Leaving Your Ancestral House — ICSE Narrative Descriptive Essay

“We shall have to leave home today,” said my mother with tears in her eyes last Sunday. I put down the toast of bread I was having for breakfast, unbelieving what I had heard “Leaving Home! But why Mummy?” I asked foolishly.

She briefly recounted the severe financial loss my father was incurring in business. Loans taken from a financer, by mortgaging the house could not be paid. The financer was pressing hard for return of his money. Being unable to repay the debt, there was no alternative but to sell the house to him. He wanted to build multistoreyed flats, on the prime piece of land, on which our house stood. I had sensed for some time that some trouble was brewing, for I often found my parents not quite their usual self. They seemed quite perturbed and restless. I had never imagined that things would be that serious.

‘Singh Villa’ was indeed a prestigious property located in Lalbagh, very close to the posh Hazratganj market of Lucknow. It was bought by my grandfather from an Englishman, in the year 1911. The architecture of the bungalow was typically European, with red sandstone walls, a red tiled roof, atop which stood a tall chimney. The long driveway led to a big porch, beyond which was a verandah, which opened into the drawing room. The huge doors and windows with ventilators near the ceiling, made the place very airy and fresh. Big chandeliers and ceiling fans hung from the high ceiling. Next to the drawing room, there were three other equally large rooms. My room on the first floor opened into a huge balcony which had a commanding view of the adjoining park, where children from the neighbourhood came to play cricket. I would sit for hours in the balcony without feeling lonely or bored, watching them play.

The very thought of leaving this place made my heart sink. I had been born and brought up here, and could not fathom to live anywhere else. I had numerous friends in the neighborhood, with whom I had grown up. The thought that I would not be able to see or play with them, made me feel sad. Besides this, the precious memories of my grandfather playing cricket with me in the lawn, made me suppress a sob. Unable to control my emotions, I clung to my mother crying inconsolably.

She patted me on my back saying “Don’t be disheartened son we would be moving to a smaller but new house in Gomti Nagar, and God willing happy days will come again.” I marvelled at her courage, and wiping the tears that had rolled down my cheeks, set about packing my personal belongings.

By late afternoon I had my belongings stuffed in two huge trunks. With a heavy heart, I went down to have lunch which was a very quiet affair, for none of us was willing to speak a word, for fear of betraying our emotions. I could see the sign of anguish on my father’s face. It was indeed a very tough decision for him, but being a great fighter, he showed utmost restraint and self confidence. The packing of the furniture was over by evening, and we waited patiently for the truck to arrive.

Loading the last item on the truck, I bid farewell to my friends, who had come to see me off. I sat in the car and took a last glance at my ancestral house, which was not just a home, but a temple of love for me.