"Let me tell you stories about bricks and sand,the pebbles and sticks. Let me tell you about the mason who was so punctual and came early every morning and touched my feet.The way he cemented everything together and built walls still seems so fascinating. It felt as if his hands were made for it,the two hands worked in sink and how beautiful it looked,putting those bricks one after another. 'Maasi'-that's what he called me. He wouldn't postpone tasks unlike others and he always appreciated the ginger tea I made for all of them. 'maasi,thodi chai milegi'-his words still seem audible. When your grandfather sat on the verandah,relaxing under the winter sun,Ramu would sing some Kishore Kumar songs and they both could be seen tuning and humming. The other masons would glare at these two,which irritated Ramu after which he would scold them to continue working. He was a beautiful soul,always jolly and hard working. He would bring fresh jasmine flowers from his garden and your grandfather would lovingly put them on my hair. But children,death spares no one. He was diagnosed with Cancer,only if he had told us we could had helped him with the treatment. The four walls of the mansion remind me of him,his dirty hands that he would rub on his clothes before holding the cup of tea. He is still alive,i feel. The walls portray his love for the work that he did,the walls speak of him.",Shanta said to her grandchildren who have seen nothing except tall apartments and were there to spend their summer break. .
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