This is a story of a house that built us

Sitting on the rooftop water tank of this house, I used to scribble escape plans in my diary, dreaming of the solo adventures I’d embark on once I got out. Little did I know that once you leave, you never truly come back.

My mom and dad built this house. Though it was far from where we lived at the time, they visited the construction site every evening after work. My brother and I would join them on weekends. For us, those days were like picnics—playing on hills of sand, building forts from bricks, splashing in “lakes” made from water tanks, all while singing, “Bob the Builder, can we fix it?” Some days, we’d return home covered in mud and sporting bruises, satisfied that we had “helped” the workers.

My dad didn’t just oversee the construction—he truly built this house. As a scientist, he experimented with materials to ensure the most sustainable outcomes. To me, every brick has “Dad” written on it. I’m convinced if I threw one into water, it would float. Dad is my Ram.

He lives in every brick, every beam, every vein of this house. He personally bought everything—the pipes, the wires, the switches—and we all chose the tiles and marbles together. It wasn’t because we couldn’t outsource the work but because we loved the process.

As for me, my plans for the house were grand: a fountain in the front yard, an aquarium in the living room, a slide from my bed, which I imagined would be a bunk bed under a skylight, and a gable roof in the front. Only the last one got approved! I was upset but consoled myself with new plans: escape and build my own house with all my dream features (though, as it happens, I still live on rent!). Our architect even built a mini model of the house, and that’s where it all started. The dream slowly took shape until it became our home.

The sun rises from the puja room and sets in the garden—Mom made sure of that. She studied vastu, carefully deciding where to place the well, the stove, and even our beds. Our architect became like family. He was at all our festivals and family functions, as were the contractor and some of the suppliers.

Mom cooked meals for the laborers on slab-building days. It’s a time-sensitive process, so extra hands were always hired, and they worked non-stop. On those days, we provided meals, cold drinks, and music to keep the workers motivated. We knew them by name, and even a bit about their families.

We saw Dad worry about every little detail and Mom worry about him. We saw them argue and reconcile, get frustrated and make up. Some days were high, others low. In their own way, they taught us about managing projects, time, people, and money. They’d make us choose: a new dress or cute curtains for the month’s budget. Every rupee spent was recorded in a book that was open for all of us to see. Building that house was a life lesson. We built the house, and in turn, it built us. In the process, we grew—both as individuals and as a family.

Finally, the housewarming day arrived. My brother and I went to a wholesale market at 4 am to buy a taxi full of flowers to decorate the house like a bride. We moved in. A few months later, I moved out.

I never really got to live in the house properly, but it always called me back, and I kept yearning for it. A part of us is in that house, and the house is a part of us. Today, though, we say goodbye.

Some people said we shouldn’t sell the house, that it’s our parents’ legacy, their sweat and blood. They said we were being hasty, shirking our responsibility. Those thoughts weighed on us.

One day, we asked Mom, “What would Dad have done if you had left us first?” Mom replied, “He would’ve sold the house much sooner and moved closer to you.” I teared up, not just from the comfort this thought gave me, but from pride in Mom for being so practical and brave. She lived in that house alone for as long as she could and is now ready to start a new chapter. She’s emotional, perhaps a little scared, but also excited—just like I was when I first moved out.

“Build with all you’ve got, live fully, and when the time comes, move on.” Their life lessons continue…

As we hand this house over to a new family, we know Dad is coming with us—to the home we will now build for Mom.