The house of Ms Vera Vas

Bangalore, India

Walking through the streets of Bangalore one evening we stumbled across the house of Ms Vera Vas.

It was in an area of Bangalore where there are gentlemen’s clubs, the Hilton and shops selling life-sized statues of panthers. It looked glorious in its decay; and it sat in stark contrast to the modern city that had grown up around it. Stepping through the vines, the rubbish and the debris I wondered at the story of this woman. Had she been a part of the ritzy, wealthy scene of her neighbourhood or had she become a victim of it, unable to survive in an ever gentrifying neighbourhood?

I imagined her sighing at the highrise buildings encroaching in on her house, the flashy hotels boasting luxury rooftop lawns. I pictured her turning on her heels one day walking out the gate at the side of her house and never returning.

Now, the house decays from the inside out. Everything except the outer walls has been stripped: the engine from the car in the front porch, the glass from the windows; all personal remnants of who she was have vanished.

I wonder at the life of Ms Vera Vas. The people that would have come and gone from this place. The words, music, laughter, sorrow — all the shared experiences of human life that fill the places where we dwell. There was no evidence of this — the remnants gave no clues to who she was.

And now, as time passes, nature latches on to the very structure of the house, wrapping itself around it, taking its hold. A tree climbs the walls, breaking through the concrete exterior. Vines flourish and climb through the gaps in the windows.

And so it remains as it was, the house of Ms Vera Vas.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this article, you might enjoy another of my stories — No.1 Shanthi Rd