I was five years old when
we moved into a new house.
It had a room that could hold
four foldable Godrej chairs
and seat as many men
with unstretched legs.
A longer room doubled
as a corner-kitchen and
a living room by day
a bedroom by night.
The old house we left
was smaller still –
an all-in-one room; four
straight walls, no divisions.
Neither did it have, kissing the ceiling
the rectangular dent in the wall
called a ventilator; parted in two
by a thin slab straddling the barrier
between the inside and the outside
with a body riddled with holes.
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