I look at these beautiful images of homes with not a thing out of place, and wonder does anyone live there?
Depsite a day long effort, my home is run down, with stains on the sofa, marks on the wall , a chip here and a crack there. In constant need of reconstruction!
Those rooms are perfect , but probably dont have stories of spilled drinks and broken glasses and dent in the leather.
Of my grandmother's armchair and my erratic gardening skills.
People move on but the tales are carried forward. That is life...that is how you remain alive.
PS The image is by a skilled photographer, who made even the mundane look magical !
This write up came back with a note of regret – for not being able to make to the next round in the competition, to the editor's table. Well, this is the first time I competed , that is if I do not count the House Competition essay writing, where I came second after Champa. Actually I do not why I took part – chance, curiosity or plain gambling …..because writing for me has always been a catharsis – an expression that I can share …..So no regrets , really! The road may be narrow and dark…….. It was 1983 and life with Baba always veered on the unexpected and the adventurous. Like that road trip from Kolkata to Delhi via Agra. We had this faithful Ambassador that took us on this journey with Baba at the helm and our cleaner Kalipada as his first assistant. I was the official navigator and Giri uncle, my father’s friend, in charge of our ummm, let’s say security, since me and my cousin Dimpi, both all of 18, needed an escort , officially. Baba always liked the un-tr...

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