Don’t you wish if you could pick some of your childhood memories and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever? 🤩😍
Everybody will have a story to tell about the memories back from their good old childhood days. Mine is one such. I am not one of the grown-ups ,who have their own album of memories back from what they had experienced, but is going through that wonderful period of childhood.
I am a girl who believes that ‘childhood’ exists in all ages! So then why call it childhood? Why don’t- play-hood?😅
While I was very very young (I am still young😅), my brother, my dad & I used to play cricket in the corridor of my ancestral building , usually called ‘ THARAVADU’ in Kerala which is so spacious and traditional. It scared me a lot then but later on it grew so close to me, my brother and my dad.
I just can’t express how beautiful it was – with so many rooms, a spacious kitchen, a well beside a wall of Moses! It also had a ‘bilimbi’ with a thick trunk …it’s taste had not even faded from my tongue 👅. How can I forget the mango trees around it. There were three. Those trees provided us many delicious mangoes throughout the summers.
Do I miss them? The answer is so obvious, isn’t it?
But nothing is permanent in this world of existence, is there?
So was my ‘antique playhouse!’ I remember the bull dozers that had entered the scene, like the villains in the old movies, which destroyed the old building but I was small then and did not know why and just continued playing around it till I realised that it doesn’t exist anymore. I was sad then but was not so emotional about it then as I am now!
Later on I came to know that it was destroyed to make it a clear land so that it can be sold!
Why can’t we understand the importance of ancestral homes? Why are families giving more importance to selling them? I fail to understand the answers in these questions of mine or will I ever?
I am starting to miss the days in which it had existed. I wish it was there in that exact place and I wish I could roam around the old home and could play cricket in the corridors and feel the breeze that came during the summers, eat the mangoes and fight with my brother to sit in the swing tied between the two mango trees… I wish the memories had not faded and still existed , but it had already faded and is never going to come back…neither the good old days nor my playhouse!