hopscotch

It's about to rain...I can feel it even though I am sitting in a glass cage insulated from the outside world. I can feel the distinct nip in the climate; I can hear the thundering; I turn back to see the skies darkening. Will it drizzle? Or will it pour? I hope for the latter. There's nothing like getting drenched to the skin. And, hoping to cross the danger zone safely without stepping on the crabs clambering out of their homes under the boulders. Danger zone! That was the name my sister (and I agreed) had thought for the kaccha rasta which was lined by boulders conveniently used as stepping stones during the rains. The bad thing was that the boulders wobbled when we gingerly tried to walk over them and not to mention the crabs and frogs and tadpoles and snakes. I remember I used to mumble prayers to someone sitting up there while I hopped across the boulders; sometimes the wrong judgment leading me to land into the slush. Once on the other side I bravely continued my jo...

These posts were published before. Hope to write something new... -- My looks and the way I dressed was a cause of concern to everybody else, except me. “What's the big deal?” deal was my constant refrain when first my mother and then my friends in hostel, frowned at my mismatched salwar kameez or down-at-heel chappals. “You know what...you look like a proper jhalli . Just look at your hair, all frizzled. No one will believe that you have run a comb through your hair today. And, listen this dupatta doesn't go with the maroon kameez. By the way, have you ironed the salwar kameez before wearing it?”, Anima, my room-mate, went on and on without even pausing to check if I was taking it in. I was not. Why would I, especially when it's an everyday ritual – you know something like being forced to drink milk and then quickly emptying the rest of it in your sister's glass once your mom's back is turned. And your mom being very much aware of it... Anima knew that I list...