Skip to main content

IT WAS A SUNNY DAY

 

It was a sunny day. She could hear imperceptibly the far off  muted sounds of some dog's barking and if she  silenced her buzzing brain she could hear the suffused sounds of birds chirping in the huge trees growing outside her house. The trees had quite aged, it seemed as if they had served their purpose and were waiting for their final call like her old mother who was approaching the century yet  was still far away from the final resolution. She would harp the same tune  everyday "where have  the years  gone, one day I opened my eyes and only after some winks and yawns I have reached this far, when  have I lived where have I ripened and rejoiced and lingered in the abundance of expansive ecstasy ? She would  listen to her moans and grumbles without any response but pass a subdued smile. 

She got up silently  somewhat deep in thought, opened the window of her room. The huge trees were standing there. They usually bore fragrance laden flower bunches every other year. The tree was called 'sat patti  tree ' as the number of leaves in each bunch counted seven. Each part of the tree showed its wear and tear and the ravages caused  by the human activities, which was pathetic.The leaves were dust laden and had lost the sheen.. She went to the kitchen took a soft cloth to wipe the leaves  which were accessible to her, while doing so she was filled with a surge of compassion  and love. The leaves swayed and yielded to her touch, they sparked in their greenness.

A lingering desire made her touch the leaves once again . She plucked one to keep it closer to her. But to preserve it  longer,  she found  one of her thickest books to put it in  to make it last there for Ever and Ever.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THE PICTURE FRAME

Meeta  is  in her seventies.  She is  full of  zest  for life and seeks every opportunity to be in the company of her friends. Her salt and pepper short hair goes well with her plump fat body. Her style of dressing accentuates  her care- free demeanour . Her age doesn't hamper her in anyway. She  often cracks  jokes which generally veer to obscenity, to make her friends laugh , which for a moment unsettles them ,but then they go with the flow. The instinct to deride  looks  meaningless  at such  an age.  Meeta   had lost her husband lately  and her only son  lived  in the U.S . She cultivated a large number of friends and revived the distant family  relations. She was awash with money and threw lavish parties. Generally all her friends are  retired  house wives  facing the same empty nest syndrome. They had  now ample time  to indulge their fancies  which the...

OSTRICH

 Her  restlessness knew no reason yet it was intense. Nothing diverted her. The opaque  sky couldn't filter the cool shades of the spring Sun ...the smog smothered it. Perhaps this annoyed her so she drew the thick curtains to block the dismal light.    Her eyes meandered around the objects in her room ,they were the mere  objects  now having lost the lustre of their youthful era. 'Era ' no doubt since it seemed decades when she had  fretted over them, their quality and their cost which attracted the envious eyes of her friends. Before her now , beamed the  big screen of the t.v. It  was blaring  the routine 'breaking -news 'of the pre election crescendo .The mushrooming of parties made it difficult to discriminate among them. She could only hear the blabbering voices of the myriad  groups  and  those of  budding  anchors of the  vastly sprouting channels  which  were  always at loggerhea...