Prompt: They came back every year to lay flowers at that spot.

They came back every year to lay flowers at that spot.

From the day we lost dad, our mother was never the same person. Her plants lay neglected in the balcony, the half knitted cardigan with the wool and needles seemed to have been forgotten. All her interest in the kitchen and other household chores was over. She even stopped chatting with her neighborhood friends when she went for a walk. Her transformation from a lively and energetic person to a dull and listless one shook the family completely.

Saddened to see the change in  her, we even consulted a doctor, who advised us to give her time to heal herself. The situation remained the same for many months and nothing seemed to interest her till one winter afternoon when she saw a small puppy abandoned near the gate of the colony.

Her grand-daughter, Pallavi, who was spending the day with her, quickly suggested, "Let us take him with us. He looks starved and so dirty."

Pallavi was right, a bath, a bowl of milk and bread revived the little pup completely. Mom seemed to be suddenly  in command. "We should consult a vet and get him his inoculations", she suggested.

Mother being an animal lover we always had a pet dog while we  were growing up. "It makes you a better person and more compassionate", she felt.  Whenever she found time she would sit with our dog, "Kitty", and remove her ticks and brush her coat.  We were encouraged to take Kitty for her daily walks.  As children we often complained, "Kitty is mom's favorite child".

The little stray puppy was named "Shadow" and in reality he lived up to his name. He would follow mom everywhere. He slept on the stool next to her, would sit at her feet in the living room and wait outside her toilet when she went in for a bath.

Slowly, mom appeared to be more like her old self. We could hear her talking to the dog and . disciplining him when he was naughty. Pallavi who had begun to spend a lot of time with mom, would giggle and say, "Shadow has now started misbehaving like us. I enjoy hearing the way he is being scolded by nani all the time." Not only her, we too were reminded of our own childhood.

Shadow had become mom's constant companion. All her waking hours were spent with him. . When she visited us for lunch or dinner, the dog was also extended an invitation. He continued to hog all her attention for her remaining life.

During her brief illness while she was confined to bed, he did not move from her room. It was difficult to even take him out for his daily walks. 

When we lost mom, Shadow refused to eat for several days. I took him home and he lived with me till he died some years later. Every year on his death anniversary we lay flowers at the spot where we buried him in our backyard. However, we all realize that we can never thank him enough for giving our mother a purpose to live for, during the last few years of her life.                    

The garden was overgrown now (writing prompt)

The garden was overgrown now and hid the cottage completely. The unpruned Bougenvillia had spread and a  web of thorny stems, leaves and flowers had grown all over the gate and the boundary wall. I could see dirty green moss sticking out of the grill and there was a rusted iron handle staring at me.

"Is this the Red and Blue cottage you told us about", asked my nine year old daughter, Ananya.

"Oh mom you were so lucky! You grew up in a house surrounded by a jungle", screamed, Ajit, my 6-year-old son, running towards the old gate.

My husband, Ajay, and I had settled in San Francisco ten years ago and our visit to India had brought us to this old house in the outskirts of Shimla. It was true that I had grown up in this red and blue house, where my father, a writer had written most of his award winning books, and mom had worked in the local school to keep herself busy.

My parents had moved into the cottage when I was a couple of years old. My younger sister was born in  this very cottage. My earliest memories are of mom sitting in the bright sunshine in the open verandah and me on the swing hung from an old tree near the boundary wall.

 My Red and Blue house had been a delightful place. Clean wooden flooring with rugs from the local market spread all over, an old but functional fireplace in the living room and the warm, large kitchen with Maya, our maid, always eager to shoo me out. Of course, I never went away without a few cookies in my hands.

A wooden creaking staircase took us to the three bedrooms on the first floor of the cottage. I remember the branches of a tree peeping through my window. Mom always found it difficult to shut that widow because the branch had grown many more branches, and pushing them back to shut the window was quite an effort for her. The window sill was my favorite spot. I loved the tree and envied the squirrels dancing on their toes and birds chirping away happily.

I often imagined wild things in the night. One night I dreamt I had climbed out of the window and a bird with large green and pink wings had carried me into the hills with full moon keeping us company. I woke up that morning to Maya's banging on my bedroom door disappointed that my journey had been cut shot. The whole day I had been cranky and upset till night came and with the darkness some more exciting dreams.       

Some of the stories I tell Ananya and Ajit are the ones I had dreamt as an eight-year-old and were so lovely that I never forgot them. 

In school, I was a day boarder, but children came to study from all over the country and they stayed in the school hostel. I had plenty of friends who stayed there. Often I felt sad going back home and leaving them behind to their exciting lives in the dormitory. However, my devious mind found innovative ways to contribute from behind the scene. Once I left a Christmas gift for the warden on the doorsteps of the hostel. It was a beautifully wrapped shoe box with a semi conscious frog inside. We had dissected the same frog in the Zoology lab in the morning. The whole hostel was in splits but only a few had been let into my secret plan.

I was a born leader but not really a bossy type. My friends were proud of my risk taking ability and depended on me for advice. I had this wonderful story telling talent. I managed to make every situation hilarious and sound real. Often I forgot the original plot after weaving so much imaginary stuff around it. I plotted with my friends all through my years in School. We did get into trouble with our school teachers and get punished on various occasions. However, most of it was harmless mischief done to get over our day to day class-room boredom.

I so very much wanted to be a boarder like my friends that I wished hard that my parents would move to some other city. My parents stayed put and it was I who moved over to Delhi to study Economics after finishing school. All my friends had left for different places and the cottage was not much fun anymore.      

Coming back to the red and blue cottage with my children Ananya and Ajit had brought a flood of memories. My mother had moved in with my sister in Singapore, after we lost our dad. She visited me often but never spoke about our life in Shimla.

I think she felt a deep pain when my dad died suddenly of a heart-attack and she could not get him to the hospital in time. For miles and miles around the cottage there was no medical facility available. Both being in good health had somehow assumed they would never fall sick.

Standing outside the now rusted cottage, I felt an urge to break open the past and enter my forgotten childhood again. Ajit and Ananya had never seen their grandparents home. 

A couple of months later, I had a surprise for my sister. I sent her a mail with pictures of our freshly painted and renovated childhood home. I had spent all the money my mother had left us both to get the job done. Luckily I  had traced an old friend of my father who lived in the city. His son was an interior designer who had recently converted an old heritage property into a five-star hotel in Shimla. He was now interested in working for himself and we thought he would be the right person for renovating the cottage for us.

I had given him only one instruction, "Let the soul of the cottage live".

With the grass around cottage gone so are the cobwebs in my mind that had tormented me for so many years. I had always felt awful that we were so far away when my dad died, leaving my mother to deal with it alone.  I feel I have begun to live again. Whenever, I visit the cottage  I can feel the warmth and presence of my parents there.                

Even in San Francisco I dream about the red and blue cottage. The tree peeping through the window and the squirrels and birds dancing on the branches.  In fact, my story telling ability has matured and has become more real. Only my audience is different. Earlier it was my school mates and now it is Ananya, Ajit and little Suhani, my sister's daughter whenever she visits us.

Every  year, both me and my sister spend a month in the cottage, reliving our childhood with our children. I do not know how long we will be able to manage these vacations but till the time we can we want to make the most of it.