Home Alone

What is it about an apartment which is shut for the major part of the day that is so unsettling ?
Is it the bed that sits stoically in a corner amidst dishevelled clothes,combs and winter wear ?
Is it the window left ajar in a hurry ?
Is it the forgotten light which dimly lights a cold store room ?
The small amount of milk left in an open pan covered slowly with a skin of fat ?
Or is the incense sticks thats makes the redolent precincts of a spacious pooja room almost ethereal ?
What do these inanimate (?) members of a family do when no one is around ?
Talk to themselves or gosssip ?
Or Discuss events more important ?
Feel bored ?
Wait for the owners to return Or move around and go back to their original locations the instant that the rough key forges ahead and fits perfectly in the ageing door ?
Leaving behind a wisp of cold air in the dark hall surfeit with spoken words and unspoken emotions...