So much has passed between this moment and the preceding ones. The time takes away the chunks but leaves the fragments to linger on.
It were those afternoons when her mother used to take day time snooze, and she would slip out quietly trying at the same time, not to wake her mother up which could infuriate her and she could end up being beaten up badly. She had turned expert in opening the door and closing it after her without noise. She would lift the door panel slightly and push it open without letting it creek.
Outside the world opened to her, a free world where she could do what she wanted .The hot summer afternoons were no hinderance. The bright blazing sky sent waves of heat but she was least bothered. She would explore the entire stretch of the roof covering the entire length of the quarters where she lived. The little objects she found filled her with joy and unlimited imagination. She forgot that she was the captive of closed spaces. She frolicked like an untethered lamb. This was the girl of eight year old precocious and full of dreams.
In her deep memory of those days there was one clear image of a book which still appears before her eyes time and again. The book was one of the course books of her mother . She happened to pick it up once out of curiosity, It was a One Act play in Hindi. She even remembers the name of the book, it being : Us Par . She even remembers the names of some characters which fascinated her, one being Aprajita and the other Lavanglata. This book took her into the fascinating world of strange passions of dreams and beautiful people . She entered a different realm which was angelic and away from the sordid and mundane. A world full of fairies flowers and beautiful people . Unknowingly she was suffused with a dreamy aura of grandeur and joy, a new sort of passion which was not well delineated to her at that time. It haunted her and gradually led her into the magical world of books and literature. Yet the joy and sensation of that first book never left her. She, unconsciously was in search of that same magic and euphoria when suddenly one fine day she happened to get hold of one of the books by a prominent French writers: Marcel Proust, It struck the chord. .Its where her search ended, its when she fell in love with his Magnus Opus: In Search Of Lost Time A novel of several volumes ...and with it ended her childhood search of her dreamy Us- Par...
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