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Objects in the rear-view mirror may be closer than they appear


I don’t like the look of the dark clouds creeping into the April sky that threaten to ruin my plans for the afternoon. While the rest of our friends are driving down to Rishikesh, Rahul and I have decided to walk down, with a detour en route. As the last of the suitcases is flung into the boot of the silver Landcruiser, I turn to Rahul questioningly.

Do you think it’s going to rain?”

He casts a cursory glance upwards, squinting his large brown eyes against the wind and shrugs, “Doesn’t matter, even if it does.”

I knew he’d be a sport about walking all the way. Even if that means allowing one of the other boys to drive his prized new SUV, a twentieth birthday present from his Dad. Because in any case Rahul’s idea of fun is long, pointless strolls in the hills and this time, I’m game too. Ever since we planned this weekend getaway, I’ve wanted to visit the old haveli in nearby Narendranagar where my father spent some of his best childhood years. The house where my revered grandmother breathed her last.


As the rest of our friends drive off from the beautiful but criminally expensive Mahananda Resort, we figure we have enough time to make the detour to Narendranagar town and reach Rishikesh before dusk.

What do you expect to find in that house anyway,” Rahul teases me as we start walking absently. “Your grandma’s ghost?”

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