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Morning in Mangan

 Morning sounds of the dripping tap ,garden hose watering the green ,the birds chatting away ,singing sweetly unconcerned what day and what time.The milkman's can creaking in tandem with the boots as he makes his way from the cowshed to the kitchen where he empties the can into different cannisters,some for the supply and some for home.The thick layer of cream on the milk ,for butter,, cheese, curd and buttermilk,Hen-len and her siblings had gone on a self proclaimed holiday for sometime has started laying eggs again.Egg fried-rice in pure ghee with a tall glass of thick milk brings back childhood memories of house helps hastily making snack for me when I made a detour home from school at odd hours as a child.
Hero enjoying his new kennel hastily built by 'friday',looks like a beach-shack in Goa.Does not miss a thing.What a blessing dogs have been to the family.I am not much of a cat person.
The old structure,built in ethnic style which has stood the ground for twenty years and has served as a kitchen for the servants,storeroom and rooms for the drivers and maids has been razed to the ground.The complex now looks so much prettier with a ground in the front for the sun,peanuts,barbeques and oranges in the sun.
Emptying the old structure was like going on a treasure hunt.Things forgotten,things long lost,old heirlooms but most precious of all was me and my older siblings mugs which emerged from one of the cupboards.The mugs had had the privellage of only holding milk because tea was 'no,no' for the children.Mangar Baje,our evergreen  .housekeeper poured milk into the mugs every night and morning 

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