Matchbox magic

It’s dark, dingy and has a depressing air to it. Years from now, were I to walk into the Men Interns' Quarters, where I spend two of the initial years of my marriage, I may find it difficult to imagine the life I had in my match-box room with its attached bathroom within the box. Yet, whenever I go back, to meet an old friend or for a meal when my help's ditched me, I can feel myself smile. Smile with feelings akin to those associated with homecoming.

I can think of no sensible explanation for the reaction.
It was when I was in MIQ that I felt most cut off from the close-knit community of the medical college and hospital where my husband was training. I was working from home and so spent most of my time in the small room. Husband with a tight schedule (that’s an understatement, actually). No children to drive me up the wall like my kid does now. Too few friends. An almost non-existent social life.

It wasn’t that I was bored to death. There were times of boredom, yes, but after the first few months, I found myself a part-time job and started going for music classes. These along with my regular work ensured that I was occupied. The real problem was that I was not part of the mainstream (read a valuable member of the community). I resented it and resented the ‘mainstreamers’ who casually asked me, “So what do you do all day?” like they made the world go round.

Despite all of that, I liked the MIQ from Day 1.

I liked my room in which we slept on the floor because two beds made the room very non-user-friendly. It made me feel younger, like a teenager or a newly working woman with too little money for a proper apartment.

I liked feeling like I was having a live-in relationship with my long-time boyfriend. My husband came late at night and left before I was fully awake. We hardly ever did what real domesticated couples do like going to dinners we had been invited to, going to church together or the local club.

I liked being able to play my music loud at any time of the day. The MIQ is simply the coolest when it comes to having a bohemian life.

I liked redoing my little room fifty times a month trying to make it a cosy nest.

I liked the indomitable Mrs. Ray and her team that could cook you an egg any-which-way-you-liked.

I liked watching a shared tv when there was something really exciting on it – and I don’t mean a cricket match. Sometimes, if I was the only girl in the group and a smooch came on, the man in charge – the one who had the remote – would quickly change channels. That really amused me.

The gypsy-woman may look unimpressive but she can still work her charms. And I, for one, was charmed.