The day was too good to miss. Radhika saw the clouds, and the unmoving traffic, and missed the small children with happy smiles and bright faces walking down the street, starting their day.
All of them wore uniforms and shiny black shoes. She had seen them every day except one day and that was Sunday which it was. She always wondered why they wore the same clothes every day. The same white shirt with a cloth worn around their necks but inside the shirt, and blue pants or skirts. It was all intriguing to her. The whole scene after she came to the 21st century was like an adventure. Although she would have seen more if she had been allowed to go outside.
She wondered about the children.
"Maan?"
"Hmm?"
"Why do the children who walk down the street every day wear the same clothes? Are they from the same house? Or is it just-umm- that thing with clothes! Umm- yeah! Fashion!"
"They are school children Radhika. Those are their uniforms. Didn't you know? We see them every day. You had schools in your times didn't you?"
"We had pathshaalas, near every village panchayat headquarters. Every village had one and I, for one, visited them as much as I could. All of them were so good. I still remember the days when I went and played sitar for the children on special occasions. They came to the haveli too you know? They brought me gifts, handmade at that! Oh! I love children." She said, reminiscing about her times with the village people. Of everything power contained and consumed, all she loved about her position, was helping them and making them happy.
They said she was selfless. But she believed otherwise. She believed she was so greedy that she always wanted people to be happy around her. She was so greedy that she gave her everything to make them happy, yet she forgot, that for being happy, one needs to be sad all the same. Being depressed would only enhance the happiness one gain afterward.
She always forgot that and made people smile even if they didn't want to. Her son was the biggest example. He always smiled in front of her. Till he was a child she knew when it was fake and real. But lately, the difference had faded and she didn't even feel like she knew her son at all. Jai Vardhan grew up too quickly for her to comprehend. And hence, out of her grip. Out of her control. Out of her love, even.
Her drive to make people happy always resulted in her being broken. It was always her blood to bring color to other people's faces.
A breeze came from the window and she savored it heartily. In this world, she was just a woman. Just a free bird, who could go fly off to wherever she liked.
She felt free from the cracks.
"You have made that very clear." He chuckled.
She snapped out of her reverie and questioned,
"What?"
"That you love children. Love drips out of you as nectar does from flowers."
"I love kids Maan! And loving is the best thing a human can do!"
"Oh really missy?" He moved forward challenging her.
"Really, mister." She moved forward too, slowly closing the space between them.
"Then tell me what do you love here? In this timeline?" His breath hitched on her forehead.
"I love the machines"
"You should say thank you to me, I taught you how to work with those! You hated them remember?"
She rolled her eyes at him and walked from the window to the side table while he followed her behind.
YOU ARE READING
The Forbidden Sitar
Historical Fiction[Under editing process] |18th Century CE| Queen Jashoda desperately wants to escape it all. With her ignorant husband liberated from the trap of life, her children fighting over his throne and the court officials already planning to get her off her...
