Bye-bye, Bunky

As a kid, I believed that every wish made on an eyelash would come true.

Now, this wasn’t because I was gullible. I questioned and I experimented. My belief came into existence because at the age of seven, I wished on a fallen eyelash for two materialistic possessions that seemed crucial for my existence.

I regularly wished for a bunk bed and a bean bag.

A  few months ago, I had accompanied my dear mother and my aunt to a furniture exhibition. All I remember from that experience is the abundance of free candies and the presence of beautiful furniture that managed to grab and hold the attention of a disinterested seven year old. Oh and the fancy vegetable chopper cum peeler.

It was there that I first got acquainted with the existence of bunk beds and bean bags.

They fascinated me. It was a bed with a ladder! And a chair that could mould itself according to the size of my butt and my posture! Science! Wow! Miracles!

Safe to say I was persistent and obstinate in my demand for a bunk bed and a bean bag to both, the universe and my parents.

(What a brat!)

I wished on every eyelash for them. Every. Single. One.

Maybe it was the universe or maybe it was my doting parents, but the following July I became a proud owner of a bean bag.

I remember taking turns with my friends to bounce and jump on it during my birthday party. I warmed up easily to my bean bag whom I named bean bag.

We moved to a new flat soon after my 7th birthday. Our new home was bigger, airier and I got my own room. I shared it with my grandparents but it was still a lot more space than I was used to. I was very excited.

My parents gradually began the long, expensive process of furnishing the house to their taste (and mine). I got Tom & Jerry curtains, a proper dressing table and my very own bunk bed with a cute little ladder. I called it Bunky.

I was a goddamn coward as a kid. Ghosts terrified me. As did the dark. I refused to sleep on the upper bunk because I was terrified some malicious entity would whisk me away in my sleep and my darling grandparents wouldn’t know until the next morning. By then, it would be too late and I would be lost for ever and ever and ever.

I had an active imagination. I read a lot.

Don’t judge me.

I didn’t sleep on Bunky. However, I would often climb up the ladder and curl up with a book. I would remain undisturbed for hours.

When I did start sleeping up eventually, I realised that Bunky offered privacy that I would not get any other way. I could put up posters and I did. High School Musical taught me to get my head in the game and Shahid Kapoor was super hot.

I wasn’t scared anymore because I had won a Harry Potter frame at the mall which I stuck on the wall. Harry Potter watched over me as I slept with his wand drawn out.

(His wand with a phoenix feather and not…you know…)

I could keep a stack of books with me and never get bored or worse disturbed. There were times when I would be reading so silently that my mom would spend hours looking for me. I would be found only when I slithered down the ladder.

I had become quite good at climbing up and down ladders.

When I began writing in earnest, there wasn’t a better spot to jot down some words than Bunky.

I had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling. Staying up gazing at the ceiling became a past time.

Bunky had become a haven of sorts for me. I spent years making it my own and loving the bed. I understood why beds were such a big deal during Shakespearean times. Beds are a reflection of the owner/user. The pillow I used (a multicoloured turtle shaped one), my three sheets- duvet, shawl and the typical solapuri chaddar were an expression of my personality. My sense of individuality was on a constant rise.

But as all things must, this blissful period too came to an end.

I eventually stopped sleeping on the bunk because my grandfather  complained (he slept on the lower bunk) that the bed moved too much as I rolled over in sleep.

Then my dad passed away and I ended up sleeping in the same room as mom to fill the emptiness he left behind.

I turned twenty this year. My mom had been trying to convince me to dismantle the upper bunk for the past three years.

I knew that I wouldn’t be sleeping on the upper bunk ever again. Due to lack of use, the sheets and the mattress used to get incredibly dusty. Bunky became a place to dump broken toys and other things.

It was time. I gave in to mom’s wish.

Three days ago, she called a carpenter and Bunky was dismantled. Bunky has now been reduced to a few planks of wood and a mattress.

Sure, the room looks brighter and feels more open. It is airier and my sister and I now have an entire wall for our posters.

All of this doesn’t make up for the strong sense of loss I felt when I first entered the horribly empty room. My gut sank and I felt lost. The room felt alien to me.

If I am being honest, I hadn’t expected such an intense reaction from myself. I barely called Bunky Bunky anymore. I hadn’t slept there in over three years.

But damn, it hurt. The hollowness of the room mirrored a hollow pit in my stomach. I couldn’t bear to enter that room for a few days.

Turning 18 didn’t feel so much like a loss of childhood as this did. I won’t ever slide up the ladder with a book in hand ever again. I no longer have my very own reading nook. I won’t ever fear falling off the bed and landing on the person sleeping below ever again. I won’t ever sulk away on the upper bunk ever again. I won’t do any of the million things that I used to up there.

I am 20, I no longer have a bunk bed and this eerily feels like the time to start adulting for real.

Wreakwords

Art is an integral part of what makes us human

The Tale Teller

Your go-to place for short stories, novelettes, dark humour, and out-of-the-world tales.

Ashwin Writes

One word at a time

Paperless Postcards

Paperless Postcards is the country’s first platform for non-fiction conversations. The website triggers various emotions in their open letters & other verticals

Priyanka K

Introvert | Blogger | Writer | Bookworm | Thinker

Simply Leha

Breathing in textures

THE BOMBAY REVIEW

"I have always admired the 'The Bombay Review' for its eclectic content. Kaartikeya's passion for words and literature shows in every issue." - Ananth Padmanabhan, CEO HarperCollins India

%d bloggers like this: