ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔥
Here I am in an almost dead home, yet it blossomed with flowers. As I watered the plants, a sense of calmness surrounded me, it was as if I wanted to stay here. Just a moment. Forever.
The cracked roof, the dry slippers waiting to be graced with wet water and the hundreds of trees stretched across the earlier dead, now blossoming land. It was perfect. Not flawless. But just the right amount of flaws to make it seem perfectly imperfect.
I snapped back to reality, aunty had given me a responsibility, I wasn't one to forsake it. I dashed the slippers by the door, brushed a few stray dead leaves and hurried down the stairs. I picked up the paane filled with raw rice, carefully taking a mental note of all the glasses I had put inside them, daring not to ruin this serene moment, I darted down the stairs, yet again careful not to trip over my Abaya.
I reached the ground floor where my shoes lay, wore them and walked back. The sight of roses growing outside the flat halted me in my tracks as I yet again took in the sweet fragrance and delicate petals. It reminded me of simpler days, of a might life, back when things were not so complicated.
It took every ounce of willpower to snap my mind back to reality. My feet picked up pace, now walking in a more relaxed manner. As I marched further, I saw the earthen tap covered in algae and in an instant - I traveled back in time.
"We'll carry three of them" he said, crouching over to fix his dhoti as he prepared to mount two pots filled to the brim with water on his hips. Mooma must have three already. My grandfather walked ahead, aged, weathered and calloused, the lines on his face bearing the shackles of what he never got to tell me.
"I need to hurry," I murmured quickly, ignoring the fact that if I stayed here any longer, the heavens would have to intervene. A sobbing, weak, and crumbling lady was not good for the streets or the world around her.
