Memories of the 'window'

When I was riding to work today, I smelt fresh varnish somewhere. And as scents always have this inexplicable ability to bring back memories, in no time I was filled with nostalgia.
The smell of fresh varnish always takes me back to the days I spent in my grandmother’s house in Mumbai as a child. The house next to the famous Siddhivinayak Mandir, was my favourite destination during school vacations. There was a garage close by and ever since I have always associated the smell of varnish to my countless vacations spent at granny’s place.
Since I had never seen the garage from inside, to me it always looked like a dark, mysterious place from granny’s window. The window also overlooked several other things. Among them was a tiny shanty where a woman called Indira stayed. It would be fun to see the cauldron of activities taking place around the hut with Indira’s family members always busy with some or the other chore.
Then there was a huge palm tree that swayed angrily with the breeze, an enormous open ground that served as a mini stadium and the convent that my mother went to. In fact, one of my favourite activities was to look at the school building trying to imagine my mother as a little schoolgirl, wearing a uniform and hanging around with a group of friends.
Today, neither the house nor the view from the window, are the same. The garage no longer exists. Temple authorities have eaten up most of the area in and around granny’s apartment. Indira’s hut was demolished years ago. The palm tree was probably felled and there is a high-rise building that blocks the view of the convent.
Nonetheless, even today whenever I look out of the window I can see all those sights, for they are so deeply etched in my memory. They can demolish the hut and uproot the tree, but no one can touch my memories.