1: The Window
I see her everyday
At the window of her house
Her likeness lurking in the shadows
Her mind obscure
Mira watched as the young man walked by. His limbs long and loose, his eyes pensive and his pace halting and slow as if navigating through an invisible mine field. Mira accompanied him to the end of the street and then stood silently as he waited hands in pockets for the bus to arrive. In a few moments he was gone. The routine repeated itself every day.
She cracked the window open as the air inside had grown musty. Freshness rushed in but along with it also scurried in sound; that of the street, commonplace and routine. Yet it gave shape to the visions she had been trying very hard to leave behind.
Chennai–when life was less complicated.
Though the day had barely begun the air was already thick with activity. Mira lingered a while longer in the bed that she shared with her sister and attempted to associate the sounds with the images— The light slap-slap of her mother’s slippered feet as she hurried down the corridor to coax their father awake with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Mira hadn’t heard him come in last night but that had become quite the norm of late.