I am guilty of checking out homes through gaps between curtains or windows left open, albeit from a distance. It is involuntary, this act of casually glancing into people’s home; it is an unstoppable urge, almost a reflect action, to let eyes scan the interiors, catch a glimpse of the furniture arrangement and sense the mood.

The urge is not to snoop or to identify the occupants as much as it is to savour the magic of life unfolding within the confines of another house. Even a fleeting look is enough to get a feel of the ‘sameness’ in most homes.

Oftentimes it’s the façade of a building that nudges me to wonder how it would be to live there. How life would transpire within the walls of that house… Would windows get modern dressing? Would the balcony be adorned with flowering pots?

As if the structure dictates such manifestations.

But even without a peek, some houses conjure up images of life within them. While villas and large apartments reflect stillness – a kind of secrecy, penthouses speak about leisurely evenings. 

It is, by all standards, the ground floor flats that provide any option, if at all, to subtly peek into a living room or kitchen. And, it is the mornings that permit this privilege. Most households have this habit of opening curtains to let the morning light stream in, even if the window is locked shut to keep the slowly creeping heat out.

For obvious reasons, mornings move to set routines – not that the rest of the day does not work to routines – with the kitchen leading the tableau of events. The loud shrill of the cooker whistle is enough to announce the busyness of the home without requiring a peek through uncurtained kitchen windows.  

And then there are smells of food cooking/frying/baking wafting magically through closed windows. These do not require eyes to gauge the kitchen scene in unknown homes. Homes are stories waiting to be shared. Some invite strangers walking by to imbue the mood, others send cold vibes, provoking one to imagine scenarios from books read and films watched.