Walking Down Memory Lane

An age-old story might be read through these closed doors. I being the 8th generation of the family that had the pleasure of residing at this house behind these gates, am at a loss where to begin.
Pre-independence, this used to house a reputed zamindar family of West Bengal. After independence from the British, the occupants of this house carried on with their usual mayhem of use and abuse until there was nothing more left to do but graze everything to the ground. Thankfully, by then my grandfather (6th generation residing at this house) had the good sense to move his immediate family to the newer section of the house.
The entrance has not much to speak for itself. But the people of this small town on the outskirts of Calcutta have plenty of stories to add. Starting from the how my grandfather's one calling could rouse the dead from their sleep to my granduncle's strength in carrying huge bellmetal jugs of water from the Ganges on his fingertips.
Following in their footsteps, my father led on the family tradition of being tall, strong and mighty. He however, sat on the rocks at this entrance to discuss the state of world politics during the '60s uprising. And thereafter, the latest Bob Marley songs against the bell-bottom pants in the '70s.

The infamous "rock"

Of course, as time went on, my father too fell in love, got married and decided its time to move on to greener pastures. He left his ancestral home very early in life, only to return to it as a tourist. His friends and family missed him always, but his father knew it was time to move on to settle the family in another country. The time had come to move along and move away.
Years later, my father returned to the same spot to find the house in ruins. Plants eating up the very foundation of a house that withstood rain, storm and sun for almost 400 years. He decided, out of simple reminiscing of his childhood days, to rebuild the old house into something new. This has more to do to building an icon for his mother and father, who stood tall and proud, and had guarded this house and its members until it was time for them to move on to their afterlife. 

Bidhi (Bibhu + Jaladhi)

Standing bright and tall, like a diamond in a coal mine, Bidhi was created. With the love and blessings of all remaining family members, who were left in awe of what came to replace, what had previously existed.
But, did this now signify a new beginning? Or was it simply a testimony to  mark what had been, only because it was now time to move on to other places.
In 2008, the 7th generation of the Mukherjee family's men left for their heavenly abode. Leaving the 8th generation to fend for themselves. Gone were the laughters and music of the days old. Gone were the hopes and dreams that once existed on these sacred grounds. Leaving only the daily traffic of humans and animals. Bidhi stands today as a testimonial of a family that had once existed. Only now, the remaining family does not identify with the old stories and there remains much confusion of what happened and what actually happened.