House of Commons

She pushed away the branch of a shrub which came in her way as she struggled to follow the muddy path in front of her. It left a scratch on her elbow. 

“Ouch!” she screamed. Somehow, the pain she experienced was inversely proportional to the depth of the wound on her skin. When she once rammed into the  edge of a wall as a kid, her mother’s alarmed reaction made her realise she was bleeding from her forehead. Until then, she was oblivious of the damage and was happily frolicking around butterflies in the garden.

Her brother tapped on her shoulder to gain her attention. She shrugged with irritation and moved her head to see a palatial bungalow in front of her.

Close to 10 feet in height and orange in colour, it flaunted the Portuguese style of architecture replete with circular windows which were lined with oyster shells, an art which is already declining in the state. The roof was lined with Mangalorean tiles, half of which were in a dilapidated state. The porch had a tiny well which was covered with a thick carpet of shrubs which made it evident that it was defunct.

Tired from the trek, she sat at the foot of the staircase that led to the main door. Her brother chose to explore around. She tried to recollect memories from her childhood when she stayed here during her summer vacations. Her grandmother would take the pains to attend to all the nitty-gritty tasks of making the house habitable. It was a yearly chore which she undertook to the best of her capabilities until her health permitted. 

And yet, here we were a couple of years down the lane. With a house so beautiful but lying in a ruined state. 

“Can i do something about it?”she wondered.

The first trail of thought which ran through her mind was that the house should be restored.She noticed a monkey hop off from the edge of the roof onto a humongous Banyan tree in the courtyard, dislodging an array of tiles in the process.

The main door bore a giant rusted lock. Pieces of the wood had withered away. She tried to peep inside through one of these holes. There was a thick carpet of dust on the wooden frame which held this door. She tried to swipe the frame with her hands, hoping for a key to drop magically - like how they show in the movies.

Her brother returned from his sojourn and joined her at the foot of the staircase.

“Sup?” He nonchalantly asked her.

She turned to face him, trying to frame a sentence with the right choice of words.

“What if we renovate this place? And offer it for rent, as a homestay experience?”

He spat out the gulp of water in his mouth and retorted, “Are you crazy? Dad will never agree.”

“Well, that’s the challenge!” She replied and smiled to herself.

As expected, their Dad had thrown a fit on learning that she wanted to refurbish the heritage property. He tried to discourage her by arguing that she would suck at this endeavour and it would be best not to venture into it. 

“You don’t have a knack for this!” He reiterated his firm resolve.

Determined, she spent days trying to convince him by sharing various charts that covered the financials involved albeit he stuck to a defiant no. Eventually, she gave up on this idea as other mundane activities of life took over. 

Several years later, on a random day, she learnt that a local church had approached them with an offer to buy the property. The intention was to redevelop it and use it as an NGO to house underprivileged kids. 

“Trust us, your charity will help the needy. God is watching” the priest reassured them.

This seemed like a win-win opportunity for the soft-hearted them. She always had an intention to do something for the betterment of the society. This sounded like a perfect way to do their bit. A couple of rounds of negotiations later, the house was sold for an amount lesser than the market price, justifying it as an act to support a noble cause. 

Alls well that ends well, they say. She reassured herself that this was the only way out. After all, how would she have managed this property while nurturing a full-time job in Bangalore?

A couple of years later, she decided to revisit the place to get a stock of things. How she longed to see a house burgeoning with activity and mirth of the kids. She even carried a stock of wooden toys from a local play-store in order to distribute them. 

As she approached the entrance, her hike was thwarted by a huge iron gate at distance of 100m from the house. To her horror, the bungalow that once stood with all its plight was broken down and erased from the property. All the promises of redeveloping it for a good cause were a farce. She couldn’t fathom the extent of betrayal and took a moment to sit down and absorb it. They were cheated.

It was later learnt from neighbours that the church had not just duped them but also other residents from the vicinity and had grabbed onto a major chunk of the land with this very same excuse!

The dwelling which housed so many memories, more for her father than her, was now reduced to a pile of concrete rubble. 

“I should have held onto the house!” her mind went into a self-critical mode.

“Why did they lie to us?” Voiced another part of her brain.

The act of betrayal coupled with her sense of regret caused her to burst into a pool of uncontrollable tears. As she wallowed in self-pity. a hand appeared to comfort her.

“Its ok, we learn from our mistakes” said her father.