My Aunt’s Home or Wuthering Heights

Coiling roads lead the bus to the hill top. Embers of the evening sun pierced through the thick woods. Bus took sharp turn on the curves. Chilling wind circling through the woods .Bus is almost vacant. The bus has to viand two circling coil to reach my station. I had to cross a stream to catch my aunt’s home. Bus has stopped. Its headlights headed to the mountain top after a short while. I stepped in the stream, steeping through the black rocks it ended in the deep fathom. 3 years had passed. Flicker of the light gleaming from the bleak house. Instead of ‘Aruvikkuzhi’ I like to name the home as ‘Wuthering Heights’.

In my childhood my vacation visits were ended in Wuthering heights. Memory of those vacation days and its happiness was the fuel for my quick visit. I cherish that good old days, morning summer walks to the mangrove, bath in the stream, candle lit dinners. Neighborhood is an odd word here. What makes Aruvikkuzhi as Wuthering Heights? Is it its hilly existence…? Or is it its chilly winds howling through the rubber trees? Otherwise is its tumultuous Catherine like human characters? Elson is exact the copy of Catherine, I remember her rustic and at the refined passions, I remember her white frock with the blue flowers, I remember when she sings in the church coir her music reverberated in the altar.
Admirers and lovers try to tackle her.

But Aunt gave her hand to a Heathcliff. That matrimony ended in mutual distaste and divorce. Elson ended her life in the stream.

I pressed the Calling Bell. Traveling through the tunnel like rooms ring tone echoed in the mansion. I heard the rustle of frock, hand unlock the heavy latch of the wood door.
My host, ghost of Elson; welcomes me with a candle light.