Wednesday, 3 February 2016

impact of an unknown lady

They are the mere creative stories written for the contest, nothing is related to my or anyone's real life

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

I am a idealistic woman, never liked the idea of working for anyone, but coming from a traditional middle class family, I could barely ask anyone to start my own business. But certainly I want to do something of my own. I used to save every month for my future dreams but never able to implement it as a stable income every month seems promising. I do not want to risk my future and more importantly the earnings. Thus my dreams have become the secondary for me. I was saving and waiting for the right moment to pull it out of the bank.

Because of this settlement, my life had become a boring routine, something I never had comfortable with. Everyday the same old faces in the same old metro had ceased to excite me, and the only thing I found solace in was my headphones that kept me emotionally alive in fatiguing one hour journey from the office to the home.

One thing that keep me occupied all these mundane schedule is a old lady who used to travel daily by metro. She is small, beautiful and always dressed perfectly in her cotton saree. Old and fragile, she always used to be in metro looking at the horizon, without fail, as if waiting for something that had been, unbeknownst to her, snatched from this world.

I love her watching at her face, in a way remind me of myself, eyes so hollow, smile so long lost, wait so belonged that all the agony seen in life seemed to fall little in front of her. It has become a routine to see amma, a name I had lovingly given to her. It was the only thing related to my boring routine.

One day, after a long linked holiday weekend I was not able to see her. Out of habit I tried to find in metro but could not.  For continuous three days she has not appeared. I do not know but somewhere I was feeling that something wrong had happened.  Her absence was bothering me. I contacted one of her mates who used to accompany her.

She told me she has lost her live while crossing road, the last day. Today is her "chautha",the fourth day of mourning period.
Next day, I quit my job. Life, whether short or long, should not be wasted waiting for something to happen.
It was her, I had to carve my future with my bare hands, and an unknown now dead lady had brewed in me the courage to do so