In one June evening, after so many years, I saw him again, sitting beside the pond with a fishing rod. He now looked old. But all his actions and poses were of that of the same man I saw in yesteryears.
Finally she stood in front of the house with a beaming smile across her face. Her once blue eyes turned to a liquid amber as she rushed into the house and saw the shadow across the hall.
The author described his childhood days to Nandu while going out of the guest house. He took tea and back to guest house.
She told me various stories of king and queen, warriors, wicked old man who used to kidnap small child when I sleep. I love to hear from her. We used to play hide and seek and she always finds me easily.
Memories ,my mother once said, are like a box of chocolates, you can’t stop at one. You keep going back to the box for more. After all more of everything is blissful.
Read childhood memory. I felt a shame that we were poor, or rather I did not even know that we were poor, we did not have furniture like the others.
During one get together party with my friends, all of them questioned me repeatedly about him. I confessed, I think I love him. All of them said we all knew it.
Childhood memories are always a good start at short story writing. It’s my humble advice to all writers that at least write one story based on your childhood memories.
Childhood is that wonderful time in life when you don’t know the meaning of tension,sorrow and insecurity. Everywhere is only happiness.
My decision was rather a result of conviction than love, to pay a visit to my native home for probably what may be termed as the last time in the time to come.