In Software design, a Big Ball of Mud is usually referred to a system that is incomprehensible, designed without any standards, lacks proper structure, and hard to maintain. However, these are not what we are talking about today. Interestingly, some Big Balls of Mud (literally and figuratively), carry precious stories with them. A couple of years ago, I happened to stumble on one, and then I recollected the stories.

An empty piece of land lay waste beside the house that I grew up in. Overtime, all sorts of bushes, shrubs, weeds grew unchecked, that turned it into a mystery land. No one knew what lay beyond the thick cover of bushes except for those who could take a peek from the terrace of our house. Yes, we had an exclusive vantage point! As a seven-year old, I would go upstairs to get a peek at what was considered a mystery inside the wasted parcel of land. As far as I could remember, it was inhabited by a family of pigs, that found shelter among the wild bushes and shrubs. There were occasional intrusions by dogs that were handily thwarted by the larger populace of pigs. In an otherwise busy street, it had become a quiet biome that no one took notice of.

Not to forget, there was also a growing heap of mud inside the land. It was a dumping ground for a few houses in the neighborhood. Secretly, that served as my personal dumping ground as well. If I wanted a new pencil, the older one vanished into the heap. If there were sour grapes (literally), the little boy would quietly go upstairs and add to the heap. Unwanted toys or stationary …abracadabra! Empty Ink bottles, bottles of glue, batteries, broken pens, mango peels, you name it! There were stories of some valuables accidentally dropped into the heap that no one dared to fetch.

A couple of years ago, I visited the street. The same street I would roam around with gay abandon, knowing every one and intruding into their houses at will, either to build sand castles, or catching-up, or just trying to escape homework! I didn’t venture into neighborhood houses, but the passers-by didn’t know me anymore. It was not the same street. The piece of land beside our house still lay wasted, albeit some clean up on the borders that helped park a few vehicles. The secret corner still looked intact.

It seemed like The Big Ball of Mud was cleaned-up, while the stories were forgotten, almost! Interestingly, there was a smaller heap on the inside. It was anyone’s guess, if there was another seven-year old watching it from his terrace, and building another ball of mud, and some memories with it!