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The Instagram Project: Lens and Piston

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Going home

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There was a groove towards the right side of the pathway, that led to my home, and I remembered that my aunt's driver would manoeuvre their over-sized white Ambassador car through it. All the backseat passengers tumbled a little to the right side as the car slumped past the groove and rounded the long cow-shed. My aunt later sold the ambassador car. She told me it was as old as I was. Today it was just me and my mother and we came in an Autorickshaw. The rickshaw driver wouldn't know how to steer through the groove, so we stopped in front of the gate and walked the rest of the way, keeping to the left. Little white spiked flowers of the Elengi tree, that stood guard at the end of the pathway, had fallen down in millions all around its base. The sharp smell of it always reminded me of coming home. Some of the clay tiled lining on the roof were broken and the vast majority of it was covered in moss. Kamalakshi opened the double doors to my mother's ancestral home, its hin...
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