Timid.

Tip toe. Tip toe. Pacifying my adrenaline I nibble down the stairs.

There is a fear mammoth waiting and I take the chance anyway. I need the drug, high time. Back in my room, serials after serials got loaded, replayed, stage show, bla bla. Was quite a drama queen wasn’t I, mirrorji? Apologies, I feel for you now. You must have wondered, asked a ‘come again’ a million times to all the dialogues I have mouthed, with its reply fancied in my flushed up mind (of course). I mean, that would have been a disaster, the drape of a saree, the SAME one, every other night, to fancy my seeing organ and teenage flutter. Years down the lane, that made me a professional in it though – Lemme explain? 

‘‘Fatty me first’’, says Pritismita. Apparently, I have to drape for three more too.

I knew the number of steps that I had to dismount. It was a habit. The serene mind after gazing to the natural roundness in the sky is alert to every sound at night. Her ears crooned for a swish of a linen, watching out for an absurdness, any pit holes that she should not fall on, en route this crazy outsprint. Reinforcing herself after every winning step, she passes by doors to her kitchen, just in case it looks abnormal. Pretension, duh! Gulping down the slush of water, the FBI ears peering and sharp, she head towards the stairs again. There is a wang in her mother’s bedroom, not yet time, she took in.

Blip. Should have plaited my hair for long. Always bad timing, she mutters.


 Climbing onto that ‘mesha’, I wait, for the little one to relax- I prayed, for the mothers to get beautiful dreams- I prayed, for everything that would win me another successful tip toe down the stairs, I prayed. There was only one tubelight lit in that two storey built, just like the night that followed it, just like the night that preceded it. One light, keeping a 'jo' awake.

To suffice the flutter of her gutter.