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We’re back in Kolkata now. It’s wonderful to be home, but memories of a lovely time remain.

Life is a little simpler in my mother’s house, although a little cramped. It’s a house full of love and affection and emotions that spill out at every opportunity. It’s where I learned to love cricket and how to chop onions. It’s where I tantrum regularly, just because I can and it’s where I know I will always have a place in the retelling of the stories from long ago.

I’ll have memories of the dandelion clocks and the neighbour’s cats; the roses in my mother’s garden and the golden evenings in the duck park, where we saw the sun set and sky change. But most of all I’ll remember the feel of my father’s embrace and my mother’s cheek as they bid us welcome and then later, farewell.