While returning home, my eyes caught the sight of the tiny grasses whose blades bent as if someone was crouching to warm himself. Had it been bigger its silhouette would have confused me as if it were a real human. Just a little later the autistic girl wrapped in thick jackets. With evening already veiling the sky from the earth and moon somewhere in the backstage preparing to take its position people were seen little bent their jackets pulled. The autistic girl looked at everything with an expression of surprise. She moved her fingers which were meaningless to me which she must have some meaning for herself. She smiled at the dog, I don’t know if she was teasing the poor animal that it had nothing for the winter. Her mouth continuously dribbled, but the smile never left her face. I do not know if God had punished her or had spared her from witnessing and understanding the trickery, intricacies, and the false world. I have always seen her mother worrying about her at least what the girl is, is obviously a punishment for her parents. I have seen the other kids play with the girl, they make her dance and she moves, twists and turns leaving the other kids laugh. She is elated for having others laugh without understanding that the laughter is a mockery of her innocence. They do not laugh at what she does but they laugh at what she is. My feet take wider paces not to escape anything neither with expectation of any other thing. What is there in home? I will go drop my things and watch TV or talk with my parents. New things do not happen everyday but I have realized new things haven’t happened for quite some time. Its time for change even the weather is in transit. The moon has appeared. Its silver color has made it look solemn but not sad. I have already forgotten the autistic girl, where I am is what my world is. They say Obama defeated McCain in the country called United States, who knows if there is such country. Who knows I will wake up all of a sudden to realize what ever I had heard, learnt or experienced was just a dream. What if no McCain and Obama exist where I wake up, what if there is no country called America, what if there is no autism; what if I do not look the way my mirror shows me. The small lumps of white clouds are scattered in the sky, an object shines by the side of moon. I do not see it twinkle, may be its Venus. I wonder if they see me and think so many things just the way I do while watching them. Are they the spies left to track me? They look innocent. The smell of green vegetables being fried jolts me to a new world. I had just few pieces of ‘paratha’ in the day, the smell makes me realize I am hungry but I do not hurry, the hunger is under control. At a corner, a girl in her early twenties runs a cosmetic shop. I have observed her looking at me, I don’t know if she finds me weird or she thinks something else when I pass by. I like her simplicity but I have never thought about her when I don’t see her. I like so many girls, women, ladies for so many different reasons. Few I see regularly just like this cosmetic shop’s girl and few I see on the road.
Tomorrow I have lots of work in office and that thrills me. To be busy is so good, it’s a kind of meditation. To realize its time for lunch when one is expecting its time for early tea gives a satisfaction for which I find no words but I feel good that tomorrow will be a busy day. That excites me and I walk faster just to ponder why tomorrow’s schedule is making me walk faster, why don’t we walk slower when we are excited. A little boy collides with me, his friends were chasing him in a game. The boy mustn’t have been more than seven years, when he recollects himself and resumes his run he looks at me with his dark eyes, dark complexion and curly hair. He does not move his lip but I know he must have told me something, I cannot read his eyes. The autistic girl has never ran thus, she has never given me those looks, she has never seen me, I take the same route to office and back home and I always see her there dribbling, drawing things in the ground, running as if she had tripped on a stone but I do not exist for her. The horn of a motor-cycle disturbs me, the boy is nowhere in the sight, I must have stood there for almost a minute. The street lights looks at my tiny size with scanty brightness. I can see my home and the dome in the upper verandah is also lighted. I can see the wind bell, I want to know if the wind has told it I was coming and if it had sang to tell my people that I was on my way.
Tomorrow I have lots of work in office and that thrills me. To be busy is so good, it’s a kind of meditation. To realize its time for lunch when one is expecting its time for early tea gives a satisfaction for which I find no words but I feel good that tomorrow will be a busy day. That excites me and I walk faster just to ponder why tomorrow’s schedule is making me walk faster, why don’t we walk slower when we are excited. A little boy collides with me, his friends were chasing him in a game. The boy mustn’t have been more than seven years, when he recollects himself and resumes his run he looks at me with his dark eyes, dark complexion and curly hair. He does not move his lip but I know he must have told me something, I cannot read his eyes. The autistic girl has never ran thus, she has never given me those looks, she has never seen me, I take the same route to office and back home and I always see her there dribbling, drawing things in the ground, running as if she had tripped on a stone but I do not exist for her. The horn of a motor-cycle disturbs me, the boy is nowhere in the sight, I must have stood there for almost a minute. The street lights looks at my tiny size with scanty brightness. I can see my home and the dome in the upper verandah is also lighted. I can see the wind bell, I want to know if the wind has told it I was coming and if it had sang to tell my people that I was on my way.
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