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As a child you would wake up early in the morning and join your father for an early morning stroll. The usual place would be the railway station just across that bridge. It would be fun to look at a locomotive shunting wagons up and down the yard as sun rose higher up in the sky transforming from a red tomato to a fireball, burning your skin. Mild breeze would cool off your sweaty skin and you will still remember the chirps of birds, specially green parrots or if you are lucky that of some peacocks repeating in your mind.
Walk back towards the home, you turn a bit selfish, bid adieu to dad, he ofcourse always has to leave for work, and would join grandpa on the shop, as he would be setting it up in the wee hours. Grandpa would supply you with early morning meals in the form of shakes, jams and sort of stuff and you would run up and down the place, occasionally asking the help at the shop of itsy-bitsy things and creating small messes. If grandpa was lucky I would help him with some stuff and would leave for home sooner, religiously informing anyone at the shop of my departure.
Fun were those days when, you would be happy playing with balloons in the courtyard, checking out Timon and Pumba, over a plate of Aloo-Poori. Nothing mattered more, just you were the world and world was you.