Reassurance in disguise

Reassured – that’s what I needed to feel, in a strange, new city sans friends, sans familiarity, sans refuge.

I remember walking down the slightly winding, tree-lined lane in Aundh on a rainy Sunday evening, wishing desperately that the apartment-hunting nightmare would end. I couldn’t even pronounce Aundh back then – was it Awwndh or Owwndh or Oondh? The realtor had promised to show us a house that was available on the aforesaid lane. But, it wasn’t to be. The landlord had forgotten to leave the keys behind. He apologised profusely and promised to show us the house the next day. We were exhausted from paint smells, suspect neigbourhoods, enthusiastic landlords and dust-laden furniture. We were ready to head back to the other part of town, resigning ourselves to another day of looking for affordable apartments. I didn’t think I’d come back there again; we had already made a list of apartments that we wanted take a look at the next day.

On my way out of the realtor’s office, I saw, nestled in a corner, under the shade of a very generous tree, a small, cosy bookstore. I stared a moment longer, as if I had just stumbled upon a precious coral! I think I decided then, albeit unconsciously, that I will take that apartment. Whatever the rent, whatever its imperfections – irrational as that may seem. Don’t take my word that that decision was an unconscious one!

And, take the apartment, I did. The next evening. The rent decidedly overshot the budget and the walls of the bedroom and kitchen were painted a depressing combat-fatigues-green. And, I was wildly happy. The bookstore was shut. But, I winked at its closed shutters and promised to make friends with it as soon as it woke up from its Monday siesta.

twistntales, for the uninitiated. Oddly, inexplicably reassuring – the subject of this post.