A tiny drop
A tiny lone drop falls on windshield.
Allured by gravity, the drop starts trickling down. The child in me could not resist the temptation
to trace the path of the drop. Slowly I am about to catch the running drop when one another drop fell.
Some more follow.
It starts raining. Wipers get work. They have not worked in last few months. Long summer, Rain
is most welcome. Opposite to what normally people do, I roll down my window glass. These days Cars
come with power window. Press a button and done. I remember my childhood, rolling down glass in the good old Ambassdor was a work and a 6 year old child, like me, loved this responsibility.
Window is down. Strong breeze greets me.
My hair is fighting a lost war against mighty wind. Actually, I am not at all worried about my hairstyle. It's liberating. Somehow this hair reminds me of my train journey when I used to cry for the window seats. My hair is used to fight the wind since then.I start singing the bengali-hindi song which depicts journey, "kasto Maza hai raile ma". I extend my palm and feel the rain drops.
I tune in radio.
They are playing old hindi songs.
"Gaata rahe mera dil, tu hi meri manzil".
Travel. You will find many pages from childhood waiting to be revisited.
Allured by gravity, the drop starts trickling down. The child in me could not resist the temptation
to trace the path of the drop. Slowly I am about to catch the running drop when one another drop fell.
Some more follow.
It starts raining. Wipers get work. They have not worked in last few months. Long summer, Rain
is most welcome. Opposite to what normally people do, I roll down my window glass. These days Cars
come with power window. Press a button and done. I remember my childhood, rolling down glass in the good old Ambassdor was a work and a 6 year old child, like me, loved this responsibility.
Window is down. Strong breeze greets me.
My hair is fighting a lost war against mighty wind. Actually, I am not at all worried about my hairstyle. It's liberating. Somehow this hair reminds me of my train journey when I used to cry for the window seats. My hair is used to fight the wind since then.I start singing the bengali-hindi song which depicts journey, "kasto Maza hai raile ma". I extend my palm and feel the rain drops.
I tune in radio.
They are playing old hindi songs.
"Gaata rahe mera dil, tu hi meri manzil".
Travel. You will find many pages from childhood waiting to be revisited.
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