Grandma's House
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
With a soft clink, Sheila placed her cup on the saucer, rimmed with rose buds. Her eyes were on the dining table that dominated the small room off the kitchen. The wood under the protective plastic cover was scarred and pitted.
Chuckling, she said, "Do you remember how Ankita always sat in the corner chair, even though its leg was shaky? And one day, the chair finally broke and dhadham fell on the floor!”
“And spilt the bowl of biryani you had spent the whole morning cooking,” he said, laughing.
“And then we all went out for pizza, our first time eating it,” she finished, her peals of laughter ringing across the room.
“We have beautiful memories here,” he said when the sound of her laughter faded.
“Yes, we did,” she replied, her eyes softening.
“Then why are you doing this?” He asked, his voice harsh.
“Because it is time to move on. This house has been in the family for over eighty years. Forty years ago, I entered it as a young bride. Raised my children and took care of my husband when he was bedridden. But now everyone is gone. This house now feels like a burden. ”
“Why don’t you sell it then? Move into an apartment or come live with us. What is this nonsense about turning it into an Airbnb?” he asked.
“You and your sister have settled far away, and lead your own life. This is my land, my home. I want to live and one day, die here.”
“You have been a homemaker all your life. You don't know anything about business,” he persisted.
She replied, “Then I will learn. Like I learned how to talk to you through a screen.”
Her simple words carried a hint of steel.
“How will you take care of security, of the strangers who will come and use our rooms, our things? Like the tea set that Nani bought when you were just ten and which was a part of your trousseau,” he asked, pointing to the teacup in her hand.
“Things are just that, my love. Nani’s tea set languished in the crockery cabinet, gathering dust all these years. It is now time to dust it off and use it. I know opening an Airbnb will be tiring and challenging, but all my life, I have done what others have told me. Relieved of my responsibilities, I now want to do something new, to decide the course of my life myself. And what I want is for this house to ring with laughter again.”
A month later, a new Airbnb called Grandma’s House opened. Sheila’s first guests were served handmade cookies and tea in delicate cups and saucers rimmed with roses.
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