The window...

being friends-a window and a young woman

Sitting over my window, staring out, as the long night stretches in to the comfortable silence. I realize I have come a long way- from a scared tiny pinkish bundle of skin, bone and blood to a woman of her own identity. So much has changed since, but not all. The intoxicating smell of 'jasmine' and 'the queen of night' still fills the air in the dark, like it used to. Leaving me nostalgic of the quite, happy moments I have had filling the fragrance deep into my lungs, where it still stays- untouched, unpolluted, unblemished. There had been a time when rarely, in a blue moon, some snake would crawl into my room scaring the hell out of me. And now, I take them to be the amazing beautiful creatures. Yes, I have changed and so have time. But this window that i fondly call my own, still remains to be my place of solace, my salvation and my insight to the outside world and me. this one window has been the witness of my growing up. It holds many of my secrets, like a sincere best friend. It heard me talking to the first love of my life and my last. It cheered at my giggles and held me when I cried silently, storing in my tears, like creating my memories for itself. It knows how utterly silly I could be or how amazingly intelligent. It had seen me being brave and had seen me breaking down, shattering into pieces. It would always wake me up, letting the selective sun rays seeping into my room, filling me with new hopes. And drenching my nights with moonlight and ever so new dreams. i had no idea I love my window so much. The realization just dawned over me tonight, as I sit, holding my joining letter, over the window for one last time. Tomorrow, I will be on the other side of the world, flying into a new horizon. I am happy, and sad that I might never get to see my window again, never like this.

Happy old times

As we grow, so does times
but our childhood remains
somewhere deep inside.

From what seemed like a usual boring day turned in to a very exciting on. Cool breeze and fluffy cumulus clouds making Sunday evening seem like a beautiful painting on the canvass of sky. Ana squealed in delight as a tall handsome guy ran behind her. She took a dip from under his arms and ran again.
Ana, he laughed. And she ran.
Gotchcha, he breathed as he caught her and together they roared in to laughter.They held hands and ran behind the others. For almost an hour a series of pleasurable laughter, screams, and squeals went on as they caught their kin one by one and made a chain to attack the next.
Cheryl, you are next.
Christ, No. Go after Robbie.
Am going to be the winner this time cherry berry. Just wait and watch.
And a huge chain of them went out to get one of them holding each other’s hand tight, making their chain secured
.Cheryl 
Robbie
And in the confusion of who to go after the chain broke. They laughed and shouted and ran back in the den’s corner to start afresh.
Robbie you cheated.
Cherry berry grow up. Robbie taunted.
And they all fell on the floor of their terrace laughing and breathing heavy.
Man, we have really grown old.
Ana rolled her eyes at Robbie. We are still under 19 Robs. You are old. The over 20 oldie.
And a ripple of laughter broke.
But it was fun. Said Cheryl, half still laughing and half catching her breath.
We must do this often. 
Thanks Ana, for the idea.
Ana fell flat on the roof watching the clouds fly by and sun repeatedly trying to hide behind them.


   Earlier in the day, at 7 in the morning Ana stood at the balcony of her flat with her usual cup of Sunday special coffee. At some distance, on a terrace she saw some kids playing kabaddi. The pleasure, the laughter they shared transported Ana to her childhood. Oh, how she misses her school day, summer vacations specially. When all her cousins and she herself would visit their paternal house and spend hours and hours playing something or the other. They were always inseparable as long as the vacations used to end.
As they grew up, vacations became a history, and so did their time together. Although they all are placed in Delhi, but they hardly get time to meet. Their busy schedule and long commuting hours doesn’t make it sound worth an effort. Though they always try to meet once in a month or stay in touch over phones. But, no points for guessing, it isn’t the same like good old vacation days. Today, watching those kids play ignited many tempting, happy memories to her. And she wanted to live that moment back. And what Ana wants, Ana does. And here they are, relishing, reliving old times. Again.

A long way

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 31; the thirty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'Strangers in the Night'

The quite voices in her head
screams louder than a child
staying with her
like a stranger in the night...

Strangers in the night exchanging glances 
Wond'ring in the night what were the chances We'd be sharing love before the night was through.......
          
Voice of Frank Sinatra filled the room, and so does the soft light of moon, the blue moon it is. She stands in her balcony with a cup of coffee. A gush of cool air ruffles her hair and she pulls her robe closer relishing the wind , the moon and the song, and of course her latte. The street is deserted except the neon light. She takes in the view oh it's beautiful. Her eyes get stuck at the base of the pole holding the neon light. There is someone. She can see a small petite frame trying to hide in the darkest corner, but its too much of light tonight. She can't see it properly, it is bundled, or so it seems.
Security, there is someone under the lamp post at the opposite of the gate. Can you go and check?
She pulls her robe tightly and walks down. A little later security comes tugging a little, very little boy with him. His big chestnut brown eyes wide and wild, filled with fear and anxiety. His hairs rough and tousled, dirty clothes and tear streamed face.
Tumhara naam kya hai
His eyes get dilated and wilder. But he says nothing
Kahan rehta hai? yahan kya kar raha tha itni raat mein
silence again
Kuch khaayega?
He nods his head enthusiastically. Some answer finally. She takes his hand, he recoils.
main kuch nahi karungi. bhookh lagi hai na. chal fir khud hi aaja.
He hesitates for a minute and follows her.
Tere kapde to bahut gande hain. Kab se nahi nahaya. Ja ja ke naha le pehle.
She begins to unbutton his torn shirt. He recoils and run off in a corner hiding his face in his hands. She opens the door of the bathroom, runs warm water in the tub and hands him some discarded clothes of a boy with a fluffy towel to him and goes to the kitchen to fetch him something to eat.
A little later she hears a faint squeal of delight. She peeps from her kitchen to see the boy splashing water all around her bathroom with an expression of awe.
Cute
She walks out silently to get a better view of him and gasps. Her eyes wide with horror. At the sound the boy turns his attention to her and stands still. 
No
A strangled sound escapes her throat. The boy was all bones, his skin marked with familiar scars. 
Cigarette burns and belt scars
All too familiar. With a sob she runs and throws her arm around the boy. Crying.
Oh baby, poor baby.
His expression baffled but he likes it nonetheless. Ever so slowly he moves his little arms around her neck and buries his face in her hair. She carries him wrapped in the towel, dresses him, feeds him and slowly rocks him to sleep in her arms.
Later in her room she stands in front of her full size mirror. Slowly dropping her gown to the floor. Her exquisite bronze skin glows in the light except for the familiar marks on her back, her shoulders, her stomach and her shapely thighs. A lone tear escapes from the corner of her eyes as the painful memories flood her.
Memories of her being a happy 2 year toddler Squealing and shouting while her mother chases her al over the house with a mug of milk in her hands. 
Some happy days were they.
And then everything changed, Her mother was draped in a white saree and cried all the time. Her grandparents were always shouting at her mother. And one day a strange horrible looking man took them both away. And she never got to see her mother, Only the were nights full of screams of her mother. Late in the night of  he would stagger out of the room half walking half falling, smelling fowl. he would drag her with her hair blabbering something and then a wave of pain wold hit her as he would mark her with half burned cigarettes and lashed her with his belt. If she made a sound he would throw her to other men, like him and they would then play with her for hours. And she learned to keep quite in time.  And one day he threw her mother out of the room. It has been so long since she had seen her mother. But she is awfully quite. 
Maa utho na bhookh lagi hai kuch khaane ko do na
Sensing no one in the house she dared to speak, but her mother wont move. She repeatedly tried to but to no avail. After a while she finds some scraps and feeds herself but it wasn't enough. She is still hungry but there was nothing she could do. Her mother is still sleeping. She crawls back beside her mother and sleeps. It been four days of hunger and terror before someone found her caressing her mother's hair, her dead mother's hairs. She has come a long a way since then. But the strangers in the night remained. She slumps on the floor and cries, for herself, for this child and for all the children like then both as the melancholy Bach fills the room to claim the painful night

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