I was transfixed by this old house on Chitoor Road when I walked by it at dusk. Houses like these are fast being torn down to make way for apartment complexes and malls. They don’t make houses like this anymore. Old houses have personality. They’re full of small touches that show the builder cared about the building and had all the time in the world to construct it. Nobody puts in so many tall windows or diamond vents, circular windows, and ornate terrace railings nowadays; the time and the inclination are both lacking. But these little ornamental flourishes contribute to a house’s distinctive personality. I’m filled with an inexplicable sadness when I see a decaying house like this, of which there are many in the city. One can imagine how it was when the windows were thrown boldly open, and the lights and sounds of life streamed out through them.
Whom does the house belong to now? Whom did it belong to once? Who built the house and when? Does anyone live in the house anymore, perhaps just a solitary wizened old man? What is the name of the house? I suppose I could’ve asked around, but times are such, people might wonder what I’m up to.
Yes, a street lamp burns just outside the house, lightening the enveloping gloom. Yes, a light burns at the entrance of the house, showing someone cares. But for how much longer will that light burn?
Also see The Fall of Harbour View