Home Stories: A letter to a Mumbai home by Google’s Vibha Kaushik

Vibha Kaushik works at Google’s Singapore office. Just a couple of years back, she took a transfer there from the Mumbai office to join her now husband, who is also a colleague at Google. What she left behind in the city was one of the most important homes of her life - a home where she lived completely independently for the first time. She spent five significant years of her life in the house, located in Rizvi Complex in Bandra, which became a witness to everything she went through - the good, the bad, and sometimes, the ugly.

We are delighted to be publishing this beautiful letter that she has written to her Mumbai home.

Written by Vibha Kaushik

Vibha Kaushik

I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but with you, it was. As the broker opened a slightly jammed lock with clanging keys, the wooden door opened to a large living room. Unconventional in layout, with three diwans - instead of a dining table and usual sofas - and large glass window looking out to trees, you were truly unique.

The old construction, rusty pipes, and stuck doors of cupboards didn’t really deter me from signing up. Little did I know then what you would come to mean to me.

You were my first home which I could call only mine. Every spoon, cushion cover, bathroom mat, colour of the walls was to be decided by a very unsure me. And while I wavered many times, you had my back. You shone brighter (at least in my eyes) with every addition, soaking it all in and making it a part of you. Even your called so flaws made you better - since your tube lights never worked, we had many lamps glowing with warm orange lights and candles which soulfully warmed the corners. The seating with no back support meant friends slowly sprawling on the diwans or the floor, a comfort that reflected as quickly in the conversations. We sat on the floor and ate around the wooden center table, laughing, sharing, and glowing.

I was building a new life in a new city. You offered me the right amount of space and gave me all that I needed - almost as if you knew.

The living room, with that community feel, quite organically became a place to congregate for office parties and working sessions; for friends to come see me for an evening chai; for unforgettable months where you hosted those closest to my heart. The diwans were more than just a charming seating arrangement - the living room often magically transformed into a temporary home for people I cherished. It was filled with raucous laughter, sheer joy, mad drinking parties, countless stories being shared once the lights were dimmed. It also became a safe space for some of my friends’ broken hearts. You healed me and you healed them. 

“The seating with no back support meant friends slowly sprawling on the diwan or the floor, a comfort that reflected as quickly in the conversations. We sat on the floor and ate around the wooden center table, laughing, sharing, glowing.”

You were always enough for me, and through the isolation of Covid-19 lockdowns, I never felt alone. Blocking the outside chaos, you sheltered me safely. We just found more ways to love each other, didn't we? I put the souvenirs from my first ever solo trip to Bhutan, the multi-coloured prayer flags, across the grills of the bedroom window. That made for a nice, meditative backdrop for many tea cups and whiskey glasses. We used the space under the living room windows to create a makeshift ‘garden’, and how lush did the plants grow! I was joyed with the soil under my nails, as much as the vines which hugged the balcony grill and the flowers that bloomed. 

You were the starting place of love, hopes and dreams for me, where old bonds strengthened and new were found. Through you, I found myself and a new life, both in all its bright places and its dark ravines. While with you, I faced a loss (my father’s demise) that wrenched and undid my very core. Viciously unrooted from the world, the entire universe was hostile to me. Words fail me in capturing the pain or the time till date - it was surreal, days and months blended into each other, and everything I remember is through a hazy mist. But I remember you were there. A silent witness to the many tides and shapes of unrelenting grief, anger, inexpressible shredding of my soul, and the fierceness of a love which had nowhere to go. You held the unraveling me, hid me from the world, and became my fortress. 

“While with you, I faced a loss (my father’s demise) that wrenched and undid my very core. Viciously unrooted from the world, the entire universe was hostile to me. Words fail me in capturing the pain or the time till date - it was surreal, days and months blended into each other, and everything I remember is through a hazy mist. But I remember you were there.”

Memories wrap around the heart in strange ways - unspoken words, feelings, senses. I remember gazing outside in the dark through sleepless nights. I also remember sunlight seeping through the blue and white curtains. The sparkling fairy lights during Diwali. The sound of the raindrops on the battered air conditioner machine, and the pressure cooker whistle I woke up to when you hosted those whose love language was cooking for me. The sound of the priceless words of love spoken within your four walls. The scent of the rain-soaked soil of Bombay monsoons. The smell of the incense while I did yoga looking at the big tree outside. The baking smells from the kitchen next door that wafted through my kitchen window. The rugged touch of some broken wooden tiles as I paced around the house talking to friends on phone. And the feel of sheer curtain flowing over my face on a lazy Sunday when I read my book and had my coffee.

You were a beautiful place, and will forever be a part of me - my first home, full of laughter, tears, joy, food, stories - and so much love.