She stood there, looking outside through the window; Greeshma's blinking eyes made the only noise stirring "arctic silence" that pervaded around. Unconsolidated marine sediments and sandstones marked the scenery outside her lonely stone house. Major part of "Harigundam" was a gently sloping plain except for remnant hills in the eastern region. The aquatic landforms encompassed sand mounds and barrier dunes along the coast on which this little town rested. While the well-known-tourist-attracting sections of Harigundam were characterized by enormous flat sandy beaches, extensive recreation-clubs around water spots protected by pebble ridges, landscapes comprising of low rocks and beautiful cliffs, the area where Greeshma lived had no resemblance to that recreational smudge.
The color marshy green is something we see in pictures taken off places like Rameshwaram, Srilanka and edited with some decent Photoshop. Everything was "naturally" of that color in Greeshma's neighborhood, even during peak summer. It was the kind of dirty green that’s seen near uninhibited lakes with no air and light to alter the color and odor.
Unlike the rest who would peep out of the house with a hope to see if sun ever stepped out, Greeshma lived in her grey world. Her world of gloom showed not a bit on the freelance writing that she did. Yes, Greeshma was a writer - she wrote for most of the best-selling kids' magazines. Her language was crisp and undemanding unlike few writers (like me) who take pride in using the soggy-ever words from dictionary. How would it be to say “It's an indubitable incongruity for you to instigate such a preposterous notion” in place of a simple line - “It is definitely wrong on your part to have brought out such a silly idea”. Simple words best convey the meaning, rather than fumbling around for several complicated-artistic words; after-all her books were for kids and not for students of literature. The lady in her best-thirties was a favorite to all the kids; even grown-ups upto 14-15 years old enjoyed her writing; but “ONLY" through her books. This talented young lady was least known as a writer in her neighborhood; she was famously rumored as one having a definite hardness and severity of nature. People hardly knew who and what was she. Was it the always shun house-door, semi-lit living room, silence-filled-dwelling that made people frame such an opinion? Or her austere sense of dressing left such an image? Dull and deep colored kurtas over jeans, thick black framed spectacles, hair tied in a raised pony-tail, metal strapped watch, tight lips, sharp eyes, sticky cheeks – would be anybody’s description of her, from a glimpse of what they would have captured through her window.
What was the hidden melancholy behind this youthful figure? Even people who shared their house wall with hers couldn’t explore. Let us not squander our effort on it.
The outside world that night, and every night in Harigundam was a light-black churning blend of ground and sky. Set against the seamless dark milieu was the outline of a man. He seemed to be a man in his early forties. He had wrapped a scarf around his neck. Not the poking nose, wandering eyes, popping tongue kind, he just walked his way. While crossing Greeshma’s house, he tripped over few sheets of paper outside her window. Least realizing the content in these sheets would bring an enormous turn in his life, he causally picked them up to avoid the ink getting dimmed by the misty night.
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Sagar's was a darker house than Greeshma's. Grey and shade lit his house bright. Was there anything about this corner of the lane which dawned gloom on houses that stationed there? Never know! Sagar stayed in a house adjoining Greeshma's. While we know not the reason for Greeshma's melancholy, Sagar's was a known one. He had a son aged 10 which was affected by Down Syndrome. Often this syndrome is associated with some cognitive impairment and physical growth. 3% of the world population is affected by Down Syndrome. This scene at home explains the "grey and black".
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Back home, Sagar reads from the sheets which he would have picked from-near Greeshma's house. He knew little that his neighbor was a writer, a good one too and one who writes for kids. The sheets that he collected would have inspiring short stories (Greeshma would have drafted them for a magazine and the sheets would have got blown out by the wind). Without conscious effort Sagar starts reading one story from the lot, a little loud and the 10 year-kid, Kausthub would begin to follow the narration. Sagar wouldn’t have noticed this. By the time he finishes reading, Kausthub was seen standing next to him giving a patient ear. Kausthub’s eyes were dancing, his face was seen to glow. It felt to Sagar as if he saw his son come alive after long. Soon Sagar dismisses this momentary hope dubbing it aside as just a coincidence and that a mere story cannot perk his boy's mental health. He would have tried treatments from various parts of the world for Kausthub. When no science, no medicine had churned a change in him, how could a meager story bring such a transformation?
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New day dawns upon. Morning Sagar would see Kausthub in a state of peace, much better than his usual hyper-active irritated mental status. He would be seen sitting with a book and color pencils sketching a rabbit that the little boy in Greeshma's story did. Sagar now starts to deposit faith in the miracle of her story. Any father would go a mile for his son and the father that Sagar was, the only parent taking care of Kausthub with so much attention and affection decides to go by Greeshma’s window side and look for more miracles. That night, he creeps by Greeshma's window, notices piles of sheets and few magazines on the table. He picks little pages from the table and disappears into the dark. He would read out yet another story to Kausthub.
Improvements would be noticed in the boy; he now seemed to be more of life. Sagar starts to feel positive and gains an unwavering belief that there could be progress in his mentally challenged son and that the cure lied just in few sheets of paper. Greeshma's writing fills in a ray of hope in Sagar's life. The father that cared becomes a mystery by Greeshma's window side.
He would take few papers from her place every night, read them to his son and carefully place them back before anybody could notice. The habit continued with remarkable levels of improvement seen in the young boy. The boy would now mimic things from the stories, he was seen happier than before, his cognitive sense had improved several times...more than anything his hyperactivity could now be brought to control and the boy was quite manageable.
Routine continues till...till Greeshma, one night, notices somebody by her room window.
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She doesn't scream. She doesn't feel her heart beating fast. She just watches still as the man disappears into dark. Greeshma was a bold lady and to top that she knew there was nothing in her house that people wanted to raid. She did not own expensive things; she had the life of a writer; pens and papers filled her chest, room, table and house. The day next she causally comes up to the table by the side of the window and makes sure her things were intact. (Sagar places back the sheets/magazines everyday with no miss; essentially there is no mystery. He makes sure not to leave behind any mark.)
This runs into days and days into months. Sagar makes sure not to get spotted while sporting a thief. Even if Greeshma observes a shadowy figure by her window, she would shrug that away. She would just go about her day despite the strange appearance by the window.
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Sagar now sees remarkable changes in the young boy. His daily activities improved. The quality of his life got better. The anxiety and panic attacks, mood swings, facial tics saw a positive drift. A state which wasnt cured by any/many specialists/experts could be treated by Greeshma's stories. Though Greeshma was shut in her house, her writings were colorful. A self taught artiste, her stories were cheerful and were laced with creative curing. She painted nature and all its colors through her pen strokes. For the boy who was locked between the walls, this definitely brought a lift.
With positive changes in Kausthub, Sagar decides to stop his window-side mischief and leave the boy to its own course. He would be thanking Greeshma in all his heart but wouldn’t dare to walk upto her and extend his matchless thanks fearing her reputation in the neighborhood as a "non-approachable-stern-angry-young-lady". So thinking, Sagar would look for a peaceful night, lays his head on the bed beside his son..no stealing..no story reading..life s changed so much for good..thoughts flow as he drowns into deep slumber.
The same night Greeshma will spot a mysterious figure, more frail and short, by her window side and the boy would be missing from his bed!
