There is a lane. It is always summer there. That is the only times I"ve been there or remember being there. On either side of this lane are tall trees and short bushes. Some of these trees a hundred years old . The sky is bright, patched with white clouds. It seems higher than the skies at home. Birds chirp in the backdrop.
At one end of the road is the ancestral temple. Annapurna devi, serene, dignified, quiet. The other end is the house my dad lived in whilst he lived. As I walk the stretch, at ease, freshly bathed, basil leaves in my hair, chandanam in my hand, people walk by. Some stop and enquire, some smile and pass, others stare trying to place. For no particular reason, without any excuses to offer, this lane keeps propping into my thoughts. As if beckoning me..come home..come home.
At one end of the road is the ancestral temple. Annapurna devi, serene, dignified, quiet. The other end is the house my dad lived in whilst he lived. As I walk the stretch, at ease, freshly bathed, basil leaves in my hair, chandanam in my hand, people walk by. Some stop and enquire, some smile and pass, others stare trying to place. For no particular reason, without any excuses to offer, this lane keeps propping into my thoughts. As if beckoning me..come home..come home.
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