For more than half a decade, I lived on the first floor of my father’s ancestral home. Stepping inside the bougainvillea arch was more or less like living a soap opera. However, home to me was a steep climb affair. At the very bottom of the steps, towards the right hand side, my mother grew a shrub that had pretty white flowers. That’s how I remember my home. A welcome bouquet that has naturally formed, a steep climb and a house made of wood flooring. A giant door that had ball bearing and wheels opened up to a carpeted front room. Beyond that later I realize, we were total disasters. But then home is still a home, its dark storage rooms had numerous storybooks. Most of them started with ‘Once upon a time’. So, I had to pass through 2 gates. One is the gigantic door I earlier mentioned, and then the next one is the book front cover. That’s how I reached home every day after school.

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