The street is just as I remember it. The cobbled path leads to the small gate. On either side, the houses are painted bright cream.
A few plants fall on to the walls from a parapet above. It is silent, just as it was thirty years ago, not even the sound of a breeze passing through.
The sound of a suitcase being put down makes me turn. Ananth, my son, walks ahead to the old age home.
“A bright street to darkness,” I remember my father telling me.
Thirty years. I hadn’t understood those words then. I do just now.
(© Vinay Leo R. @ I Rhyme Without Reason, 8th July 2016)