Brick by brick

2 June 2025

Dear Mukta,

I was looking up a place on Google Maps when your name popped up in my search history. You have been my permanent address from the day I was born, so it made no sense to check your location through an app. You could take me to the ends of the earth and I’d still be able to find myself back home. Because that’s what you’ve been to all of us for 36 good long years – a HOME.

My fingers hovered over your name in the search tab. I had looked you up to send a Map link to someone a while ago. But today, I end up clicking on your name for selfish (read : nostalgic) reasons. The page loads – and there you are, filling up my phone screen in all your white and green glory. The house of my dreams, quite literally – and the house of all my memories!

As I hungrily swiped the screen to get a full view of you as I shall always remember you, I am hit by the irony of this moment. This morning, I stood on your foundation – the structure I once called home, now completely demolished. Yet here you were, captured through a satellite camera for the entire world to see via the Street View feature.

You don’t exist in reality but technology will allow me to hold on to the visual memory of you for much longer. The photos we end up scrolling through of family aren’t complete without you in it. Your spaces, my safe havens.

As the date for vacating your premises edged closer, I watched bits and pieces of you come down…subtle changes to your architecture that pointed towards your upcoming demolition. My mind rebelled with what I saw, because slowly yet surely you began to lose resemblance to the home I’ve always known.

Brick by brick, you changed appearance …and brick for brick, I tried to hold on.

The welcoming red door that still proudly displays my grandfather’s name, the open layout of the entire house that channelises light and sound across spaces, the greenery that each balcony and window opens up to, the multiple levels within you that allowed me to play outdoor sports indoors too, the mosaic in the kitchen that was a childhood project, my makeshift room that I still consider the best feature of the house, the dome shaped skylight that naturally lights up the bathroom, the ease with which the different spaces flow into each other, the spacious terrace that doubles up as a direct entrance into the neighbour’s house, the stairs that took care of seating arrangements during events and regular workouts each time the doorbell rang, the exposed concrete ceiling that has been my grandfather’s signature, the marble dining table that my father taught me to clean spotlessly, the overflowing bookshelves in every space that my mother inspired me to work my way through, the telephone niche that acted as a stage for me as I narrated my entire day to my grandmother…. The spaces and my growing up seamlessly interlaced with each other.

The practical me knows that when a new structure comes up in your place, so will new moments find a home there. But right now, there exists a deep sense of loss associated with losing the physical version of you. For you have been such a beautiful and unique piece of architecture, that I know there never would be another house like you.

And so I have been struggling with this one question for a long time now : How do I say Goodbye to you in all your entirety – having been such a steady witness to my good, bad and the ugly?

As I see you through the digital form today, the answer whispers itself to me – perhaps I don’t need to say Goodbye after all. You might be changing your external structure, but you will continue to stand tall on the same foundation. You might not be the house of my growing up years, but you will continue to be the house for our evolving family. You may not physically remain, but you will always have a ‘home’ in my heart.

And so instead of a Goodbye, I would like to say Thank you…

…for the safety and strength you have always brought to me.

…for standing firm by me as I loved and lost within you.

…for the countless first experiences that you introduced me to.

…for opening your arms to my friends, giving them nostalgic moments with you too.

…for not just being our house over three decades (while not once showing signs of your age!) but for also being our family member.

I hope you know you’ve been loved deeply despite being such an inanimate being as a house…and here’s to loving you always for remaining alive as a home!