Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again. (May 03, 2007)
Sidra put up something in her Daily Dubs and called it “Manderley Again“. It reminded me of something I put up on my blog a while back, and was just amazed how differently the same line had affected us. I guess great lines need to have that kind of an effect. Anyway, this is what I wrote (sorry in advance for the numerous linguistic mistakes, as this comes directly from my Zoo):
Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again.
Best opening line in a book ever? Perhaps…
Well yesterday I also dreamed of this old shabby house with high ceiling, thick brick walls painted with “choona“, and those old heavy fans that had five foot pipes separating them from the ceiling. The floors were made of tiny red bricks, and the stairs had wooden planks on their edges to minimize chipping and maximizing life. The roofs were supported by double T girders, and all the wiring was external, with wires running (clamped on thin wooden strips) all over the walls. The electrical switches were those big black monsters that would produce a loud “click” whenever switched on or off. There were rectangular windows at the top of every wall facing outside, which were operated by two strings, one attached at the top (to open) and the other at the bottom (to close).
It was a crisp summer after-noon and most of the adults in the numerous rooms of the mini-”Haveli” were either asleep or relaxing under the monotonous cool of the noisy and shaky fans. Seven children aged six to eleven ran around the house in groups, always chattering, always laughing, always quarreling. They seemed to be at every place at the same time (except inside the rooms, as that was grown-up territory). The little group was lead by a girl with green eyes and pig tails, dressed in a pink, knee length frock. Her knees supported as many bruises as the boys. Plans were being hatched to sneak the sugar out of both the kitchens and taking it to the sugar candy man. He doesn’t charge you if you bring your own sugar. The group divided into two, one headed by the girl and the other by a boy just a little younger in age. His hair was all over his face and baked with mud in patches. Always moving it was as if he was eying everyone at the same time with his small, keen snake-eyes. The boy lead his team upstairs, while the girl decided to hit the kitchen on the ground floor (easier escape route). A few minutes and they were both back with big jars of sugar, eyes gleaming and stomachs growling at the mere thought of sugar candy…
I grew up in that house and we moved out about 17 years ago. But never have I explored anything as I explored that house. I knew every loose brick in the floor, every stair that squeaked at night, every hidden passage. I knew that the coolest place in the summer evenings wasn’t the single air-conditioned room, but was under the water tank. A miserly space of about 3 feet wide and half a foot high. I knew the best routes within the house for avoiding my angry grandmother. I knew the complicated staircase by heart, and could easily get creative in getting down without using the stairs (for stairs could be blocked by the elders to end the getaway…
Seventeen years on, whenever I dream of a house…it’s always this house. I keep changing in my dreams, and so does my life and the context, but the house remains the same. An old squeaky, shaky house that’s somehow became the house of my dreams…
Ofcourse you can link other posts in your post. Highlight ‘Manderlay Again’ (if you want to link my post on those words) and click the little icon above the posting are that has the picture of a chain. It will open a dialogue box, insert the link of my post there and press ‘insert.’
Now, the post. What that line does for you is surely very different than what it says to me. I think children who have these ‘ancestral’ homes to grow up in, and more importantly, who REMEMBER them, are very lucky. My grandmother’s house was very similar to what you have described here and, I realize now, it was a piece of heaven. I remember it quite well but not every loose brick and every secret passage (they demolished it when I was 7) My elder brother makes similar claims. He says he knew everything that there was to know about that house.
I wish such places would keep on living forever.
Ppl may not realize but there are a lot of ppl who read every single post here but are either too embarassed to comment (because of havin disappeared for months now!) or are too intimidated by the posts themselves n feel incapable of commentin (or writin themselves!)
Still, hats off to Fraz whose post tingled nostalgia in me and I HAD to comment! My old house too…Barri Kothi we used to call it! There’s no sentimentality in the world anymore! The same ppl who have psent their who have spent their childhoods, half their lives, their weddings n many wonderful memories there r fightin lik angry predators to sell the house n gain the maximum share from the home their parents built some 40 yrs ago i think!
Such a sad world!