A Girl In The Metro...

A mundane day, with daily chores the activity which are been repeated day after day in the same timely manner without awareness…

Where life is repeating on its own terms, so many things are changing so many things are different in the repetitive manner…

From months to those weekdays, to those hours, they are new every second. How each hour is been scheduled with the activity or how that activity is been scheduled for that specified hour…

Walking the same path, crawling the same way which hundreds of people might have done for that food clothing and shelter…

All this mechanical, technical, straight line, scripted, stripped painting on the canvas. Something magical happened where among those crowds he saw her…

Among those gripped hands, holding that bar to sustain the control among those tall individual and who dwarfed him, he looked her…

Like a moon in the sky on the wintry nights once the clouds are moved apart… The coolness in the air, the darkness all around and the moon in the only light…

For a moment, how among this practical way of life there was a moment of feelings…, a feeling…, where mind was put to rest and it was the heart that sang a song, danced its way among the rush but nothing it said…

Among the others, she sat there, with her one leg over the other, moving her feet to the song in her mind. Its then, when he noticed how old her brown loafers went with that pink and white check dress…

Nothing mattered because everything was perfect by that one smile…

Her eyes, was what he saw first, he kept staring… Nothing was mundane about her, nothing was normal about her… her eyes…, they were not that of black holes on the plain white… those round big eyes of her were blend in the color of honey… through which the origins were defined…

Her hairs, justified the way of her being, where straight from head to her ears, not revealing those rings and curled up till her shoulders…

She sat there like a picture-perfect portrait, but nothing was there to capture the beauty, the simplicity and yet the maturity which defined the way of her being so pretty… except his eyes and he himself…

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