When I was four, we moved to a house on the outskirts of Jalgaon, a small city in North Maharashtra.
My grandfather wanted a home away from the noise of the colony where we used to live. To me, the new house felt empty. I had no friends in the neighbouring houses, and the language spoken around us was unfamiliar. In our previous home, my best friend lived next door, and we would spend our evenings together in the narrow lane in front of our house. The kitchen was connected through a back door, through which Sheela Aunty would sneak in as soon as my grandfather left. That back door led to stairs going up to the upper floor, where my cousins and I would gather in the evenings.