Four walls and a ceiling

Imagine a small room. The

walls are plain and bare. Not

even a stray crack or a

renegade mark on the

uniformly white paint. A sole

window exists on one side

whose wooden frame blends in

with the walls by virtue of

its colour and yet, is as

bare as can be. No curtains,

not even a rod, it looks more

than just a tad bit unclad.

Sunlight tries to creep in

through the window but is

filtered by the blinds,

casting an ashen colour to

the walls opposite. Just like

the table that lies next to

it. Some shelves, mostly

empty, and an empty space

across from it, give the

viewer the feeling that a

piece of furniture may be

missing. Perhaps a sofa that

should be there and isn't. On

the other end of the tiny

room, lies a bed and next to

it, a little closet. The

closet and the drawers

together, bring in the only

traces of colour in this

closed world. But the colours

do not seem to be happy with

each other. As if trying to

out-compete each other, they

do not agree among

themselves. The blue and red

of the drawer contradict the

yellow-green of the closet

while the bare walls and

ceiling just look on.

In the middle of the day, not

a sound can be heard, not

even a faraway voice or

barely audible song. The door

is closed & the window is

shut. The air inside is dry,

almost bored. As if it wants

to escape but not to the

place that is outside.

Somewhere else. Where it

feels more human. An aura of

peacefulness and serenity is

projected by the the minimal

yet sufficient decor of the

room that is bathed in white.

But is that what I really

want?

What about the laughter I

should be able to hear, from

the kids playing silly games

outside my window? The

humdrum of everyday life, the

TV's incessant chatter, the

radio blurting out a random

song? The birds that coo and

chirp unstoppably until its

dusk again? The insects that

buzz around while someone

tries to sell fruits outside

on the streets by shouting

themselves hoarse? The din of

cars zooming past and the

occasional screeching brakes

that are as jarring as they

are curiosity-evoking?

Is there any way I could find

that here? At a place where I

don't hear my own voice for

the major part of the day so

that when I do, it sounds

foreign, belonging to someone

else? I don't know where the

answer lies.