It was white, it was rectangular, it was calling for me at the corner of the washroom. There was nothing special about it, nothing posh and definitely nothing extravagant. It was a washbasin but it spoke a lot, at least for me.
The first day I walked into the loo, brush in hand, I looked at the dozens of washbasins arranged on the walls, one after the other. One was round, one was a weird shape that I couldn't quite place, one was so huge that I thought I could sit on it. And then I noticed the one basin at the extreme end of the restroom. It was strangely familiar. There was a touch of familiarity so profound in it that I immediately walked towards it, still looking intently at it. Anybody watching me would have definitely thought I was weird, which I am.
I brushed my teeth right in front of the washbasin on my first day. It's been a year and a half. Every day morning, my legs automatically take me to the same washbasin. If I find anybody else using it, I would wait till they were done and take their place even though there were a dozen other basins to use.
The washbasin resembled the one at home. It was the exact same shape, size and color. The comfort of familiarity is so small, yet it is so comforting that we look for it in these small things in our everyday life. It is okay to not be able to brush amidst your mother screaming at your sister and your sister yelling back at the top of your voice because when you stand in front of the washbasin, brushing, that is everything you see and that is everything you hear.
Aishwarya Kumar.
P.S: I had to write. It is Doomsday!
