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What benches teach us



No, I am not talking about the second-row bench in the seventh standard classroom of my high school which I was made to climb for disturbing class decorum. That only taught me how to talk in class without getting caught. I am talking about the two benches that adorned either side of our huge dining table once upon a time.
 
One was strong and sturdy. The other one was a tiny rickety bench on unsteady legs that played seesaw every time one of us placed our bottom on it. This is much before the time when dining benches became fashionable. Every furniture catalogue that I see nowadays has a dining set with one bench, mostly cushioned affairs. Dining benches, entryway benches, balcony benches are all back in vogue now. But we had plain and simple wooden benches who witnessed a lot in their long lives.
 
Early mornings, you could find my drowsy-eyed, sleepy headed brother perched on one of its ends with a Cibaca toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, refusing to fully wake up. And on some days, I would be sitting right next to him, with an identical one in my mouth. Rushed breakfasts, rare lunches, and full-sized family dinners – the benches groaned under our weights every day. 
 
We sat on them every evening to do our school work, pretending to study but keeping our eyes and ears in ‘full alert’ mode to catch all the daily drama happening around us. We ruthlessly pushed all our books and pencil boxes to one side of the table when mummy shouted, ‘clean the table for dinner’, which eventually became their permanent spot. If any study material got lost, we knew it could be found in that end table mess. Oh, we could even assemble a full instrumental box in minutes by collecting scattered pieces from that mountain of stuff. But the table got a complete decluttering on those days we received the dreaded phone call from our Uncle's home that guests are on their way. Forget the table, the entire house got the 10-minute makeover on such days.
 
When we moved to the new house, the rickety bench was discarded while the sturdy one got a new lease of life outside the kitchen. Now, even that is gone. The glassy glossy new dining table and chairs never matched up to the cozy feel that our old wooden ones gave us. Nobody used them for anything other than dining. Such wasted potential.
 
Benches bring you closer, ask you to sit next to each other and be together. I think I need a bench in my life again. To witness all the daily dramas in all the houses we call home and keep them safe in its memory. May be in the balcony, with a few cushions scattered on it, and a blanket for the cold nights. I want to sit and sip some coffee, read a book, and gaze pensively at the far away hills (which I think of as my morning mountains). I am sure the pigeons will play havoc with this peaceful image that I have conjured up in my head by pooping all over it. Just like how they treat my balcony now. But one can always dream.

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