied in that tiny room together. We had a rule of not producing sound while studying if one had to, s/he had to study in the balcony, where the shoes of that apartment were kept; but if both had to then it would be turn-wise. The terrace was not possible because it was a hub for all the women-neighbors. During the examination, it was even more difficult for us. If anyone of us had, the other would be in-charge of every household work. If both of us had together, then the examination’s priority would decide who becomes the in-charge, like if she had boards and I had terms, then I would be in-charge of the works. The real problem would be when being visited by a guest at this time.

We have grown used to each other. We have gone through different phases together. We both know how it feels to sleep empty-stomach, sometimes due to poverty and sometimes due to laziness; and how it feels to be broke and kept getting nagged by the land-lady. We had learned to communicate through our silence, when to speak and when not to. We know when we need to share our personal story and when not, even if we both know it before being told. All these years we have discovered more about each other than ourselves.

Time in the room is slow and distractive. Even if we wish, we can’t remain focused. There is always something that pops up when we are doing fine with ourselves. It is a mysterious world that keeps challenging one’s principle and patience.

It has been two years we changed our rooms, the land-lady was generous enough to give us another one. But not much has changed. I have kitchen behind me, a bed at my right, a cloth hanger at my left and a wall in front of me. It is a dead end. From a person who got uncomfortable looking at my brother studying in a kitchen, I have a become a person who lives in one.