The bungalow was unnamed and had been lying witness to almost nothingness in an empty, almost cut out lane of Dhakuria. It was nearly a hundred years old; and had been built during the British Raj in India. It had a roof made by red bricks and gave a dreary; listless look. The off-white paint of the bungalow showed evidence of the wear and tear due to the elements of nature. There was a small lake which didn’t have the right to be called so. It was completely parched, thus erasing all proof that there was water in this desiccated enclosure sometime. The house stood on a spacious ground which occasionally had little patches of green grass growing there. There were two neem trees and a jamun tree quite adjacent to the house. Every time summer knocked across the tram-city, the children of the neighbourhood would throw little stones and try getting their share of jamun. That was perhaps the only time that this place was bustling with activity and noise, it otherwise being a soundless fragment of nothingness.  

The bungalow was passed on from one person to another; and finally it was Mr. and Mrs. Biswas who purchased it after their marriage. They lived in the house for a couple of years; after which they lived in a plush house in the Esplanade area. This place was used for official purposes and Mr.Biswas often brought his co-workers here whenever they had a project. Otherwise, it remained locked. These days, the only time there was hustle here was when the daily wage labourers, who worked in the construction site nearby came and chatted during evening hours; lighting a beedi or two and talking about mundane things. Whenever someone passed through the deserted lane in which this unnamed bungalow stood, they would curiously look to see if there is anyone living there.  

Anurupa was in a hurried frenzy today. The clock proclaimed the time as six thirty, and she had to hurriedly reach the airport, for her flight which was at eight. She did not quite like early morning flights; but knowing Abanindra there was nothing she could do to argue. He was correct in a sense, she felt, that the sooner she comes to Kolkata, the better. Anurupa had taken an off for twenty days from her job as a lecturer in the college and come to visit her parents. It had been five months that she had married Abanindra and now she wanted to be there with her parents and husband, as one happy family does. Abanindra grew close to her family when they both were working as lecturers for different departments in the same college. She had shifted to Mumbai as she had got a better offer for work here and a better pay scale. As providence could have it, cupid struck between the two, and fortunately for them, things worked out well. Abanindra was an intelligent, hardworking and an independent boy as he grew up without the shelter of his parents, whom he lost in a car accident when he was very young. He was now already in Kolkata for the celebration of the Bengali New Year and as Anurupa had other commitments, being the second of the only two lecturers in her department, had to catch the flight a week later. 

As the flight landed permeating the Kolkata skies; she felt a sense of renewed joy of thinking of her parents and husband. She rushed out with her luggage and seeing Abanindra, threw herself in his arms. As they boarded a taxi, he told her, “You know, Anu, this time Ma and Baba have asked us to come to the Dhakuria house. It is anyway lying unused and she thought that since even your cousins are coming down, the spacious house should be put to use.”

“Oh, great, my dear husband…I love that house. It has been almost ten months that I haven’t seen the house. It is so rustic and earthy, like the times when Kolkata was Calcutta,” she said, in her animated style, truly typical to her. 

The house was already set for cleaning and eight domestic workers painstakingly wiped off the dust, cobwebs and cleared the clutter of unwanted things. Soon, they both reached home. The parents were happy to see the daughter and there was instant bonding. As Anurupa stretched her hands and opened the windows, she felt a sense of tranquility. The air was seemingly fresh and there was no hot sun blazing. The Kolkata skies proclaimed a cloudy forecast for the day.

“Neeru,” Anurupa’s father Mr.Bishnu Biswas called out to his wife, “Come here, and sit with us.”

Her mother quickly brought some sherbet for all of them and gave a wide smile. 

Between mundane talks, Anurupa remembered that her grandmother was an ardent painter. Her father had spoken about her paintings with a lot of detail. She reminisced seeing some of them during her childhood days, after which she had totally forgotten about them. She felt bad about this, and thought for a while. Many of them were now lying in the storeroom of this bungalow, she remembered.  

She instinctively got up and headed towards the storeroom.

                                                               ... to be continued