I was sitting at my study table and trying to concentrate on the most difficult and awful subject of all – Geography.
Though my face was buried inside the books, I could sense those large eyes stealing furtive glances at me. That familiar body moving around in the terrace across my open window. I raised my head to have catch a glimpse of her and after few missed glances, as our eyes met, a rush of flood streamed down my adrenaline. That one flash of a moment infused so much warmth in me. My insides were raging as I could feel the sweat in my palms in that chilly, wintry morning.
She was wearing a yellow dress and had covered her head with a brown coloured scarf, making the arrival of winter quite clear through her fully covered dress. There was something in her hands today, some sort of an envelop that she was carrying, trying hard to hide it from me. Amidst looking through my window from her terrace intermittently, she chatted away with her cousins in gay abandon. I watched her, every bit of her, mesmerised. Her eyes, that beautifully crafted brow line, her open hair, her cheeks, her moving lips as she spoke, her hands, all of it. I was drinking every bit of her visually. On hearing the heavy footsteps of my father, I quickly went back to my book. Father entered my room and after few moments of supervision, left. I kept my eyes steadily glued to the lines of the chapter that was opened in front of me, all the while.
Before I could realise anything, she threw the letter at me all of a sudden. I sensed something hitting my nose briefly before falling down at my table. One look at the terrace and she was gone. I caught a glimpse of her yellow dress vanishing in a jiffy before my eyes, as she ran inside. Her other cousins were still there in the terrace.
It was a small letter with a rose stuck to it. The entire envelop had the fragrance of the newly blossomed rose, that she might have plucked from their terrace garden.
I opened it with all my heart.
Words braced me like soft flower petals. I was drowned in them.
Many such letters were exchanged between us after that.
She always aimed the letters really well. Her letters fell right into my study table through the open window.
Dhaniya, our servant called out to me. He placed the evening tea on my table.
I came out of my reverie.
I looked across the window. An old, dilapidated house stood in front of me. The windows of the house are broken now with moss growing from every part of the shattered bit that’s left of this house. The terrace that reverberated with the gaily laughter of my girl, now stood there with bare skeletons, as if crying hoarse over the lovely days gone by.
My son came running towards my room as I took the tea cup in my hands. ‘Is this the window you wanted to show me Daddy?’ His boyish curiosity apparent in those eyes. ‘But you said, there was a wonderful view of a terrace that has a beautiful garden? This is such an ugly sight!’
I was just about to answer him, when my wife entered the room and announced that special evening snacks is being made for me as I have come to my native house after 15 years and I am expected downstairs at the dining table.
15 years. Yes, going abroad for studies and then job and family has taken away 15 years of my life, yet it all seems like just the other day. I took one more glance at that empty, before moving out.
They had left many years ago. Their house too had no one to look after it now. Where is she now? She too must be married with kids? Is she happy in her life? Well, who knows?
Nothing remained of those times anymore, nothing remained of us, except the memory of our stolen glances and those letters that she aimed at me through my open window.