there are quite a few being broken down in the area where we stay. and what makes me sadder is the way these homes are broken down-with one blow after another with these huge hammers.men in lungis standing in the heat first strip out the paint, then the plaster and then the bricks as sweat runs down in lines down their sunburnt backs.sometimes they sing songs or they chat about what they're going to do with the money they get after they're done breaking down the house.then one day suddenly, we only see rods and bars sticking out like the rib cage of a skeleton.then one day that goes too.
my grandparents from both sides owned huge houses both of which got difficult for the sons and daughters of the families to maintain.both of them have been sold off to promoters.one house has been left alone while the surrounding land was sold and the other has been sold in its entirety and in a few months, rods are all that is going to remain.then,they will go too.
i sometimes wonder what it feels to see one's home being broken down.the room where you learnt to crawl, the wall you doodled on, the ceiling you slept under...bricks that knew all your secrets, the floors that your feet ran on.the home you made.the times you lived.the breath you left behind.
i thank god today that i stay nowhere close to where my grandparents stayed.and that i stay in a flat that wont be broken down.
"If memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates? If so, I hope they last for centuries."
