When Home is a Haven

Lazy day under the tree

Over the years I have called all sorts of places "home": from the rather dilapidated but rambling government bungalow my parents brought me to from the hospital, to a tres-chic Parisian apartment with a panoramic view of the most beautiful city in the world, to a rather grungy dorm room whose saving grace was the parquet floor and lilac tree under the window, to various rented bits in other people's homes, and finally to this most longed for home-of-my-own.

The day the fishpond was made

While we were finalizing the purchase of this house, and throughout the six months we spent renovating it, we were acutely aware that we were not just buying a house, but investing in a place that would become a sanctuary in a city that was fast deteriorating around us. Our first instinct was to plant quick-growing trees all around the edges of our property- cocooning ourselves in, shielded from the world outside.

The study- a favorite spot

I love coming back home; as soon as I walk in through the door, the house feels cool and quiet; we rarely hear the noise of traffic or horns, the soft ringing of chimes is occasionally interrupted by the sound of the ice-cream van passing by. Ok I have to be honest, it does get quite loud around here sometimes - but if truth be told, we are the cause of the noise - dog barking as he chases birds swooping in for a drink, the whack of the ball against the cricket bat, kids yelling as the ball goes over the wall into the neighbor's house...

Unfortunately, we hardly ever get the time to truly appreciate our little haven- our home may be imbued with the spirit of homes from my childhood, but the pace of my children's lives is quite different from mine as a child. We rush in and out, all day long- school, football, piano lessons, dance classes, Tae Kwon Do meets, play-dates, afternoons at the pool- on any given day I spend more awake time in my car than at home. 

And then something happens. Usually something horrible- one angry person shoots another, the reasons convoluted and byzantine, the results always bloody and destructive. Before we know it the city is on fire;  buses burn, shops shut, children are quickly rescued from school and home is literally a safe port in a storm. Sadly, Karachiites are so familiar with this scenario that we always keep our gas tanks full and our larders stocked as we hunker down, besieged by our own. 

I wonder what it says about my life that I have come to cherish these moments of forced inactivity. I don't know if its selfish callousness on my part, or just a natural instinct for self-preservation, but this chaos without forces me to look within- moments of introspection yes, but mostly purely indulgent laziness. Real meals are substituted with afternoons of grazing - Raza will usually bring up platters of apples and cheese, the kids will hanker for popcorn or minute-noodles, bowls of nuts and bars of chocolates vanish. Everyone finds a nook to snuggle in with a book, breaking for a game of table tennis, or a quick splash in the paddling pool.

We'll listen to music and I'll get a chance to potter around, and make the house pretty. With no opportunities to run to the florist for some eye candy, we make do with whatever is blooming in the garden, and no need for vases. The act of filling water in a vessel (usually an old bowl salvaged from some other more utilitarian function) and watching ripples form as flowers and leaves are lowered in is strangely calming and satisfying. The offering of a flower feels spiritual; a token of thanks for a home where we can shut out the horrors of the outside world at least for today.