Posted in Home, Memories, Prose, Uncategorized, writer, writing

Departing conversations

Dear old home,

The first time I saw you, I was not much impressed. You were slightly bigger than our previous abode and a tad not too welcoming because the sunlight only shone over my parents’ room, hall and kitchen. My room, the living room and the closed balcony were left at the mercy of the cold winds and a dense peepal tree. One of my brothers named you “Cold Storage” because of the sudden drop in temperatures experienced in the shadow regions.

I never believed in love at first sight, so here we are. Slowly yet steadily, I fell for you. Not just me, but my whole family.

You have seen me growing up from a nasty tantrum throwing over achieving arrogant teenager to a calmed down woman who prefers to lose temper once a year. Thirteen years is indeed a long time.

And today, as I sat on your terrace, I marveled at the sight of the dancing leaves of the Pipal tree. Their swaying motion reminded me of my yester years when I frequently came to the terrace for contemplation time.
And this peepal tree housed the naughty cuckoo bird whom we used to mimic now and then, only to irritate her. She got so frustrated that once her voice became shriller than the contestants’ of Big Boss.
Many Winters back, there used to be a cat and her three extremely adorable kittens and I played with them while studying for my 12th class boards.

And while I sat lonesome there, an angry bird (they have fiery eyes – they actually look like “angry birds”) came and rustled the fallen leaves. Their pitter-patter kept us entertained whenever the cats went hunting.

And the mango tree will be soarely missed. The way we used to collect the ripe and the raw ones was an unforgettable experience. And those mischievous parrots which ate the raw mangoes while chirping away with glee.

And of course the medieval era tomb which graced our eyes for such a long time. The view from the terrace and of course the dining hall transported us to those vintage railway/cantonement colonies.

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I let the December sun burn my skin as I sat there. I wanted to shed a tear or two because of the heaviness in my heart. I did but couldn’t anymore as you have already embraced my crying for a very long time. (I stopped shedding rivers a long time back.)

However hard I have tried to kept myself numb and cold, one day I had to break down and embrace my emmotions. I always thought it’ll be a man but you had to be the one to do it. (Now my husband will be very jealous of you.)

Soon you’ll have a new family to welcome and you’ll forget me. You’ll forget my tantrums, the colourful songs I used to sing and of course my booming voice. The answered prayers, the vibrant conversations I had with my friends and family, they’ll be a part of your ancient history.

After all I was just another girl for you.

Yours truly
A girl who is dearly missing you

P.S.: Have you swallowed my bottle of Brandy? My father seems to think that way. Wink wink.

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Author:

The gluttonous devil in us is always looking for new food experiences, be it at our home or in restaurants or at food festivals.

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