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A slip and fall down the memory lane

I have just returned from a short trip; a trip long pending. I went to Kundapur and Hallihole, a tiny village at the end of Udupi District, flanked by forest on three sides and a beautiful river on the other. Travelling to Kundapur, I revisited the place where I studied for six years; the school and college on the serene hill in the middle of nowhere and felt like once again walking down the slope with books in one hand and my close friend's hand in the other. We felt like being in the top of the world with our little secrets and lots of laughter. I wonder where those days went. It was in the middle of the night, around 1 or 2 am, when I passed my school. I remembered the ghost stories that we used to frighten each other with, about the school as it was said to be built on a graveyard. The blooming of a life above the dead. Nice. Isn't it?
Coming to ghosts, there was a dilapidated house a few kilometres after the school on the roadside. It had mosses and small plants on its steps and window sills were broken. Sometimes the door would be open. I and my sis were fond of working up ghost stories around the house each time we passed it. We remained fascinated with it for so many years. We both remembered the house this time too and craned our necks to catch a glimpse of it the whole way but couldn't find it. May be it was demolished. So many years have passed since we last saw it.


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