Writing class 4

Countdown to my last class. I will miss going to the university campus, miss walking down the empty corridors, miss sitting on the building steps in the cool shade of the old trees.

The prompt ~ Genre of your choice, a self proclaimed psychic Melinda, a hairbrush, bedroom, 900 words

My story board for it..

Melinda stood staring out of the window of her cottage. Her usually vacant glassy eyes held a furtive expression tonight. Every sound made her jump. She had a feeling this prophecy could only mean trouble.

Something startled Melinda from her uneasy reverie.  The door was pushed open and in rushed a svelte figure clad in wine colored chiffon. A dark velvet hood covered her striking features partially. The new entrant in the cottage moved with so much grace that she gave the illusion of gliding on air. There was no doubt in Melinda's awestruck mind who stood before her. It was the princess. 

Melinda's half uttered gasp remained suspended in mid air as Princess Madneli's melodious voice rang out. "Tell me o seer, where is the hairbrush? Oh you must hurry for there is no time to let slip by. For I do not know how long will it take for my father's guards to find me." 

"Same letters shall grace the moniker,
of her who shall see the future.
For silver strands of tranquil moonlight
would gleam when brushed on the third night.
With her whose future it shall be,
magic can then be set free."

As Madneli's voice rose the older lady in the room could feel her heart still. Her mouth remained wide open. The princess rushed towards Melinda. Her voice, an urgent whisper now, "You must see, o seer, the girl in your prophecy. She has to be me. I am the one."  With these words Madneli took down her hood.

Now, the smallest child in the farthest corner of the realm knew the princess had silver hair. However, Melinda was left breathless with the beauty before her. The princess impatiently shook her hair as she rushed to the mirror in the corner and from the table picked up the silver hairbrush studded with gems the color of the ocean. "Our names. Madneli. Melinda. The same letters, just like you foretold. It is the third night after the moon has waned. If you brush my hair tonight, magic will return as the ever merciful goddess Gaya has promised. I hear footsteps. My father must desire me back in the safety of his castle. Hurry o seer!"

Melinda was too dazed to protest. She let herself be led outside of the back door. They stealthily made their way through the interwoven labyrinth of the streets. Melinda jerked to a stop. She had to reason with the princess even though it might mean her death. This had gone too far. For eons had passed since the last fruitful magic spell had been cast in the realm. "My princess, I cannot talk to the dead and I cannot see what lies for us in the future. I simply wove a silver yarn to earn some silver coins. And this is but a silver hairbrush with crystals."

Slowly the fire in Madneli's eyes started to dim. She looked shaken. After all these centuries of having faith, was there no hope left after all?


"My fair maiden allow me to guide you to someplace safe". Before them stood a man like no other. Chiseled cheek bones, jet black hair, vivid blue eyes and with it a strong set of shoulders and a firm hand that had grasped Madneli's arm. The face of the stranger seemed to emit a strange glow. Melinda listened to his words as if hypnotized by his energy. "I have been gifted by the ever merciful Goddess Gaya to have enough powers to protect you in this perilous journey. For it shall be a long and arduous one. One a pretty maiden as yourself has never undertaken and never shall anyone else undertake again. For we shall return successful and with our return, magic will return to everyone. It shall no longer remain with the privileged few, but be enjoyed by the entire realm."

The princess turned uncertainly towards Melinda. Just then there was a deafening sound of footsteps. "Come, make haste", he said taking charge. They let themselves be guided through the streets by the stranger. Turn after turn he ran with them at his heels till they had no idea of the direction they were heading.

Finally he slowed down and turned. His smile had vanished and in his right hand shone a cold silver dagger.  Before the princess could react the dagger had pierced right through her heart. She crumpled to the ground in a beautiful but sadly lifeless heap. 

The man turned his piercing gaze towards Melinda next. "So you don't remember me, do you? Perhaps it is for the good of everyone. I have seen you prettier, but age suits you as well. Farewell sweet seer until we meet again. For meet we shall as destiny has foretold. This tale has no ending till the final end is told."

Melinda felt the dagger smoothly, with infinite precision, cut through her heart, but the pain did not come with it. Instead came flashes of fleeting memory. She saw herself pretty and young standing in front of a silver haired man..... A middle aged fat Melinda looked on in horror as a silvered haired child collapsed in her arms… An even younger Melinda lay sobbing at the feet of a black haired man who seemed to be laughing. She saw herself looking stunningly beautiful as she faced someone whose back was towards her. "Magic is mine", he said as he turned. The face with its sardonic smile was an exact replica of the man who had but seconds ago ensured her death. 

At last Melinda knew the truth. Her prophecy had been true all along. It was time to end this life. She would die this night, but the viscous circle would continue unless she found a way to end it once and for all.  

Ha ha happy

Life.. today I setup an image widget to share happiness is pictures and got something which will truly make so many of us extremely happy.

Mai aur Mr. Right starring Barun Sobti.. Me.. my friends.. and so many of his fans must be so happy today..

The video was removed hours after this..but am going to let this post remain on my blog..a reminder of how ecstatic we are..

Is it a bird..Is it a plane.. Its Superman!!

I like super hero movies. A lot. I go and watch the movies on a 3d screen now days (even though my head usually hurts). I also like watching TV series on action heroes.

As with most of the TV shows I came to know about in college , even Smallville, was actually watched by my roommate, Nupur, on the other side of the room. I could only hear. And sometimes it so happened that I chanced upon some scenes. I did think Clark Kent was very nice looking. Decent. And Lex Luthor had charisma and style. He wouldn't have turned bad guy if Clark trusted him with his secret, is a verdict I passed many years ago. But my favourite was Chloe. The brainy super resourceful news reporter. Almost Hermione like feel to her, except that she got a little too caught up on the super powers stuff. Then came Louis and I became a fan of her as well. Smart and gutsy, good looking, perfect mate for simple sweet super man.

But this article isn't really about Smallville and the great heroines it had. Nowadays whenever a new super hero movie comes out you can almost predict the story. The super hero will be very smoothly effortlessly saving the world till he is struck so bad by the villain that he is almost near losing everything. Then the remaining of the movie will be how he being very human like with limitations overcomes everything and saves the day.

What confounds me is why has it suddenly become the norm to make super heroes so 'human' these days. Batman in The Dark knight was invincible. The silent vigilante so strong that nothing could touch him. And in The Dark Knight Rises he has to be shown grappling with middle age. Why? In all these years some special edition comics may have dealt with it, but am sure majority just wanted to show a billionaire who as dusk descends puts on his mask and takes his gadgets and heads out to protect Gotham from the scum that threaten to infest it.

The worst for me was the new Superman movie that had come out last year. Thor II also had a super hero learning to become normal before he can fight dark forces to save every realm that exists. Wolverine feels lonely and old. And the list goes on. I most probably don't even know how many I missed.

So why this necessity to make super heroes appear less godlike and more next door friendly neighbor like? In fact I sometimes ruminate that regular non extraordinary guys in movies are shown more powerful and invincible than their actually jump-across-buildings, burn-buildings-with laser-in-eyes counter parts. CIA, FBI, special ops are more resilient to death and destruction than Marvel and DC comic characters these days.

Logic tells me it has to do with the way we perceive stuff. If they give us a character flying in bright colors, untouchable, indestructible and with a perfect social life we will not identify with them. Perhaps it is true, yet I don't mind watching Superman just be superman with enough powers to save the day. After all if I wanted to watch regular guys doing extraordinary stuff then I would not be in the theater ,with my 3d glasses on, watching a 'super hero movie', right?

Writing class 3

My third story assignment. This was by far much tougher that the previous two because we had to chose 2 characters from a pool given. Also select from the pool two props, two locations and a snippet of dialogue. 

"Just drop it", Chris stated calmly. Were therapists even allowed to voice their personal opinions with so much conviction, I found myself idly wondering.

It was 5'o clock on a Tuesday evening and I was sitting in Chris's plush upscale office right in the heart of downtown. I occupied the dark coffee leather sofa as I had on all my previous visits before. In front of me sat an amicable looking elderly man. His white hair was brushed smartly back. A while back I had decided he was wise and at that precise moment I knew these visits would do me good. Today however my mind was stubbornly refusing to register anything that had left Chris's mouth in the last half hour.

My therapist's office seemed like a perfectly reasonable place as any for some introspection. So who was I? Sarah Ricker, a realtor. I loved my work. There was an exhilarating thrill and an accompanying gratification in helping someone find the home of his dreams.  My life was busy and purposeful.

So why was I here, in a therapy session? Anger. Yes, blind rage and unmanageable fury was my undoing. I had just finished telling Chris this tale. How I was in my office elevator when Jon had walked in. The details were hazy, now that I think of it. All I know is that before too long I wished I had some duct tape to seal the irritating senseless stream of words leaving Jon's lips. He had literally no knowledge of the client I was dealing with, no idea of the problems I was facing and yet the pompous pedant seemed to be under the delusion that he knew exactly which of the company tenets would help me find the solution I was looking for.

I could see some duct tape placed almost carelessly on the far end of Chris's desk and it took all the resolve I possessed to not go and grab it and rush out to confront Jon. There! I had done it again. I was smiling and nodding on the outside while there was an unending echoing scream in my insides. I could feel the hot blood course through my veins. The nerve to the left of my temple had started to throb. It was unbearably painful. Didn't Chris understand I needed to calm down? Okay, so maybe that is what he meant by that comment of his. To drop it. Let it go.

Wasn't that the song in the Disney movie that won an Oscar? Let it go. Come to think of it how hard could it be to let the indignation just drop and fade away. Perhaps, dropping it would work better if I concentrated on something else to distract myself. The unnaturally bright shiny red apple on the far off table seemed like a good object to focus on. If I sunk my teeth into it would it be crunchy enough? I imagined the sweet juice tickling down my throat. Its sweetness as it seeps through me absorbing every shred of anger inside me. Had I managed to calm myself down or was it actually hysteria that I now felt?

The hour was up and Chris was signaling an end to our session. I had to choke down a giggle as I contemplated. Perhaps all that I need was a basket full of apples as the sure shot secret to anger management. Maybe next Tuesday I could ask Chris where he went apple shopping.

Writing class 2

Here is what I wrote for my second story writing assignment..

Was that the sound of the doorbell? It was still too early to be lunchtime. Had one of the kids come home early? Why were people in such a hurry these days. She would get to the door as fast as her tired aching legs would allow her. And these old shoes made walking even more difficult. Some days it felt like even the bones in her feet were hurting, but she did not feel like going all the way to the market to buy a new pair of shoes. So there was no way she would be able to hurry to the door.

One of the kids must have taken ill at school. Or had they landed themselves in trouble? Cynthia was too young for that sort of thing. But it could be Jake. No, he was a dear little boy and Kate was also so well behaved. She had seen her fair share of children and these kids weren't the kind to get into trouble. That was the doorbell ringing for the third time. Someone was in a real hurry. Patience is the biggest virtue. Maybe she could teach whoever was at the door this one thing if he had the time.

Whoever it was had already left it seemed. Thankfully it wasn't one of the kids then. Oh, but there was a package lying. The delivery guy didn't come during this time. And look at the package! It was all wrapped up. She would have to call and complain to the post office. The paper was crumpled and even appeared torn in places. These delivery boys were becoming very careless these days.

Well, she would have to go get her glasses to read what the tag on the package said. Maybe it was for Kate. Was the girl already old enough to have an admirer? Aah how times flies. It could also be that someone had ordered from those website shops. Even Cynth knew how to do that and she was so little. The whole evening Cynth had insisted on showing her shoes and asking her opinion on each of them. They were sweet kids, even though they repeatedly managed to cause havoc in their rooms.

Now where had she left her reading glasses. Must have left it in the girls' room when she was telling them the bedtime story. They must have heard the story a dozen times already. That meant they would still not be bored atleast for a dozen more reads. What a mess these girls had left there room in. She would try and clean up as much as she could. Just that she moved so slow because of these shoes. It would be time for everyone to be home before she would get everything in order here. Atleast her glasses were exactly where she thought it was.

Now to hobble back to the table where she had left the package. Would have been easier if she had brought it along with her. Now she would have to walk all the way. How exciting really, there was a package for someone. One of the kids was going to be very happy when they reached home.

What terrible handwriting, like the scribble of a child. Even with glasses she was having a hard time to read. Might as well open the curtains and get some sunlight.

Wait. Was she reading correctly? Ooh her dearest little ones.

"To the best nanny in the whole wide world. For all your birthdays we have missed, here is one big gift for you. Happy walking!"

A song..

A song is stuck in my head and the beautiful girl who sang it.

Brainwash

Not feeling well. Uneasiness. Perfect time to talk about the book have just read. George Orwell's 1984. Had read his Animal Farm many years ago. The last scene of that book still vividly haunting in my memory. Since then have wanted to read his other novel.

Dystopian  oppressive world. Unattractive, trying hard to remain sane protagonist. Introduces the concept of the all seeing Big Brother. The government would change all the references in text of past events if it did not seem in accordance with what the government was preaching now. Imagine if the past gets modified to what someone wants to be taken as the truth. When you are left with nothing to compare today with. Language was modified so that the words needed to express the feelings of freedom were erased from written record. Slowly they fell away from Human memory. Imagine if the very existence of people is stricken off  if they anger the Big brother. Worse if you are not allowed to show any human emotion. You are conditioned to think your present state of listless ineptitude is the only way of life. The hero tries to revolt. He even had a heroine with him. He had hopes of a secret ally, but in the end everything was just plain hopeless.

A much more recent series I read called Divergent. Human beings have been divided into Factions each of which have a defining characteristic - Abnegation (Selflessness), Candour (Truth), Erudite (Knowledge), Amity (Peace), Dauntless (Courage). When a person comes of age he must select which group he belongs to. leave behind his family and start his new way of life where he is only allowed to be just one of these things. Of course the heroine was destined to be not one but a combination of these. She was divergent. Added benefit is the hero and heroine dynamics in the series.

But these examples are extremes. Is our life today any different? Where we have to like a book just because everyone else is raving about it. To be considered happening you need to use certain phrases. To be accepted you need to have a good profile picture. In Atlas Shrugged there is a musician who disappears the exact moment when the world starts to go crazy over his music. The same music the critics and audience alike, had slammed many years ago. I sometimes wonder if musicians of today will feel like giving up and leaving because of what gets passed off as music these days? And people like it. The words in the songs that are called lyrics. A few have words the rest all have nonsense meant to sound catchy. And still these songs show up on all top ten lists. Creativity. Ideas. Invention. Everyone follows the trend and still more people have to follow everyone and like it.

If a single reality show became a success everyone has to try it out. If a certain format in the news works everyone must listen to that and get bored by everything else. We keep discussing this in our forum how a girl has to be portrayed as a perfect bahu. Who has to think of everyone else before herself. Even before her husband. Who cannot have any wishes for herself. Who must have a self sacrificing hurt air about her rather than just show plain anger.

Yesterday as I came out of my office building I saw a young man sitting on the sidewalk with earphones and a book, quite oblivious to passer byes, obviously enjoying himself. And I thought to myself had there been a girl sitting there I might have been the first to term her a show off who wants attention. How much life has brainwashed us.

Young kids are taught that a certain set of professions are what they must aim for. That branded clothes, watches, cars are what they have to start discussing at an unbelievably young age. They are taught they can't eat food without demanding for an ipad in their hands. 

No wonder it is so refreshing to meet someone who knows what he likes and sticks by it. Think for yourself. Safety is not in numbers but in your head. Stick with what your heart really says. Please.

How hard I try to be perfect when it is way simpler and perfectly acceptable to be imperfect. Queen, a lovely movie that lets us know that though we are girls it is okay to let go. Rani did not fall in love with the decent good looking Russian boy or go back to her remorseful fiance. Instead what I love was she kissed the Italian man whom she thought was handsome. And if slightly prudish me could be thrilled by that and admit it here then I definitely have potential to break free.

They finally meet

This has to be written in red.. the color of love..

Only perhaps a week they have been apart. He was shown a few times in the show, but mostly has been missing. She has been crying. The usually over cheerful girl is listless and a little lost. Manages to follow a suspicious person, gets hit on the head. She wakes up in a godforsaken warehouse who knows where. Slides across a wall. he has managed to free his bound hands and sits on the opposite site of the wall. 

Suddenly a gust of knowing familiar wind blows. She is here he knows. He is somewhere close she can feel it. She whispers his name , he calls out to her. Their fingers reach out to each other across a barbed fence.. how much he cares, how good it feels to have him scold her. She will not let her fingers move apart from his. No mention of love.. the feeling does not need a name.. 

Do see this video..
And we will talk about it on our forum here.. Some of the sweetest words penned down for this scene you will find here..
http://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=4056429

credit to uploder
Iss Pyar Ko Kya Naam Doon Episode 265 by sidrasr96873

The choices we make, the chances we take

By the way, I typed the whole post and then had this thought.. This isn't a journal. It is a blog. So if you are reading and have some thoughts, do share it with me. Please take a chance and choose to comment.. (yes yes am trying to be witty with the title here..)

Now for what I came here today to write about..

Ask my whatsapp college friend group how desperately I have been waiting to have the house to myself. Why? Because there is so much I want to do. I thought the moment am back home I will spend on India-Forum, instead I read a book, 1984. Hmm.. I guess it is a good thing that there are more interesting/mundane things I want/have to do than there are hours in my day.

All around me I see people worry about money. Elders, youngsters who meticulously note down each expense. I, for one, am pathetically bad at remembering how much I spent. Yes I do like the feeling of knowing there is enough and more in my bank account (haha the words have a strange pompous connotation to it) and maybe the 'more' is what makes me not focus on it. But, really, however nice the feeling is to be able to buy most of the things you may like having, there will always be a whole range of stuff your eyes would glaze to look at, but your pocket never allow. A few days back Cynthia di sent pictures of an exquisitely beautiful jewellery set that I was all Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's about. So, you know what I think is the main point of having enough? The fact that you can give it to anyone who may want it. 

And I don't necessarily only mean charity. We teach our children to share their toys, chocolates, but what about us? A few dollars to the veterans with signboards near the freeway entrance, some more to all kinds of insititutions doing good when you remember them and want to help them. But there is also just a friend who may need some help with a new business or a new house. There could be some kids visiting and you can give them your collectible action hero figurines because you know, if you wanted, you can go buy some more again. While in that moment a small little boy will be giggling delightedly as he makes superman fly in a dizzying circular motion. Just leaving behind extra money to a server who gave you an extra smile. Will the friend return back the money? Isn't it a chance worth taking to know you have enough to be able to help someone?

In our youth we have such a clear definition of who we would like to be when we grow up. Most of it already passed on to us by everyone and everything around us. We can't be that team lead who seems apathetic about his work and leaves early to be with his family. We can't be that lady who is immersed in her son, who drives him around to classes all days of the week. We can't be those uncles and aunties who are condescending towards their parents. We want to be intellectual, ambitious, successful, 'different'. I thought I would be the girl who would be great in office and then come back home and be great there too.

I know I have always wanted to be fiercely madly in love. I think that is the only thing that has not changed. Now, after only a few years of work, it almost feels like the people leaving from office early have more of a life. Why do I feel quite strongly that though I love the work I do I am going to soon leave it? The only thing that scares me is if I stay home will I be forced to leave my husband and go for weddings in the family, for a month, because someone will claim I have the free time and should help with that. Okay so am exaggerating when I say that is only what I worry about, but yes pretty much intangential are my worries. Who knows what will I choose when the time comes? I don't have kids yet so I want to stick to the not driving your poor kids crazy with pressure, but who can tell if that is even possible for a mother of today? Even when I have to spend an evening with outsiders I miss my freedom of just being alone. How will I deal with elders living in my house for long stays? The best part is the realization that I am now able to admit to these things and not feel guilty or wrong when saying these things.

Relationships, careers, life require us to take a leap of faith so many times. Till the very moment the word leaves your mouth or you step into a door you don't know for sure what you are going to do even though you may have obssessed about it the whole day yesterday. All that I pray is for everyone to get a chance to be their own person. Sometimes it is the small things like how would you like to spend your Sunday, with a book or amongst friends. Sometimes there are decisions that need to be taken on which everything hinges around. 

Specially when you are young in college. Or right out of it. So many people I know personally are engineers, but talented at other stuff. Want to do other stuff. Maybe there will come a day when we don't have to be just one person. Maybe it is a simple thing about how you want to manage your money or a life altering decision of whom you chose to marry and whether you want to marry at all. Sometimes you can be passionate about the work you do, sometimes you may have more than one passion and then which do you work on? 

Just the fact that you get to choose for yourself and make the mistakes that you invariably will make, should make life your own. And also, you should get to rethink, restate, reselect in your life whenever you want. Freedom of choice. Of spirit. It is a coveted feeling when you get to experience the fact that you have a say in your life. Most people very rarely, if ever, get to enjoy ownership of their life.

Oh that reminds me of a very nice movie. I vaguely feel like I don't like it too much. Till I see the songs and scenes and think it is a great movie. Then again in a few months maybe I reach that state when I go back to thinking I hadn't liked it all that much. Then its time for a rewatch. It has Ranbir Kapoor in it. I loved his Wake Up Sid (already mentioned that in another post) too. 

Ye jawaani hai deeweani. Nice. Quite real characters. Complex relations. And at rare times, surprisingly unpredictable. Some songs from the movie give me the illusion of flight or free fall.

***Ye jawaani hai deeweani spoikers ahead**

Two things that I really liked in the movie. A girl is shown in love with one of her best friends. Later she is getting married to a rich slightly stupid plump man. You keep thinking she is actually sad that she did not get the love of her life, but turns out that is not true. She did outgrow that phase. She likes, maybe even loves, the man she is marrying. The second is about the hero. He is passionate about travelling. His father dies and his step mother, whom he never spoke to nicely before, tells him all his father wanted was to see his son follow his dreams. This scene comes up just after the hero has decided to leave the girl he loves because the girl can't travel with him all over the world. She has a career and wants a quiet settled life. So the fact that the hero is told his dreams are what his father believed in confused me. I thought that would mean he should go on to the next adventure because that is what his dead father would want. Instead the hero turned and went to the girl.  

The first song is played at the very start of the movie during the casting and shows pretty delicately wrapped weddings gifts being delivered to different houses. Extremely beautiful. Sadly couldn't find a video for that. The second one is just plain gorgeous. Can you imagine what a certain Barun Sobti could do in such beautiful visual imagery? The third one issk had shared on my forum a while back. Reminded me that I do like the song.

Writing Class 1

Have been delaying for a while. This needed a post. Could delay no longer. So, my husband enrolled me in a fiction/short story writing class. First I was looking forward to it,  but quickly was oscillating between the excitement and the skepticism I felt. How can someone tell me, teach me what to write? Shouldn't it all come from within? And if it is just not there then how can he bring it out. If it is all in there then why do I need a class to bring it out?

Anyway after the class my thoughts are even more skeptical. I imagined the serious faces around me react to my declaring all i really want from this class is to be able to put into words my feelings for Arnav and Khushi (My IPK hero and heroine) . And maybe am over reacting or just reacting negatively but am worried that this should not feel like a serious thing with rules. A certain way of doing it the correct way. No. I want it to be fun and spontaneous and exciting. Madly compulsive. Rewarding. I want to write exactly the way I do now, just better, because there is always room for that right? And also so that all the people who read also enjoy as much as me. Compliments would be an added bonus in that sense.

We started with something that I think about writing. My answer - I want to write what I would like to read. And I like reading things which are not too heavy. It should have a certain lightness, love, adventure. Should be touching. Should be intelligent. (Hmm am not sure if a lot of the books I like fall in this genre, but sometimes a lot of the so called books for grown ups feel listless)

2 problem areas I want to tackle. My actual answer was an edited version - 
1. How would you start if you don't even have a story in your head. Lets say I want to write about Arnav and Khushi. If I don't have a story then how do i start. And I don't think that answer can come in a class. Actually even phrasing it this way makes me sound stupid I feel. Anyway this was my question.
2. I like reading mysteries and suspense. No idea where to start writing such a story.

Towards the end of the class we were given a prompt and ten minutes to write a short story of around 500 words. The prompt was -  You are worried and you take a walk in your neighborhood. You cross a house and see two people. This is what I wrote. I have kept it almost as I wrote it in the first draft. (P.S It didn't really make sense to write with so many strangers in one room facing each other across the table and being told that you need to write 'now'.)


It had been a tiring busy day. No time to do any of the things I liked doing the most. My head was too full of unwanted thoughts. Too much outside interference in my mind tonight. I knew the thoughts couldn't be pushed out so I decided to step out for a walk, hoping the clear night would clear my head as well.

I walked down the familiar quiet street of y neighborhood. There were hardly any clouds overhead. The sky was full of twinkling stars. Yet try as I might I could not get myself to calm down. To match the uneasiness in my head I picked up speed. I had lost track of all the turns I had taken.

As I went up a steep lane I noticed the house in front of me. It was white on the outside, newly painted. Pretty white flowers on the lush green climber were visible on its walls. It looked breathtakingly beautiful.

The lights were on and the curtains were open. The door suddenly flung open and a young woman came out. Even in the darkness, just by the light of the full moon I knew she was beautiful. She had a wide smile and a cup in her hand. I imagined it had hot tea in it. Her fingers gracefully curled around the cup as she sat down on the front steps of her house.

I stood still, watching, completely mesmerized. My breathless expectancy was rewarded because almost immediately a lean young man stepped out from the same open doorway. He wore a blue polo pullover. Short hair, angled bones. He looked young. His features were striking. The girl was looking up at the stars and had started to hum.

The man's face broke into a smile. It was like the first rays of sunshine had burst out from behind the clouds. His expression was tender as he went and sat down next to the girl. His eyes still on her. Never once had they moved away from her face.

The girl turned and with a lot of enthusiasm, her arms waving wildly, started talking. The man's smile had turned indulging. Was he smirking? His body was lazily stretched across those steps. He was relaxed, but something in the grace with which he held himself told me there was immense vitality within that lounging man. Now he was laughing too. His face looked years younger. Boyishly charming. His shoulders moved up and down to the rhythm of his laughter.

The girl hit her forehead with her palm. She was muttering something inaudible. Though I couldn't hear the words I knew she was delighted.

They looked so happy sitting on those steps laughing. They looked so much in love. I could feel myself smiling. This was happiness. My spirits lifted I decided to find my way back home and leave these two young people in love, in their own small little private world, untouched by the outside world. The cacophony of sounds in my head had died down. I felt brighter and lighter, a sense of peace. Was I glad that I had decided to take that walk!