Gulmohur Cross Road No. 8

A mélange of furniture, a medley of emotions.
Blueprints, floor plans, decisions and more decisions.
Beady eyed memories. Wide eyed anticipations.
Its not just moving house, it’s a complete revelation.

The powdery baby smell that transformed into perfume.
The posters in the room, that changed as did your point of view.
From playing with Barbies to dressing up as one.
It was the 4 walls that saw it all.

From monsters under the bed and petrified of being left alone.
To wanting ‘the monsters’ out of your room and to be on your own.
Learning to walk, skate, cycle and then drive.
The speed with which you exited the door was always on a rise.

The first love, the first heartbreak,
The first time you learnt to cook.
The first painting you made, proudly hung in the nook,
The firsts are many, the list is long,
Boxes are not enough to carry it along.

From mum’s forbidden and inviting dressing table,
that inspired a number of creative escapades,
To the cane swing in the balcony providing solace.

The secret corner where you hid your ‘dear diary’.
To the innumerable dear diary moments.
The birthdays, weddings, children, grandchildren.
There were so many, innumerable celebrations.

The new house is bigger, and prettier they say,
But its just walls and furniture till new memories are made.
A new address to learn and the old to erase,
To my house at Gulmohur Cross Road number 8,
“So long my mate”.