গ্রামের বাড়ি
My father had moved to a small town, not very far from our ancestral village, after my elder sister was born. The house we had in town was big enough, with a sprawling yard, long veranda, a fruit and vegetable garden, and even a small tank for my father's pisciculture endeavors. Yet my grand-parents would fill stifled whenever their visit lasted more than a couple of days. A week was a stretch!
Our home in the village was almost without boundaries, in the midst of fresh nature and green air.
Any typical house in villages of North Bengal would be like that - Thatched roof, mud or bamboo walls, boundaries lined by areca nut, eucalyptus, and other trees rising like tall flag-posts. Yes, I miss those innocent days. The nature has fallen in the hands of men. Hardly would you find a house like that anymore.
pen on paper
Our home in the village was almost without boundaries, in the midst of fresh nature and green air.
Any typical house in villages of North Bengal would be like that - Thatched roof, mud or bamboo walls, boundaries lined by areca nut, eucalyptus, and other trees rising like tall flag-posts. Yes, I miss those innocent days. The nature has fallen in the hands of men. Hardly would you find a house like that anymore.
pen on paper
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