Being.

It is Sunday morning. Summer is almost here but the morning breeze is still pleasant. The balcony doors are open and the curtains are drawn. I see the curtains billow slightly and move with the breeze. Slowly.

There are layers of sounds around. As you struggle to keep your mind busy. You focus on sounds.

There is a big neem tree outside the balcony. With branches laden with green leaves. Together defying the approaching summer.

I can hear the chirp of birds. Sparrows remind me of my childhood. Of the years of growing up. Happier times.

The curtains move slightly with the breeze. Transparent curtains have a way of allowing your mind to travel. You can look out into the world. The trees. The sky. You can see all this. But the world can’t see you. You are safe. And behind the slowly moving curtains, time moves slowly.

I focus on the birds again. So many sounds from the tree. But you have to listen carefully. When you reach for them, the sounds have a way of seeking you out and meeting you.

A bell rings in a distant flat. Loud flaps of the wings of a bird flying off from the tree. There are distant traffic noises. The world is getting busy. And the sound of a broom sweeping off leaves and dust on the road below. The sound of water. And another bird. Kabadiwallah doing his rounds of the colony. The door of the flat opposite just opened. It creaks and is not shut yet. So I wonder what they are doing. Maybe the partly open door is their curtain. Are they trying to hold on too. Are they thinking. Or does life go on as normal inside. They are busy with the act of living and have forgotten the door. They no longer need to focus on it. It is not that important.

Bits of the breeze escape from between the curtains and reach me for a split second. Then go back and move the curtains a bit more.