The Graceful Attachment.

I could hear voices from the kitchen and corridors in my apartment. There were a few, whom I know since I moved into this accommodation eight months back. The first time I saw them, I noticed that they weren't anyone with whom I can hangout, I thought. Reason??. Matrix accommodation and a new place to get up from tomorrow. When I started to complete my application for on-campus residence, they had something which I thought was a crazy question. The application form said "Would you like to prefer Matrix Accommodation?". I was in India and all attempts to reach the accommodation team to inquire about that freaky word went futile. Supposedly, they had meant the International Residential preference. It means, you can decide, if you want to stay with international students, (even they had provisions to choose mixed residents, i.e, no gender bias) rather than a native resident from India per say. As in every tough question while writing an exam, I chose matrix scheme at random and then eventually I was posted with ten others who were actually from almost four continents. Interesting. When I moved in with a heavy suit-case into my accommodation, I saw a number of fellow-students arriving at their residences. The first change. When I climbed stairs, I crossed a girl, who was supposed to move in to the same apartment as mine. She also had a huge suit-case, with a package hanging and dancing, cantilevered on the top of the main case, as she was ascending to the first floor of the apartment. As a usual thing, when you see someone struggling, you would want to offer some help. Help in progress. She quickly introduced herself and went in. Suddenly a wave of emptiness. I was expecting her to ask a few more questions or share some experiences while she came all the way from her country to England. Greedy. Suddenly I went to Chennai. Imagination. Every time, When I come back home from a trip, my mother or father, used to walk me from the entrance to our house, followed with a session covering questions about my last night's dinner menu, Southern Railways promptness in avoiding delayed starts and so on. This time, I had moved in from India to England, and there is nothing, but a table swamped with pamphlets and manuals on accommodation. Boring, I thought. Living room actually resembled a god-forbidden place. Chennai is heaven, I conclude. Seemingly, not bothered to show interest in answering back, I displayed a typical ruth, aged 24. Funny. My father would then continue his role play to test my patience. Occasionally, I failed in his tests. Resenting, I would shower to prepare myself for the day at the most uninteresting place called "Work". It wasn't "Work is Worship" in my case. Nevertheless, I had to succumb and act, like I did to convince my parents on religious duties as a Hindu Brahman. Table. Suddenly, I felt aloof and restless. Just a day before, I did everything I could to come here and now that I had hit this solitary hell, I had no body to call and pull a prank, shout at vendors/suppliers, which was part of my archaic job role and my mom, whom I call to say that her Onion Saambhaar was just on top of the world. (A South Indian Recipe, often mixed with Rice and served with Vegetables) Settling. I was suspicious about the size of the kitchen and so sneaked in to explore and critique the power of adverts and Campus snapshots. To my mind, they both overlapped. I thought it was fine. There were neighbors strolling the corridors of prison (Truly this is not exaggeration. The corridors look like corridors of a rehabilitation centers or an asylum often sreenplayed in movies. Almost, If I jump or lift my head, I could break the false-ceiling and do some visual inspection) to get familiar with accommodation services. Curious, I went for a walk around the block and noticed that the place was serene. Back in India, when I hit the street, It would be crowded, buzzy and noticeable. In contrast, this place was all less attractive, but idyllic.   They were looking like themselves, and everyone is ought to look like themselves. Simple. Retrospecting, my first conversations with them, during which I started to acquaint with everyone around, I felt like they are just usual, ordinary and strange. If I could elaborate further, they were special to me at that point of past, as inmates. During the first few weeks, I hardly spoke to them during my visits to the kitchen. If at all, the exchanges would be the usual starters like "How was your day ? or How do you find your course ? or How is everything getting along ?. Mere attempt to ease off, while being present in the dining room. Months passed, when we got to know each other more and more on all levels.  Like in every other relationship, I enjoyed sharing every thing with them, and there were a few occasions, to dance, to rant and to make fun among one another. Congruency. The transition from looking at them, as a stranger faded towards the phase, wherein we all became a family. The sharing surpassed and would slip through a few topics and we would talk about problems, issues within the University or modules or professors and a lot more. Suddenly, now when I look at them, they are no more new to me. I don't see anything that could possibly satiate the desire to explore more with them. But they look beautiful. More real. I sense that the communication has become more expressive. The way my eyes perceive them has radically changed. Now, it is just a matter of days, and I am moving to a new place. This cycle of strangeness would repeat itself again and again. It feels like none of them around is in reality a stranger. Ironical. It is all differentiated just by a word of mouth or a glance at them. Some how I sense there is an attachment with every thing, if you yen for that longing sense of connection. An attachment. "A graceful attachment".