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I visited my ancestral home today. The walls, the doors everything reminded me of a time when things were so very simple.

The photos of my grand parents were trying to tell me something. The front door which is thick and heavy was always a hiding place for us. Veranda was our play ground and has witnessed so many of our games, fights, cries. The hall upstairs was a place where our grand father would sit and listen to the news from radio - a big fat radio.

The main door also called pradhana bagilu has photos of several gods including Shankaracharya. This door led to dark passage and then onto puja room. Puja room was very spacious and was resonating with sounds of bells and Jagate and songs by women.

You walk across the puja room to the right there was a dark kitchen which was like magic box from where delicious food will some how come out.

And then there was a dining hall which was again a silent zone. The children who would sit in a separate row would only be seen not heard. One glare from grand pa would shut us all up.

The house does not look much different today. But the strict and overbearing grand father and mild and weak grand mother are both wrapped in frames. We or at least I, try to go back to those days which were fun filled and hassle free.