living like a poet

the creative  mess

a glimpse of the room where i write

When I first came to US, I noticed something: most people here live in homes that can double up as hotel rooms. Beautiful furnishings, quaint lamp-shades, squeaky clean floors. On the other hand, I grew up in a home where people threw things everywhere. It was clean and hygienic, and there were times when my mother would nag me to clean my room. But mostly, our rooms were lived spaces, where guests came in abundance, books and magazines sat as comfortably as human beings on our couches. There might have been differences in degrees between the home I grew up in, and other homes I have visited and known in Kolkata, but nowhere there was this emphasis on making one's own home look like the interiors of a hotel as there is in this country. I associate this with an all-encompassing culture of consumerism, a culture that has problem with history and is too keen on erasing the traces of its own footprints.


I am disorganized, to say the least. Yes, I can be organized if I want to. But I rarely do so. I don't really know why I should spend so much time folding linen and organizing my clothes when there are so many things to read, so many things to write. Consequently, I spend very little time in organizing my home. I keep it clean enough, hygienic enough. I like to eat and cook, and I do try to cook good food for myself and my friends. But, I see no point in wasting my time cleaning up my home like a maniac. I can live with a little bit of clutter. And, if this world remembers me after I die, it's not going to remember me because of how much I have cleaned my home. It will remember me because of the writings I will leave behind.


For years, when I lived in Austin, I have felt ashamed. I have felt ashamed that I do not own a bed. I have felt ashamed that the floors of my apartment was covered in books. I was ashamed that I do not have enough bookshelves. Consequently, I invited very few people into my space. But, during the time it took for me to graduate from a PhD student to an assistant professor, I have also gone through certain changes. I have two new couches (yes! I do!), new bookshelves, a dining table. My apartment now is a somewhat comfortable space. I love that comfort, but it is also a profoundly lived space. There are few books on the floor, my notebooks on the couches and the kitchen could have been better equipped. In other words, there are some clutter. And, I am comfortable with it. I am comfortable with it enough to invite my friends over.


I have always lived like a poet, but now I am less afraid of showing my living as a poet to people I meet and work with. Yes, I am growing up.