The South Window
The body stretches. The tippy-toes bear all ten kilograms of her. The promise of twilight, the voices from outside, the breeze that carries the scent of jasmines and the fume of school-buses remains that - a promise.
He's here again! Same time, every evening...how does he do it?! Smart dog that! Where's the biscuit I'd hidden from my tea-time snack for you? Here, buddy, catch that - oh no, it's stuck in the grille amidst the mud, crowshit and leaves....no worries, I'll rescue it for you. Here you go, my pseudo-pet, o' orphaned-brown-eyed-lovable-flea-ridden-friend...
It's 6 o'clock. Young voices call out her name impatiently. A hasty gulp of water and off she goes. What will it be today? Pakda-pakdi or hide-and-seek? Or wait, the new kid who always wears jeans has a new game! It involves gathering stones and piling seven of them - go find flat stones NOW!
It's early. Too early for her to wake up. But it's Thursday, and on Thursdays he walks by sharply at 7:45 a.m. She catches her breath - he's washed his hair today...sigh...look at that white shirt and blue jeans...double sigh...will their paths ever cross? Does she want them to? Her fantasies always seemed more fulfilling than she allowed her life to be. Maybe she'll continue to wake up at 7:30 on Thursdays forever...
It's late. Too late for her to wake up. But it's Thursday, and on Thursdays she helps her mother blow out the dust from the grilled windows with her Mitey-Vac and clean them with a wet cloth afterwards. It's 7:45 a.m. already...if she doesn't finish this by 8:00 she'll miss the 8:36 again. And she doesn't quite want to listen to her bitch-of-a-coworker glance meaningfully at the watch with that irritatingly superior air again. Maybe she can wait to clean the window on the weekend...
Soon I'll be there again. At the same window that's seen me grow up. The window to my soul. To the only world I knew for twenty-two years. To the outside world. The window that has stood the test of time, but will soon be demolished, along with my childhood home, to make way for two high-rise buildings. This India trip will be my last chance to stand at the window. And relive my wonder years...
He's here again! Same time, every evening...how does he do it?! Smart dog that! Where's the biscuit I'd hidden from my tea-time snack for you? Here, buddy, catch that - oh no, it's stuck in the grille amidst the mud, crowshit and leaves....no worries, I'll rescue it for you. Here you go, my pseudo-pet, o' orphaned-brown-eyed-lovable-flea-ridden-friend...
It's 6 o'clock. Young voices call out her name impatiently. A hasty gulp of water and off she goes. What will it be today? Pakda-pakdi or hide-and-seek? Or wait, the new kid who always wears jeans has a new game! It involves gathering stones and piling seven of them - go find flat stones NOW!
It's early. Too early for her to wake up. But it's Thursday, and on Thursdays he walks by sharply at 7:45 a.m. She catches her breath - he's washed his hair today...sigh...look at that white shirt and blue jeans...double sigh...will their paths ever cross? Does she want them to? Her fantasies always seemed more fulfilling than she allowed her life to be. Maybe she'll continue to wake up at 7:30 on Thursdays forever...
It's late. Too late for her to wake up. But it's Thursday, and on Thursdays she helps her mother blow out the dust from the grilled windows with her Mitey-Vac and clean them with a wet cloth afterwards. It's 7:45 a.m. already...if she doesn't finish this by 8:00 she'll miss the 8:36 again. And she doesn't quite want to listen to her bitch-of-a-coworker glance meaningfully at the watch with that irritatingly superior air again. Maybe she can wait to clean the window on the weekend...
Soon I'll be there again. At the same window that's seen me grow up. The window to my soul. To the only world I knew for twenty-two years. To the outside world. The window that has stood the test of time, but will soon be demolished, along with my childhood home, to make way for two high-rise buildings. This India trip will be my last chance to stand at the window. And relive my wonder years...
posted by RTD2 at 8:54 PM
3 Comments:
wow...nicely written...so did your path cross? (with the one in white shirt and blue jean)...have a good trip, and maybe, you could come back and write a last paragraph to this post...
Oh - ho! Navgeeta's being pulled down too? Have a great time in Mumbai!
Nope, Frissko! And yup, Jyo!
Had a super time back home...maybe a post will follow. Then again, maybe not :)
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