Feeling at home, in other people’s homes

Window Seat

We were fairly newly married. The husband and I had arrived at Delhi to stop for a day on our way to a holiday in the hills, when the phone rang. It was Roopa, who said, “Heard you are here? Why don’t you guys come over? We live in central Delhi, and you can easily get to India Gate, the Qutub, or wherever. And if you lovebirds don’t mind, we can also tag along!”

I said, sure, why not, and hung up, when I saw that the spouse didn’t look too happy. “Who is this person who called? Why trouble someone…besides, you can’t be yourself; a hotel is a lot better.”

“Roopa is my mother’s brother’s wife’s elder sister’s younger daughter. Cousin, that is. You are going to love meeting her,” I cajoled him.

The next two days, the shy son-in-law soaked in the hospitality of a South Indian family in the national capital, laughed with the man of the house over old Kannada jokes, got fed poori-sagu by Roopa, who even packed a bottle of pickle for our travel ahead, in case we felt sick from all the alu-samosa eating in the mountains.

Today, the husband himself stays at ‘my’ relatives’ homes during his travel -- even if I am not around. This transition didn’t happen overnight. It took gentle nudges, mild lectures, and years of keeping one’s home open and opening oneself to others’ homes – but the outcome is worth it all.

In this age of privacy, when you have to knock and ask your own child for permission before you enter her room, the very thought that you go stay with a family just like that, seems uncivilised to some. But our civilisation hasn’t been of individualism as it has been of celebrating community, of seeing the entire ‘Vasudha’ (the Earth) as ‘kutumba’ (one family).

I inherited this thought as a legacy, not a lesson in some classroom. Our ancestral house in the then-Madras while I was growing up, was forever full with people. The big Indian joint family we were, with constant come-and-go of visitors from my grandparents’ villages back in Karnataka who would come to Madras on work, or for treatment in big hospitals there. Grandmother and aunts would serve food to everyone who sat down on the floor in a row, the same simple yet tasty fare that would be made for the day. As children who had to help the elders with their tasks or share bed or sweets with other kids, there was no concept of ‘my’ space/time/thing. Social skills went up, that no social media can teach.

Visiting someone -- or being ready to stay at their home -- is not giving the person ‘trouble’; it is a unique way to create a bond with that person or family in these busy times when they say no one has time for anyone else, which is not true. In my travels in India or outside, I have found most people welcome to the idea of hosting. There is, in fact, Couchsurfing, a worldwide hospitality exchange that has been around since 1999. Once you are a member, you can request homestay if visiting a country, or offer your home to someone who is visiting yours. As a host, you are not to charge for the stay, but you get in return goodwill and info about the guest’s country as much as she imbibes local culture and cuisine via you. There is all that savings on hotel and food bills.

It is important to be a good guest, too. Mingle, help the host, and carry something thoughtful. This February, I did a month-long solo trip across Uttar Pradesh during elections – and it was in homes rather than hotels that I stayed, like I had in West Bengal, too. People following my journey via social media would say, “My friend/aunt/third cousin’s second uncle stays there, you must visit them.” And I would. As a result, I experienced India’s most massive state via homes like that of a writer-radio star in Lucknow, a dietician in Prayagraj, a teacher couple in Gorakhpur.

When I reached, after a tiring journey, the home of panchayat sarpanch Amit in village Malakpura in Bundelkhand, I crashed on a carpet I found in a corner. I felt a pair of bangled hands put a warm blanket on me. Amit’s aunt, on my waking, sat next, handing me a delicious plate of hot halwa, fragrant with semolina, cashews, raisins. With affection that no 5-star hotel can offer.