A Distant Memory

The pitter-patter of the raindrops outside my window has been constant for some time now. With sleepy eyes, I look out of the windowpane that is splattered with little droplets of water. The nearby tree and its yellow flowers make a beautiful impression on the beads of water and it looks like a bright floral wallpaper. Seems like no later than 6 in the morning, and I start to wonder if this place looks familiar.

Am I dreaming? Yes, I guess so, still, how can it be so in my skin?

I try to jolt myself out of the realms of sleep, instead, I find myself walking towards the veranda wrapped in my quilt.

I put my hand out in the open to feel the drizzle on my palms. Cold thin needles of rain pierce the arms and sends a shiver through the body. Ah! so refreshing! The gentle breeze flows through the hair and I gather my quilt closer.

I sit down on the broad banister with my chin on my knees. The drizzle keeps touching occasionally as the wind changes direction. The silence cannot be measured, both within and without The trees sway their branches to the tune of the breeze and make a melodious rustling sound. My eyes gaze upon the vast expanse before me – the swings, the see-saw, the grass, the crooked tree in the middle of the field, all part of my life here at this sleepy corner of the world. It was difficult to see these same things in the mist-covered darkness, last night. This morning, they all look fresh and alive again!

A nagging voice at the back of the mind emerges its head again.

No, no, everything is fine, stop thinking about it now; look how beautiful everything around is. But what about all that has been happening over the past couple of months?

Sweat breaks out as I try to fend it off.

Why am I not able to break off this prism? Wake up! Wake up!

I turn on the bed, but the ordeal carries on. Tears start flowing and I can feel its warmth on my pillow.

Suddenly, somewhere far away the bell rings. It’s Sunday and the pupils start scrambling out of their dormitories to freshen up. Everyone is looking forward to meeting their folks. “Are you not going to get ready?”, a familiar voice echoes from behind. I turn around and find the friendly nurse standing there with a sweet smile. I nod my head in disagreement. “Okay, but make sure to have breakfast and your medicines”. Once again a silent nod is all that I can muster.

I look down from over the banister and see the girls playing in the field before me.

Should I join them? Will they play with me? Why do I not have someone to care for me too? Why am I asking so many questions?

After what seems like ages of gazing at the happy souls below me, I retire to the sanctuary of my bed, where the wet pillow and the warmth of my quilt await.

The rains have started again. The phone has been ringing for some time now. I peep out of the window – it has been pouring outside. The second-floor apartment is a far cry from the dank dormitory. I step out to the balcony and let the rains drench me, allowing it to wash away the past memories.

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