When I built my house the only thing that I was absolutely sure of was my study. I knew it would be in warm colors, it would have an antique writing desk, a book case AND most importantly, a comfortable sofa that I can sink into. No sofa, no study. Because I knew I would be spending a lot of my life in that sofa, it was going to be an integral part of my life.
I spent weeks looking for the right sofa. I had spent hours sitting and feeling up the sofas in umpteen showrooms. But nothing felt right. So much so people thought I was a sofa-stalker.
One day, when I had almost given up on my search, I met MY sofa. It’s orange hues matched the walls of my study. It was not gaudy –just warm and inviting. The minute I sat on it I knew she was mine. I was lost in her warm embrace. It felt like home.
I brought her home and sat her next to the window. The exact spot where beautiful sunlight would stream through. Oh, I just loved it. And I gave strict instructions to everyone at home that it was MINE and no one should forget that.
But the problem was anyone who sat on that sofa, fell in love with it and wouldn’t want to get up. And my dad was on top of the list of defaulters.
Like a typical Malayali man he would oil the ten and a half strands of hair on his head and have a head bath every day. And for the rest of the day he would go around leaving an Australia shaped wet oily patch on whatever he would rest his head on. So I had strictly forbidden my dad from sitting on my sofa, lest in case I had numerous australias on my sofa.
We have had childish fights over the sofa. Whenever he wanted to get my attention he would plonk himself on the sofa because he knew that would surely get him my attention. And we would have a massive argument. In hindsight I think he enjoyed these arguments, which were his way of getting some time with his otherwise busy daughter.
Oh how I hated him when he usurped my sofa.
Today, dad’s no more. And I’d give anything to have him occupy that sofa just once. I am not being an emotional dram queen here, it’s just that I sometimes think, what a fool I had been to fight with a man who loved me dearly, over a piece of furniture. How thick I had been not to have realized that it is not the sofa that he had wanted but some precious time with me.
We tend to take people in our lives for granted. Thinking that they’d be around forever, we go about living our busy lives. But no one stays here forever –so we might as well choose wisely. Is it going to be the sofa or….?
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