The other side of me showed it’s face when I stood before the majestic portrait of my grandfather in the drawing room of my ancestral house. There was my father’s portrait on the wall, next to this. And in the continuation, was my portrait, hung uselessly, much to my dislike.
As I walked to my portrait, which was a childhood picture of mine, I went into flashback. The time I was not stressed by the fact of continuing the legacy of the family. The golden time when tensions were concerned only to making up a fight and winning the next cricket match. The great time when whatever we wore, ate and drank were the best, irrespective of the unknown brands!
I played for hours in the muddy waters of my garden, staining every bit of my attire and again getting scolded. I used to shower my father’s car as an excuse for getting bathed with a pipe, but I ended up getting scolded. Once, I was stealing my favorite custard from the kitchen and was caught, only to get scolded. I often enacted my grandfather’s traditional walk before the mirror, wearing his spectacles and carrying his stick, which when were no where to be found, fetched me scoldings. And whenever I asked about grandmother, I was yet again scolded. I still wonder why?
I used to get scolded for trying new stuffs, that appeared strange to my mother. But soon, as honest tears rolled down my innocent cheeks, I was embraced with a tight hug. I was melancholy, I had to sell off this property.
It bore the reminiscence of my days of construction. It had the echoes of those scoldings. In those hung portraits, a saw a dead end to the legacy, for I could not carry it forward to my son. But I believe, someone else will take care of this prized possession, better than me.