So I recently visited my old place.Actually, I moved out of that place around six years ago.But my family decided against selling it and finally decided on renting.So the old tenant moved out recently,and my parents thought that it would be best to repaint before renting again.So trash was thrown out, painters were brought in, and painting started.

When I visited on the weekend,my father picked me up at the station and told me that the paint was almost complete. Since it’s on the way to my new place,we decided to stop and take a look.I haven’t been inside that house in the last six years.Not even once.But the moment I stepped through the front doors,memories flooded back so fast,it felt like I was watching a movie in fast-forward. The lobby where my brother and I, would lie down on the cool floor during the sweltering summer;the room I was always afraid to enter because there was a supposed lizard there(Yes,I am afraid of lizards.Big deal.);the huge bay window at the stair landing,where we used to sit for hours at a stretch;and yes,the terrace with the separate benches with our names on them.It all rushed back onto my mind’s screen and I stood staring at it all.

It was beautiful now.That unique smell of paint was wafting into my nostrils and the sight of that counter where my trophies were once displayed brought that sense of comfort, which only a place where you had lived long enough, could bring.Ten years is a long time.Yes,I lived there for ten long years.

My father started checking the technical stuff and I decided to go upstairs to take a look at the terrace.Not much had remained same.Large number of potted plants that used to be assembled near the balcony were missing,and there was no trace of the high landings where my brother and I sat and talked.It was surrounded by high rise buildings all around.But at the same time,there were still so many similarities. The benches still stood with our names carved into them,my brother’s name which I had carved into the back wall once,and yes,our basketball net still hung from the wall,albeit destroyed for further use.But still it was there.It not all, quite a few memoirs could be found all around.It was a wonderful feeling,recalling it all.And it tore me up just a little. :’)

Papa came upstairs to get me.It was time to go home.I nodded and turned back around to take a quick last look.A lone tear rolled down my cheek and I let it.Afterall,this place had once been the only home I had ever known.It still had that homely feeling,even if it had no furniture and nothing I could call mine.No, let me correct myself.It did have something which was mine.Even with the bare walls and curtainless rods,it still held tons of memories.And that’s what matters,isn’t it?The memories.

My father locked the front door. We started walking. We had to go home.It was getting late.I stopped and turned around.This place would always be home,no matter what.A smile spread across my lips.We started walking.



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