Ch-1 Returning to my Nest
I opened the old, rusted doors of my ancestral house in Kolkata; it opened with a creaking sound. No, unlike many stories, my ancestral house wasn’t like a royal palace or a big zamindar-owned property. It was just a home—the most comfortable place for me indeed! It was a 10’ by 12’ room with a wooden window that had enough gaps for the sun rays to penetrate easily; during rainy seasons raindrops entered my room. I don’t know why, but I kind of liked it, but now I won’t, for sure. Most importantly, in the left corner of the window, a hole was formed, a dent, maybe. I made it intentionally while I was playing with a soccer ball. You will think that I am crazy, but in reality, the dent was the only way I could see her.
Back in 1994, there was no Instagram, Twitter, or blah blah apps; the only way to communicate was through STD booths or letters. But she was my neighbor; how could I send her letters anonymously? Of course I couldn’t write my own name. According to today’s dictionary, she was my crush!
I went towards that dent, which was now covered with spiderwebs, and small white insects started residing there. Before even getting freshened up, I took an old paper and cleared it up. Yes, her room was still visible. The common question is, if her room was so close, then I could have just opened my window to look at her, but I didn’t want her to feel uneasy, and the fear that she might keep her windows always closed after she finds me gazing at her like a fool kept me away from opening the window. It has been closed for years; even if I used all my strength, it would not open.
