Our house was a longish affair. From the main road you enter the portico and then it was a straight line up to the kitchen with three rooms in between. On one side of the house was the boundary wall and a long verandah ran on the other that opened to a lush green rectangular field with the road running parallel to it. A store room and a dining room closed the two ends of the verandah. On the other side of the field was a row of three houses where families of three brothers lived.
It was a sleepy small town called Mangaldai in Assam, a north eastern state of India. My father was an officer of Assam Civil Service and there were many transfers during his service tenure. One of those brought us to Mangaldai. The year was 1969. Those times were very peaceful and the present day terror strife and upheavals were not there. Continue reading