I love our little terrace garden. I can spend hours there, sitting, reading, day dreaming, watching trains pass by.

The room adjoining it is my grandmother's. It's a very cozy room, with lots of books - old ones belonging to Ma and Baba, new ones - mainly the coffee table ones with lovely pictures and some crappy ones which no-one ever reads. The room has pictures of Ammai, us, old African wood-carved knick-knacks and a very old Koala bear kept next to Ammai's picture, because it reminds all of us of Labony and our memories there. It even has a little kitchenette, looking out into a tiled verandah with spindly plants and bougenvilla flowers yet to bloom. I was reading there today, remembering in spurts Ammai, her dainty hands, our conversations, her maccher chops, and Labony. The other day I was just sitting around with the phone in front of me, wondering whom to call, and I realised I wanted to call Labony or DB and talk to either Ammai or Dadabulo. Just hear to hear their voices. I've forgotten the Labony number. I've forgotten Saltlake. Sometimes it's the just for the best.