The Window

It was December, 12th. An unassuming Tuesday afternoon. The weather was dry and kind of chilling once the sun set. Mrinal, with his 9-year-old daughter, walked through a narrow alley in the northern part of the city. The apparently dark and mushy by-lane led to an old house, standing straight with a stoic look of its own. An old collapsible gate opened with a stark sound, breaking the afternoon silence. They took the stairs to the first floor. Mrinal’s daughter, whom he lovingly called Buju, was climbing up with awe and wonder. She had never seen before a house where she would strain her neck just to have a look at the curiously high ceiling and each step was like mounting the Everest!

 It was her ‘Papa’s’ childhood den. She knew no one, she could not relate to any of the furniture either, not even the red coloured floor and rusted railings. But she knew one thing…her Papa grew up here!

Buju had never seen so many people staying in one house. She was refraining from peeping into the rooms to check exactly how many heads would be there. But she was curious! Each unknown face welcomed her with a smile. She felt good but still a little shy. The tender hands were tightly holding on to Mrinal’s tobacco-stained, wrinkled fingers. Buju’s father understood the little one’s unrest. He took her to one lonely corner and perhaps his favourite. Mrinal knew peace rested here. 

He had spent hours sitting here and gazing the life right outside the grilled rods. And this was a big window lazily sandwiched between the first and the second floor. Buju sat there and looked outside. A winter afternoon, boys neatly piling up mossy bricks to build the wicket, dogs and cats sleeping together at one wet corner, a woman relentlessly cleaning vessels with water trickling in droplets from a hundred-year-old tap perhaps, an old woman sitting at the terrace enjoying the warmth of the fading rays of the setting sun. For the little Buju, it was a gamut of events moving one after the other just outside this magical window!

Mrinal sat on a small stool right beside her. He was engulfed with memories of his childhood. Mom and Grandmom would sleep after the day’s work, father would be at work, and he would be left alone, with time that seemed endless. All in the house would shout if he went out to play when it’s the time to sleep. He never wanted to miss the space, the luxury of being alone. Hence, he stayed awake. This window has been his only companion. It was like sitting at the window and forgetting one’s existence. Life seemed so different when seen through the window! It is like the silver screen where each one is playing his part. And Mrinal would sit as the solo audience witnessing each and every move his actors would make!

After years, Buju made Mrinal relive memories he had left behind decades ago. He wanted to sit with his little one and take her through every moment, every character, every dialogue he could possibly recollect. But Buju could hardly understand what her Papa wanted to convey. She would rather look at the world with her own eyes! Mrinal peeped out of the life-sized window, hanging from the western part of the house and was taken aback! It seemed nothing has changed. Still there is someone standing at the neighbour’s terrace, a group of boys getting ready for the evening cricket match, a litter of puppies yawning away to glory, a rusted tube-well at the end of the lane and even a small puddle of water lying lonely for some little boy to jump into! Mrinal could hardly believe that he had left life exactly at the same juncture from where he had moved on! Buju was perhaps the only link between his past and the present. He was overwhelmed and held his 9-year-old in arms, with tears trickling down his stubbled cheeks…so much to live for! The two left with a reason to come back…