Four walls of bricks, for five, a home. Each sunrise we three, my sisters and I wake up by the loud sound of ginger being broken down by Ma and the aroma of fresh mint leaves being plucked by Papa. We get up, brush and go sit on a couch, waiting for the morning cup of chai to begin our day and like some ritual, the five of us sit together to have it while those two little ones discuss with us the events of their prior day. Mom listens and becomes a part of it, Papa and I sit there lost in our world, sometimes smirking silently, the other times, letting some old despair settle on our faces all over again. Amazing how we humans can be so omnipresent, dragging our body to the present with our minds still stuck in the past. Soon after this, we commence our mundane routine. Five of us do our things, perform activities but amidst those, we escape the outer noises and chat with ourselves instead. The voices inside us are low yet echo loudly in the external stillness. Audible to us individually and the four walls of bricks we're surrounded in, no wonder why they say walls also have ears. They've heard it all, those that have been said out aloud and those that echo themselves silently and stay unravelled in between the gaps of those cemented bricks. These walls have grown old with us, for their withered putty slowly tears out itself little more with each rolling year. I've always heard this that, these walls of bricks are just a house, people living together in it make it a home for each other. And after living all these years together in this house, we have found our home in those four walls of bricks rather than in each other, maybe because these walls have known more of the five of us than we'd ever know of each other.