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|It was the last month of the year. Winter had fully set in. This visit to my ancestral home had something unique. As I entered the old courtyard, an ocean of memories overpowered me. I paced upstairs, turned right, and there I was, standing in front of my grandmother’s room. The room, where as little kids, we felt special. Protected, loved and allowed to spread our wings of imagination. Despite a rusted lock, Naresh managed to open the door. I stood there gazing. The antique bed, the large wall clock, the iron trunks and a life size mirror. Everything in the room had its place. It was as if time had stood still. My eyes flashed as I turned around. As I removed the cover to unveil my grandmother’s closet, I sensed another prized possession- the corner table.
It lay intact. The brown books were from my grandfather’s library. World War II collections. Rain and dampness had taken its toll. The blue kettle gave it company. I wondered when was the last time the beautiful couple enjoyed a sip together in their verandah. I picked up the green vase and let my hands wipe the dust. Naresh obliged with a pair of fresh lilies from the garden. We smiled at each other. Nostalgia gave way to bliss.
The satisfaction of recreating the past.