We open the house after a couple of years.
Spider-webs, furniture covered with old sheets and a skeletal kitchen greet us. My thoughts go back to the days, when the house reverberated with sounds – cackling laughter of children, my mother-in-law’s tyrannical instructions to all for doing things in a certain way and the cribbing of servants in corners.
I open the kitchen window, and sunlight shines on some cups near the sink. I wonder who had visited the place last and used those cups.
An era has ended, but associated emotions are welling up. I’d never liked the place before.