Of despair and disrepair.

I write not of that house.

Of red terracotta tiles and black iron bars. Of 10 bedrooms and a library. Of two swings and a mango tree. Of 4 loyal dogs and a lawn. Of chhui muui and a lily pond.

I write not for I fear. I fear these anxieties once brought alive. Shall seal the fate of that house.

And yours with it.