Whenever I have a mental static, I look outside my window for inspiration. Not that there is much outside. The first thought that strikes me,always,is that it is all too green. The Neem tree outside,the henna bushes,the sort-of-abandoned plot next door,the wasted almost 8-acres of land where the Ghost-house stands(it is not a Ghost house really,I call it that because no one stays there and it is huge and intimidating)...all of it is too green,way too green with shrubs and plants and trees and what not. I don't have a decent piece of sky to look at,owing to this profusion of trees.
And when it is raining,like it is now,it makes me feel like I live in an African rain forest. It gets dark bit by bit. I can almost see the darkness creeping in,outside first,then at my window,moving across my room in tiny steps... I love rain,I really do. But I don't like this weather much. I am more of a sunrise at the top of a mountain,sunset on a beach kinda gal. This much green ain't ma type huh...(Imagine a very southern brogue please. I have a thing about it. I think it is very sexy. I used to think the same about British accent but two years in the UK sort of disillusioned me. Now I use it for mockups).
This has been my view since I was 6 or 7,since this house was built. The only difference was that there was a house and a well and even more trees in the next door plot. The people who used to live there had been our long time neighbours. They used to own the house opposite to ours too(which they sold it to the people living there now about the same time our house was being built). Come to think of it,I think they used to live in that house and have always rented this one out. They had moved away for a while,but then moved back again for some reason.
It was a strange household. There was an old lady,her husband and her mother(who was like a hundred years old) and relatives with outlandish names visiting them occasionally. I used to think of the whole lot of them as snobs of the first order. The husband used to play a harmonica every afternoon when the whole neighbourhood would be trying to catch a nap. It wasn't so bad always. But sometimes,it would be so hot and muggy,and the power would be out and one is trying to get a few moments of shut-eye,and this dude starts playing...that blows the lid on your temper like nothing else does. Anyway...these people moved out eventually,the house actually being in the lady's sister's name( who was in the US of A,who was butt ugly with an equally ugly husband...but with two beautiful children!!!)and she didn't really want them to live there...lots of family drama. Finally they left,the plot was sold,the house torn down,trees cut and the well levelled. Pity really,because I liked that house...wasn't very big but had a sort of charm.
For some reason,I have always associated the tearing down of that house to my Grandmother's death. I don't remember if they happened about the same time. One of the last memories I have of her ,is her grimacing at the noise of the trees being cut down and saying that,to her, cutting trees feels as bad as killing small kids. Weird simile,I know...boy...she was a hell of a woman. I still miss her. To this day,when I suddenly get the smell of frankincense in the air or when a lonely firefly wanders into my room,I can't help but wonder if she is visiting her favourite grandchild on the sly. That thought is like comfort food,right up there with rolled over jelly sandwiches and greasy maggi noodles. :)
