The gate to my ancestral home is green. A rich green once upon a time, now a dull green, chipped in many places , the rust clinging on to it like a child. Opposite the gate is a rivulet which has a host of fables to its name-many funeral piers have extinguished on its banks!
The gate is my friend, someone whom I have lost touch with but still very dear. It is generally open during the day, welcoming all. The pebbled path beyond the gate leading to the house is truly a ‘memory lane’. Looking over the bamboo fencing on the right one was sure to find someone fetching water from the murky family pond. Lotta and her son Mickey would be the first to welcome us with their wagging tails. Many a times I think I’ve seen Lotta smile..but well that’s just between the two of us! It has seen us fishing for tadpoles in the tiny stream, it has been the stumps for our game of cricket. It has even been my playmate, allowing me to swing on it.I bet it laughed at me when the ripe mango fell on my head during our play and how all cousins ran after the mango instead of attending to the poor crying child!It has seen me sad at leaving my cousins behind only to meet again on the next weekend.The many incoming and outgoing wedding processions of uncles, aunts and cousins have passed through it.At such times it would get a makeover and look dashing in its new coat! It has been adorned with posters put up with zest by the political parties and revolutionary groups alike, which we detested. With equal zest we tore them off it. Wonder how it looks today...
Hmm...well the day's not far when i'll pass through the green gate again!
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