Desert Rose

A tiny tale. The story was getting intense as the page came to an end. And as she was about to turn to the next, a droplet fell on the page. She looked up and smiled at the monsoon . Everything felt light again. She shifted from the terrace to the verandah with her book.

She walked in haze; and content to spend her days simply fighting many ways. The floor on which she treads always creaked; and the rooftop had leaks. Her wings were dragged behind- she couldn’t fly; but her tears, they were so stale and dry.  Now she stands aside from all of it; declining the invitation of acceptance. She is trying, trying hard to forget the closeness of it all; repeating facts to her own mind. One small bleed, somewhere she could sense; and she watches herself falling back into a messed up normalcy. Thoughts and memories and dreams her only companion; and her words, her enemy. Darkness, her enclosure; but she’ll tread till she sees light. Though she’s hazed, she’ll tread.

All that noise. The hassled scenes. So much of dirt and garbage. Unpleasant smell dominating the air. Every face showing different emotions. Every frame giving me ideas of a little tale . Just a whole lot of chaos but that is the world’s largest railway network.  Every time I take a train in India, there is something or someone that gets me thinking. Never the less I always enjoy my dates with the Indian trains. From “this is my seat” arguments, to “may I sit here till the next station” requests. From making acquaintances during long journeys, to being freaked out by drunk locals in a rather empty compartment.  From trying to catch a train that almost started, to jumping out on late  realization  about the destination arrival.  From shifting legs and luggage continuously to escape the cockroaches, to getting used to them moving around.  6 years of living here and travelling around has been much more than just seeing places. A...