Type I to IV

The last thirty minutes I’ve been walking around, exploring, this colony I live next to. Every cross, lane, street, boulevard, building, parking, house, window, door, tree, shrub along with the variety of people telling me a story. I had my headphones on and therefore have my own version of the audio.
I made plans to live here, staring from the type I houses, that were smaller and not extremely pretty, but full of beautiful, bold and brilliant Character. The kind of house I’d start living when I start out on my own.
Then type II, the more spacious, less crowded kind of blocks. Parking space, streets with colourful canopies and leaking taps were the tell tale stories. The kind of house I’d move into when I’m slightly more serious with life, relationship and need for space.
Type III, three bedroom houses. Noisy, nosy neighbours with children of age one to twenty one. When I decide I’m ready for the real responsibility of life. To care, love and worry, beyond me.
Type IV, the real deal. Big house, independent and  private parking and garden. Kids are out, retirement almost here and I’m the boss. Last few days of hard work before I can lay back and listen to  M S Subalakshmi and MJ, carefree.
A beautiful trajectory I want for myself but gravity is never so kind. Out of excitement or boredom it may pull me down faster or midway. As I pondered over all this, a beautiful voice from the third floor window continued to sing the same two lines of a chorus till the surrounding noise took over.


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