She wore salwar and jeans,
Her bag had a diary, a pen, some candy and her second gen phone and a digital cam.
Her subjects – a puja ghar,
A little kiddy goat
The long stretches of mustard fields
And empty farmlands
The half burnt cigarette near a tea stall
The burnt toast and a cup of chai..
She stopped for pani puris whereever she could.
She was a lifetime ago
She had no worries.
No suitcases to pack
No baby bags to refill
No fear of her child falling sick.
No one expected anything from her and no one noticed her either.
She was just there dipped in her own World,
Sometimes he was waving at her from a distance
Sometimes he randomly smiled at her and
Somes he just walked next to her and only between them was the cool chilly winter.
She was a lifetime ago.
He never existed in her lifetime except in the torn pages of her diary..
Growing up is one of the worst curses on humans
You loose a simple part of you
You never wanted to.