The house in front

Every morning, I make it a point to stand on my balcony to look at the house in front. Its a big, rambling house, painted white. The frontage is imposing with 4 white pillars propping up the building. The beautiful house is surrounded by overgrown shrubs and fruit trees of various hues. There is a shack at the corner of the compound occupied by the mali cum domestic help cum playmate for the children of the household.

Seeing the man of the house I get a feeling that its ancestral property passed down to the present residents. The man doesn't look enterprising enough to have made that house on his own. But maybe I am wrong. Maybe he wrote a novel which was a best seller and he built the house from the royalties.

The man lives with his wife and an old lady who must be his mother (though she is good looking). A small girl and her younger brother make up the happy family picture. But the star of the house is another happy soul. He plays with a ball in the mornings with anybody who has the time to spare. He runs towards the mali, circles him once and runs away, always looking behind to see whether the mali is following. He makes everyone happy for the few moments that they can spare for him. I dont play with him but I feel just as happy watching him running around. He is creamish-white coloured and he is a gorgeous labrador. God has been kind to him. He lives in a house with enough space to invent his own games and enjoy himself.

I dont care what everyone else is named in their house but I will try to find out this guy's name. I want to call out to him when no one else is looking. He brings sunshine into my mornings.