“You have
so much space in this house, why don’t you get a flatmate?”
“Wow!
What will you do with so much space?”
Note the keyword here – “space.”
In my years of experience of living life as a single
woman in a big bad city, this word beats the crap out of all other words. You
like your space, I like mine. However, much to the misfortune of people like
me, “space” is a luxury you are entitled to only when you are married to a man.
This single act of tying two shoelaces together, trips you into a new form of
existence. An existence that suddenly validates everything like sleeping in the
same bed (frowningly looked down upon before marriage), sexual intercourse (but
of course, how else will married couples bear children?), wild dancing and
drinking alcohol in public (as long as hubby’s the bouncer for the night),
wearing short dresses (on hubby’s signature of approval).
I’ll tell you what. You keep your institution of
marriage, and I’ll keep my space. Deal?
It is annoying bordering on comical when people walk
into my house and marvel at the number of rooms that I have ALL to myself. To
tell you the truth, I don’t live in a mansion and it is not as sprawling as
they make it sound. But it seems to be the size of a country to them because I
am the only homo sapiens to live
here. Obviously, they tend to disregard the two and a half dogs that also call
this “space” home.
After repeated consternation and analysis, I may have
wound up with the driving force behind this unmasked bafflement and unasked for
advice. It’s simple actually.
As a single woman, how can I live a “settled life” outside
marriage?
Now what do I need a drawing and dining room for? And
what on earth will I do with a separate room for office work? Such a waste! I
should give it all up, get a flatmate and wait for a man to marry me so I can secure
all these comforts with him. The audacity that I should be living like this!
Comfortable and content!
I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I already lived my ‘makeshift’,
‘college student’ life years ago. One room, single mattress on the floor,
shared kitchen and bathroom, eating out, canvas shoe rack, one electric rice cooker
for a kitchen. I did all of that. And as I worked my ass off and grew older – I
wanted more. And I didn’t wait for a sign of approval to go get it. Or a man.
My drawing and dining room is for entertaining guests.
You know, the same place where YOUR guests plonk their asses when visiting? My
little study/office is my workplace and just as sacred and serious as the place
where you earn YOUR living. My bedroom, well, I don’t see you entertaining
guests in YOUR own so you should really know better.
Every space, every room has its own character and vibe.
I have different feelings attached to each and I cherish them all.
No, I am not rich. But it is also true that I like to live
comfortable within my limited means. This space is my own and while friends are
welcomed warmly with open arms and a chilled beer, I like to watch them leave
and reclaim my space again. This is the place where nobody tells me what to do
or how to live. It accepts me and lends me the opportunity to be the crazy
madcap that I am. Or the earnest homemaker and mother – an avatar which still
surprises people.
While I’m at it, let me dispel another misconception
and make you open that mouth in astonishment. There are no orgies to be found
here. No daily parties and intoxicated merriment. No boyfriends frequenting on
shuffle play. I’m sorry to crack your illusion into useless pieces. It is a
regular home with maid problems, feeding and walk times for the children,
cooking, groceries, client deadlines, house repairs, gardening and the sheer delight of
getting to go to bed at 10 o’ clock on a lucky night. So sorry.
On another level, I’ve always believed that your home
is a visual character sketch of you. It puts on display who you are. Colours,
lighting, furniture, décor, crockery, garden – they all speak something about
you. So, having your own place, your own space helps celebrate that, in a
million little ways.
So, I ask you, why would I not celebrate this now, in
the present, and instead wait for a man to make this happen? Don’t get me
wrong, I have nothing against being married. But my point still holds fast - How
can he give me something that is already there? My identity. And the financial
capacity to buy whatever I need.
Photo credits: Google
