The house was a mess. I could have listed a thousand reasons to explain the clutter, laundry basket full of soiled clothes sitting in a corner of my room, stack of unwashed plates in the sink from lunch, unorganized study table and so on.
We moved into this new, bigger house just a couple of years ago. I grew up in a large family in a small house. There were fewer walls to separate. It was less a house and more home. There was a large garden behind the house with steps leading up to the door. Rough and shabby, like uncombed hair, green grass was unkempt, rustling in the breeze. It was free, untamed. Bushes of showy white jasmine lined the garden, filling the atmosphere with its heavenly fragrance in summer. Flowers of night-flowering jasmine, Prajakta as in local language, lay scattered on the grass like frozen flames.
The old house was small with a big kitchen. We had less stuff and more space. Each room was big enough to accommodate the whole family of 10 people at once, having long and deep conversations, occasional jokes and plenty full of love between us. The comfort of laying on the old bed without worries can never be recreated on the new foam mattress. The fun of fighting with my siblings over the remote control of TV set in the living room is not the same as watching my favourite tv channel in my own bedroom. We would eat together, sleep together and couldn't help but communicate.
Things haven't changed much. We all still hang out in a single room in the evening and chat endlessly over a cup of ginger-flavored tea and snacks. The house is still too small to hold all our friends. The family is still close knit, all thanks to the love that grew in the old small house.
nice try
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