Love and attention were the most of what I got from everyone ever since then. My two aunts, commando uncle who was not around most of the time, my quiet sporty uncle, my grand-parents, together with my best friend kenny. All of us packed in the 3 room flat.Even if you go to the flat today, there is still this old scent of air that is trapped within the walls and the mosaic tiles of the kitchen that will take you to ancient times.
The place where my mum married into, the place where my dad celebrated his 21st, the venue where kenny, my grandpa, grandpa's brother all passed away.
The many many deepavali gatherings where more than 300 visitors came (of course not at the same time!), where serious talks took place, where active chats took their times, where taava biscuits were dipped in milo. The sound of pounding the betel nuts and the grinding of chilli with the ammi kallu, the rounding of thosai maavu with the aatu kallu. The place where I can have mangoes by using gala kambu by hitting the fruit. Everything is in my memory. A place where 5 generations placed their foot in.
It is a place which I would never want to lose. Unfortunately, I have to. Owing to Government plans. In another 2-3 years time, this place would have became history.
Once a place full of indians in every storey that knows of my family. A stroll down the henderson market, you have to answer, " I am fine.. how are you " at least to more than 5 people. That much of relatives and family friends we had at this place.
Today most of their senior members have passed on, their children living in different parts of Singapore. Some with kids, some even turned to grandparents.
Our next door's neighbours were our relatives, my grandmother's brother whom she apparently had a relationship that turned sour which caused a rift in both families.
Such like this, there will be countless stories that can be re-traced in the place where a legacy has been created if you ask any of the corncerning parties. Happy or disturbing news, all of them evolved to be histories of a place I grew up in, in the comfort of love.
Running through the corridors of the long block, playing catching from storey to storey. Hide and seek, cycling, shouting at the peak of our voices. Going to the mosque nearby for free porridge during Ramadan month, celebrating kaarthigai by lighting the lamps out side the corridor, on the floor where traditional kolam is drawn with white paint.
I left my grandparent's home to my very own home which was in Yishun a the age of 6. It was the time I had to step into Kindergarten and my grandparents said that I will not study If I were to be there.
Hence after, I was allowed to return back only during June and December vacations. My life was a part of Henderson. It was the best place. The very very best place!
Henderson Block 96... I will miss you.
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