Saturday, January 3, 2015


   These are the days she is at home but she spends most of her time in her room. I have never seen her downstairs. If I ask, she reasons that she is held up with work. God knows what she does in there. Is life all about writing those things nobody is going to read? Life is about being like a normal girl. Why can’t she come down and learn some works in the kitchen? Why can’t she go to garden and do some watering? Not even combing her hair some days. And those unfolded clothes with safety pins not removed.  Unwashed coffee mugs and left over of eatables. Not working hard or clearing some competitive exams. She is not coming out of the hole that she lives in. I think she is under some meditation to madness. She doesn’t know to cook or wash or any house hold. I fear what her future would head to.

   She doesn’t even return to the calls of her relatives or grandparents. And if asked she says that time just slips out of her hand and it is not her fault. The music is played so soft that sometimes I have to trek up to the stairs to her room to see if she is alive or in comma. The talkative girl who was always hovering around me at once turned out be the most clueless stranger in home. To my hundreds of “Come down and have lunch baby”, there would not be any response. Sometimes there would be a whisper, “Send it up ma...Please”

   And if ever I push her door open, I see her staring out of the balcony. God knows what she finds there. There is nothing worth seeing to that side of the house except a railway track. I doubt if she is counting the number of bogies of train.

 In monsoon the creepers and branches of tree climb up to her room and no matter what, she would not let me do anything to them. Even if I threaten her that the snakes would find its way up, she never bothers. She can only see and hear the things, she wants to. She has always done that. And only when I shout, “Come down..Daddy has come. Let us have dinner”, she would honor the ground floor for a visit. 

   Sometimes she would be pushing her bed to the window side and scribbling things into her diary, staring into the dark sky. I never asked what she sees there. 

   I don’t know where she will end up. I fear the consequences of her life. May be in the way she lives, she finds those answers to those questions. The answers that I could never find in my life.
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