“I ” was walking aimlessly on the street. Concentrating on the footpath to avoid the pits, manholes, and early stages of animal manure- abundantly scattered here and there. It was the end of June and today’s weather with cool wind was in contrast with the scorching heat of last two months in Azamgarh.
The refreshing cool breeze in cloudy weather in a small town made a perfect morning far from the hustle bustle of the big town India, of which I had become a part of.
Wearing a blue T shirt with a torn jeans and chappal and the welcome breeze brushing through I’s face and ruffling my hair, he decided to walk towards chowk to grab a cup of tea from the road side vendor.
As I walked in nonchalance, from a Panwalla’s Radio Hummed Rafi “Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya…”
As I walked further, he got lost in the pristine beauty of the Mughal architecture abundantly present in this older part of the city. As I walked on the street, marveling at the architecture and made a mental note to ask Dadaji more about this part of the city, he saw something, the beauty of which made him stop and take a notice.
In front of I was a building- old but proud and imposing reminder of its beautiful past. On the first floor of this building, sat a girl wearing a white salwaar kameez with shades of blue. She was sitting in an ‘aram kursi’ and was reading some book in rapt attention, oblivious of I looking at her.
She had a round face. Her beautiful, big black eyes, adorned by perfectly shaped eyebrows were fixed on the book. Her thin lips crafted to perfection by the master sculptor. Her ears had tiny ear rings shining on the either side of her cute face.
Her hair was tied in a bun at the back of her head. A few strands of her hair escaped the constraints of bun and were playing on her forehead and eyes and she would constantly try, in vain, to keep ‘em out of her eyes with her right hand.
One end of her dupatta was sandwiched between the ‘aram kursi’ and her back. The other end of the dupatta going round her neck was swaying slowly and aimlessly in the slow wind.
On the wall in balcony behind her, was a window. The wooden window frames, seemingly crafted in 19th century were loose at hinges and hung elegantly from the window. I stood there for some time- bewitched by the mesmerizing beauty in the back drop of black clouds.
For a moment the girl lost her concentration, her eyes drifted from the book and she looked at I. She hesitated a little and then with a swift elegant motion, she got up, adjusted her dupatta and went inside the house.
I came back to senses. The song on the Panwallah’s Radio interestingly changed to “Hai apna dil, To aawara…”
Smiling, he shook his head, made a mental note to come back to the building and moved ahead towards chowk… wind ruffling through his hair.