There was something about Morland House that etched itself deep into my soul. The people I met there, the life I lived, even the cool, crisp Yorkshire water I drank, became part of me, nourishing not just my body but the very roots of my spirit. Its walls, its air, and its quiet embrace shaped me over time. I remember the comfort of a Raja’s Pizza shared with friends, the nearby fishing pond where the children go fishing, and the lake whose paths I walked in quiet reflection.
Yet alongside those gentle memories came the ache of absence, the relatives I longed for, the final kiss on a forehead, and losses so profound they shook the very foundations of my family. I still carry the lessons I learned at the owner’s village home, as clearly as if they were spoken yesterday. The cellar, the flicker of old films, the evenings spent with books and a fountain pen, those Helix ink cartridges, the smooth feel of fresh note paper, these moments remain sealed in the deepest chamber of my heart. Though I grow older, when I think of Morland House, I feel as young as the day I first stepped inside. Crossing its threshold was like setting down my burdens. It was a place where my spirit found renewal.
I remember the taste of Yorkshire water, pure and cool, as if drawn straight from the hills, and the scenery, so breathtaking it seemed to still the very air, long walks along the river winding close to the canal, and narrowboats gliding quietly toward distant towns. There was the newsagent’s shop run by a family member, and the second-hand bookshops whose dusty shelves sent shivers of anticipation through me. I recall searching for work alongside close friends, visiting universities and colleges as I prepared for my law conversion exams, and the comfort of a friend’s home when I had nothing else, a friend I had met on the very day I first arrived in England. I think of the food I shared, the late night debates that sparked fresh ideas, attending weddings, funerals and seminars, my driving lessons and the dream car that followed, the clothes I purchased and wore with quiet pride, and even the family dramas that wove themselves into the fabric of my life.
It was here, in this house, that my real journey began after the long and painful parting from Bombay. New faces joined my life, some stayed, and some drifted away in silence. Within its walls, I witnessed poverty and wealth, kindness and greed, anger and generosity. I had left my entire family behind in India, carrying only memories and a stubborn hope. Without the kindness of the owner of Morland House, I would never have found my way into the practice of law in England.
This house was more than shelter. It was where I found both my footing and my heart. Within its walls, I witnessed every twist and turn that real life could offer. These reflections came to me in the quiet moments after I returned from the Fact Finding Hearing from Middlesbrough I had attended, and later that midnight, as I read the first seventy-eight pages of Home Before Dark by Eva Björg Ægisdóttir.
I remember every small detail, from the collection of thousands of first editions, to the foundations and rebuilding of a law firm that brought both substantial profit and invaluable experience, to the first print signed copies of my favourite books that I cherished. I think of the countless moments that shaped me, and I am deeply grateful for the person I have become, a sharp litigator. I have travelled to every major city in England, navigating the winding, often unforgiving roadways, and finding my way even in the darkest and most intimidating hours of the night. I have stood in quiet natural reserves watching rare birds, climbed to great heights to take in the view, explored both new and old properties, and visited care homes full of human stories. I have spoken with hundreds of different characters within my vast family and across an expansive client base, whose connections span counties and continents.
My mission now is to establish my practice in Mayfair and to step into the realm of international arbitration, so that I may travel across the globe alone, carrying only my craft and my convictions. I have been humbled by the excellent feedback I have received on my work ethic, yet I know this is not enough. My heart longs for something greater: to live by a valley where rivers flow beneath the house, as the Qur’an describes, so pure that I could drink directly from its waters—untainted, refreshing, and life-giving. That, to me, would be the ultimate dream, to meet the star maker at last. In the quiet of such a place, I would return always to my most cherished book, The Life and Letters of Anton Tchekhov, whose words echo the balance between struggle, beauty, and truth that defines the path I walk.
Life is the road we know, the journey we take, the decisions we make, the people we meet, and the books we read. – Javed Patel, Principal Solicitor of Legal Comfort Solicitors