54. not bad. rather liking the sound of it. also sensitive sweet kind people played number 54 house with a bamboo door, a song from those days, even as midnight came... remembered we used to actually live in number 54 in a beautiful little place called duliajan... i must have been 5 when we moved in and about 9 when we left. wished i could reach back and catch the moments for a bit and be there, just for a short short while. watch the patch where once the gardener managed to grow strawberries... or lie under the champa tree where i would be sprawled out on a rug, playing some crazy game, sometimes alone, or maybe with a few friends. the green iron get, slightly rusted. coming home after swimming, three of us hungry monsters and falling upon spaghetti which had nothing fancy or italian about it... i didn't even know it was called pasta, i just ate. my mother quietly pulling me to one side, just as we turned to get home one evening... later she said, there was a snake lying on the kerbside. an ambassador car parked in the garage abutting the verandah... wbf 7535, mark III. big thing back in 1968 or thereabouts. my father drove down with it all the way from calcutta, seems there was a huge problem with the gears or something, well he didn't seem to be bothered. and yes, an elephant on the road to digboi, one fine evening... okay... memory still working. rambling done.
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Aami Daakini
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