Oh, Give Me A Home

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam

Where the deer and the antelope play;

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word

And the skies are not cloudy all day. 

Home, home on the range,

Where the deer and the antelope play;

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word

And the skies are not cloudy all day. 

I have been singing this song for the past few days as we have been looking for a new home in Dallas. And just like each time in the past, whenever we had to change our house, I am looking for my dream home, a quaint little house beside a creek or a lake, surrounded by weeds and big trees. And where not exactly buffalos, antelopes and deer, but squirrels, rabbits, and ducks would play. 

A few weeks ago, I started my search on zillow.com in the cities of Irving and Coppell in Dallas County. For days on end, it hogged my whole attention. I forgot about Narendra Modi, Rahul Gandhi, and U.S. government shutdown. I didn't care what was happening in Syria or North Korea or Facebook. My library books expired unread.  And by continuously clicking on the houses, I developed mild carpal tunnel syndrome. For each house that looked interesting, I had to click on scores of pictures beside the details, and of course I had to place it on Google map and check out the bird's eye view and street view. 

During this search, one house at University Hills caught my fancy and I fell in love with it. I would view two new houses and then revisit this gorgeous house again and again. It was a four-bedroom single-story house with a covered patio, small pool, and a kitchen garden in its backyard, and had an exotic street address. I was completely enamored of it.

The neighborhood of my future home had huge mature trees, a nature park, and a nearby lake called Lake Rochelle, which was sanctuary to hordes of ducks. The only glitch was that it was built in 1970s and my husband wasn't keen on old houses. I wasn't keen on new houses either. They look like clones, completely devoid of character. The manicured lawns and the juvenile trees are equally characterless. But we made peace by deciding to fight after visiting the houses in person. I was sure the house I was pining for would be able to win the approval of my husband with its unique beauty and unusual charm. 

So one fine day we booked air tickets to Dallas and made an appointment with a realtor to show us houses during our weeklong stay. The realtor came with a binder full of houses. First she drove us to University Hills. Dallas looked lovely with its wide roads and big sky. I did not miss the forest cover of Atlanta at all. As we drove on Rochelle Boulevard along Lake Rochelle, we witnessed a heartwarming scene in the middle of the opposite road. Some eight to ten cars had come to a standstill and we discovered that they were waiting for a large brood of ducks to cross the road. This augured so well for our mission.

We drove through the neighborhood. Each house was different from the other. The trees had their own personalities. I could imagine the spirits of former residents hanging from their branches. The roads looked like strokes of an artist of M.F. Hussein's caliber, so unlike the roads that look like lines drawn by a child with the help of a ruler.  

As our car rolled on the driveway of my object of desire, my heart palpitated with anticipation. While the sun showered photons on this gem to illuminate its beauty, the green trees captured most of the photons and veiled the house lovingly as Indian parents protect their daughters. 

The realtor opened the door for us. The interior looked much older than its virtual alter ego. It reminded me of my grandparent's now extinct home in Almora. The walls, the doors, the carpet were all worn out. The realtor drew our attention to the slight inclination in the floor, telling us that it could be due to sinking of the foundation. My husband expressed his dislike loud and clear, but made notes about everything. So I still had hope.

I couldn't dislike the house. Once you have placed someone at an exalted position in your heart, you just can't kick them out because of their looks, fragility, or disability. We traipsed through all the rooms and went out to see the backyard. As we opened the door a big squirrel scampered across and scared me. The yard was littered with what looked like dog poop, but the realtor informed us that it was the doing of the ducks. The pool looked nice with quite a few indigenous objects floating in it. Oh, and there was a kitchen garden too. "Who has nibbled all the shoots and leaves?" I wondered aloud. And a rabbit materialized from a bush and hopped away.   

We saw two more old houses before we decided to look up the new ones. After visiting dozens of houses during the next three days, I dishearteningly settled for a comparatively new house. "Don't worry," said the husband, "I will roam around in a buffalo costume, and we will name our grand children Deer and Antelope." Oh yes, I thought, the skies are not cloudy in Dallas anyway, and I will only have to plug my ears to block the discouraging words. So we made an offer to the owners of this new house and returned to Atlanta. But after coming back we learned that the owners had decided not to sell their house. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to browse zillow.com once again.

Picture courtesy: Er... I forgot the website I downloaded it from. It was difficult to find even a clipart of my dream home
Disclaimer: The description of the old home at University Hills is partly fictional