There’s a peculiarity about memories, they always turn sweeter with time and now as I lazily stretch out I am lost in such indulgences. A typical Indian summer noon always presents a picture of hot dusty streets with vendors and men with not much preoccupation dozing in the shade of trees ( Straight from Malgudi days you would think) So these are the summer noons I had always wished for, to those of you who have must have appreciated the beauty of these . My childhood was confined in a house upon a highway. I also faintly remember a pond on the other side of the house , now this area was one of prohibition for me and I never quite mustered up enough courage to deny the same . My bedroom window overlooked a dilapidated old house ,its plaster coming off and owing to its medieval grandeur had always enchanted me , and tickled the fancy of a child’s imagination , It seemed to me a place of adventure, mystery and childhood fantasies. At night I could make out a faint candle light in that building , although now I can’t really tell whether it was made out more of imagination or reasoning faculties . I seem to remember a bird’s nest on my window sill and tiny little blue eggs. Much of my childhood was spent upon that window sill awaiting the birth of a new life , a new beginning only realising after many years that the end was lost in the beginning………….