There was a house in North Road where I had belonged for a few days in my life. It came in my dream a few days back.

It had a small balcony with railings where I would sit and from its terrace you could see an abandoned chidren's playground.

There was a small garden in the rooftop and a little pavement that led to the terrace and a few steps that led to the pavement. The pavement fell right to the main entrance to the terrace. You would have to climb the stairs and turn right.

There are a few memories and secrets locked up in that pavement. I donot know though, whether they have cleared them all. They have renovated the house, I have heard.

So maybe the white, yellowing walls have been splashed with new colours and that dirty bucket, the junk tools, and the idol have been removed.

Maybe someday they will shift to another house, too.

I can never return to the house at North Road. I have lost my copy of the keys. But a part of me will always return there, from time to time. To smell the whiff of coffee from its kitchen,
and to feel the warmth of its people.

Maybe I cannot visit in person. But I will be there in some way, because it has some of my roots that I've broken away from, anchored deep to its own roots.

That little house in the corner of the alley where it stands, it came in my dreams a few days back.