Writing

A Letter To My (Dying) Room

An Edition of ‘Ease’

Dear Room,

Today is probably the last time I meet you, before someone else who doesn’t know of your silences, tears you down. However heartbreaking it sounds but right now when I look at you, I feel you; you are living and I also know of your dying breaths. That day is not far when you won’t exist anymore and I will lose the last space I have, to go back to. 

A few minutes ago, I told you I love you. I said that with the kind of intensity I might rarely express in my lifetime. I wanted to cry but there was no time. I held that in. There were more words to speak of yet, like always, the silences between us stayed. I know your pulse, the life within you and how you know everything and more than what I know. I am reminded of the times I have sought refuge in that bookshelf, then simply opened any page of any book in front to find a solution. Strangely, I have always found one.

When I look at you right now, there are experiences and memories I have made along with the remnants of times you have spent apart from me. You are perhaps much larger than I am, now. While I have grown in a way, you have grown in multiple of them. There are few people whose growth you have witnessed as well and embraced them and myself. I want to ask if it has been hard living with me? You won’t answer off course but I know your reply. It’s astonishing to think of everything you know that even I don’t or remember about myself.

For four years, you have been built and rebuilt, broken down and put back again. Kalkieh was born in you. She sought her freedom far away but she understands how you built her too. You have seen Aditi change here. You have seen her lose. I know you don’t want to hear a thank you because you already know how grateful both Aditi and Kalkieh are to you for understanding things the way you have.

I have always said that my room is me and if I ever leave one, I’ll build it somewhere else. Yet, you are important because you represent my past; a past I cannot bring back, that lies covered in the thin layer of dust that settles over you. There will be more rooms, of course, but the way I wrote Frida on you in large and bold handwriting that one night two years ago can never be repeated again. The placing of my table, the music, my book-shelf, those books lying on the bed and the laptop lying on the floor with the blue bottle, sipper and my tennis racquet cannot be built again.

Dear room, you were art in yourself. You were built with utmost levels of honesty and you can never be replicated, even by me. The light that comes from those green and yellow curtains has changed now; it seems much colder. Does the sun also know of your imminent death? I told the moon about you one day, it smiled and that was enough to make me feel calm. The nights in you have gotten harder in the past few months. I feel as if you have started pushing me away but this was no surprise. I have been away for months and I feel you have enjoyed your last moments of solitude very much. Is it just me who is behaving like an over-attached being who doesn’t wish to let go? Maybe, yes. But don’t worry. I won’t do that. I will let you go like you have taught me. I will move on.

I understand the futility of my words but there still lies a lot more to say to you. I know you love me and all that I am to become. It’s disheartening that you won’t be there to see the person I will be. But because you are a part of me, I will always keep you alive.

Now let me close this door slowly and hear the clank of the ID cards hanging on the knob. I sneak glimpses of you again and again to create the most memorable last image. None of them stands up to the standards though; the most cherished one might be some other, from another day.

The door is closed now and the Surya wishes me a goodbye in its faded hue that became purple from black two years ago. He’s smiling, the kind of smile my father used to give me. How would have I known years ago that I would connect that sun to my father one day? I am overwhelmed but happy. You have embraced my growth today, accepted it and asked me to move on. You have reassured me that I am not doing as bad and that I would be better soon. These last moments feel lighter than I expected them to be. This is what you do, you make things easier. You make loss easier and that is why you are so beautiful.

I leave now. I step away. There’s nothing more to tell.

It has ended.

Do you love me? Yes, you do. Do I love you? Yes. I do.

Take care, dear room.

I sincerely hope I did not trouble you much.

Goodbye.

Love,

Aditi/Kalkieh

By Aditi Chandra

Aditi Chandra or Kalkieh is a witch in learning. She is married to Frida Kahlo and loves art, art memes, honest talks and Caesar Salad. She defines herself as a self-aware narcissist. Aditi is an artist and also a freshman at TISS, Hyderabad on the side. 

She goes by @kalkieh on instagram. 

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