It was the first time I visited my Aunt Meena with  my parents. She stayed in a beautiful rustic cottage in a on the outskirts of Mumbai. I couldn’t wait to explore the surroundings which nowadays we don’t get to see in the  polluted cities.  

I followed a trail of pebbles which led me to an old, abandoned barn. Curious to know what was inside, I knocked on the wooden door. As I stepped into the barn. I crinkled my nose at the stench of manure. It was dark and dingy. A beam of light entered through the broken, grimy window. The shards of glass were stuck on the window frame.

Every nook and cranny was in total disarray. On the left, the door was covered with cobwebs and dust. The doorknob was loose and rusted.

In the middle, there was a worn out couch that Aunt Meena probably must have dumped it. The barn was like a dumpyard I murmured. The feeding trough was with piles of hay and garden tools. 

There were electric wires dangling from the wall and light bulbs flickering.

Just then, my  mother called me for supper. Reluctantly I stepped out and started walking towards the cottage.

On the way, I was wondering if Aunt Meena could refurbish this dilapidated shed.