The girl by the window

I had always seen her perched by the window staring out blankly at the crowds beneath her feet. She was not breathtakingly beautiful, but there was something about her that made me stop and stare the second time. She had enthralling eyes. Pale grey set against the hue of her light skin tone stood out. She wore no make up and her skin shimmered against the tepid sunlight. She was often engrossed in her thoughts, lost in her world-spanning across the canvas of the window. At first, she was someone I could have lost in the crowd. But now she made me pause, look back and then stride ahead.

Sometimes, she would be at the window with a warm cup of coffee. I could see the vapour slowly rising from her cup.She would close her eyes in response. Whether it was savoruing the coffee or the vapour tingling her gentle eyes,I waited for her to open her grey eyes in relief again.I noticed that she had slender fingers.They were painted with a coat of gloss that looked striking against the coffee cup.I admired her mannerisms,her grace,her poise,every thing that she did as a part of mundane life. Her life to me was limited to that canvas of window that I had access to. On some days, her hair was loose with a thin string of flowers entwined in her luscious locks. She would be murmuring by the window sill. I could only see her head bent over possibly an idol or a frame fervently reciting prayers. I was so engrossed in watching her life paint itself before my eyes through the eyes of the window that I froze in my steps, often a sheepish smile creeping to my lips.

I had no credentials to boast of. I held the position of an accountant at a local store. It was my duty to jot down what had been sold, what it costed versus what it sold for. There were no excel sheets or a shiny computer to tally my calculations. I had stout register full of things that were our inventory, the purchase date, and their costs. I had to keep a tab on when we would we run out of stock, predict what to stock upon next and how much of each. I would gather the selling price from the pale stickers stuck on every item that was packed with a transparent sheet. We sold grains, sugar,oil, tea, coffee and staples that did have to be charged at MRP.MRP or maximum retail price is the maximum price we could charge on a product based on government rules. But here, we packed each of these items ourselves in a plastic cover, sealed it with candle wax and stuck a sticker indicating the price. I was seated right at the entrance where I could see the purchases,jot down the prices on a bill and have a copy of the same for our records. More often than not,I sat down at the shop much after operating hours trying to fit in a missing rupee. Yes, my owner was that stringent. He had come into this town with a mere five rupees in his pocket.He worked his way up by delivering newspapers, picking up plastic and selling them to recyclers for a petty sum.Many a night he had slept on pavements and on park benches to save money. He began by starting a small shop and now he owned this thousand square footage of store in a prime location in the city. He was known for his honesty in procuring genuine goods and not charging exorbitantly for his staples. People thronged his shop to stock up on their ration. I had learnt that no matter what your wealth was,always be mindful of expenses.He often remarked that a tiny leak would capsize the boat. He would leave the premises only after ensuring that the numbers tallied. Despite his modest appearance,he never let people take him for a ride.He was cautious not to give them any credit or loan of supplies. I learnt that the hard way by giving away a litre of milk to a young mother with a crying baby.She had assured me that she would return with the money ,but till this day I’m yet to see her face. That money was deducted from my salary to prevent such mishaps.

Despite his hard shell,he was a good man.He  believed that discipline and hardwork honed the soul and had it been imbibed in his everyday life.I never heard of his family,neither did he speak of them .He was a man of few words. Talking about his other life seemed irrelevant to him. He would rather utilize that time to procure more customers.

My job was not taxing; however it did require me to spend numerous hours trying to tally the numbers. Customers were scarce in the afternoon owing to the scorching sun, which is when I made most of my time and matched up the morning figures.

I would go back home on along the same route, watching out for my damsel by the window.

I do not understand how I came to term her that even in my thoughts. The window was lit, she was again by the window , reading. She didn’t move her eyes from the pages even for a Nanosecond. The wind brushed against her long hair setting her hair astray. She pursed her lips, moved a deft finger to grab a bunch of loose strands and tuck them behind her ears. She did this with such a practiced move that her eyes were still glued to the book and her other hand clutching the spine of the book carefully between her slim fingers. I paused again to look at her and continued to walk. She brought such happiness in my otherwise dull life that these two episodes of her at dusk and dawn completed my day.

Why was this so significant to me? I had no idea, but I was beginning to realize that there was something more to life than watching her from the window. I was tempted to talk to her, to know her, to engage in deep discussions about life. I was an avid reader myself. With the bare minimum salary, I managed to make, I always saved some money to buy books. I could not afford to buy the glossy, sealed books that often gleamed invitingly from the glass shelves of Ratan books which was on my way. I had to settle for bargain, hand me down books which were sold by the kilo to peddlers on the street who in turn sold it to deprived bibliophiles like me. I treasured these visits and often bought a book or two at the end of the month. I soaked in the old book smell, often looking for handwritten notes and gently turned the pages imagining the era when the book was published and the stories they carried.

The urge to talk to her was slowly eating me from inside. But I didn’t want to seem desperate and creepy. I could not conjure any excuse to talk to her. I rarely saw her leave the window side.I often saw her house help scurrying down the street to shop for ration or milk. I saw my opportunity. All I had to do was strike up a conversation with this lady and that would help me talk to the woman by the window.

The next morning, I waited by the bus stop to catch a glimpse of her maid. She would always buy milk from the store adjoining the bus stop. She came as usual with a large tin and instructed the milkman to fill it to the brim. I was not brave enough to stop her and ask her details. I continued to watch her chatter away with other women at the shop, pick up a few vegetables and niftily balance the bag of vegetables and a tin of milk and scuttle across the street to the apartment.

I watched this behavior mutely for multiple days . Still,I could not muster the courage to ask her anything. But Almighty is kind. One fine day, the usual shop at which she purchased rations was closed. She stood there looking lost and slightly worried. By the look on her face, I deduced that she was not aware of any shops beyond the radius of her locality. I walked up to her and introduced myself. I explained to her that I worked at a store two bus stops away and assured her that the quality and prices were worth taking the bus ride. I further elaborated that she could choose to gauge the quality of the product and then pay for it. She was startled, she probably was not used to strange men approaching her in braid daylight with a solution to her problem that she hadn’t even spoken about. She mustered some courage, she heaved a sigh of relief and thanked me. We hopped onto the next bus and reached our destination in about seven minutes. She was reassured after she saw that I was not fibbing and there actually existed a shop. I sat at my desk and clamored for my calculator and books. She wanted a kilo of rice, a packet of oil and sesame seeds. I helped her pick out everything while I quickly wrote down her purchases. I gave her a bill. She thanked me and left in a flurry.

After this the incident, every time she came out to purchase milk she smiled at me. She accosted me another day and personally thanked me for helping her out. She said that the quality of staples was better than she was accustomed to and promised to come back later with a detailed list. Now, this became our routine, whenever she would spot me, she often asked about my well being. She started looking out for me and these conversations became an integral part of my life. Having no family or sisters, I looked forward to interacting with her. She often told me stories of how she hadn’t traveled beyond the block and longed to see the world outside. Once I knew, I had a friend in her, I gently broached the subject of the girl by the window.

Suddenly, the color drained from her face.“How did you see her?” she demanded.

“From here, I often see her read by the window” I replied nonchalantly.

“Well, I recommend you didn’t see her and carried about your chores” she advised.

“Why would you say that? Ï asked her.

“I would rather not talk about things that do not concern us. I have informed you to stay away and stop gawking at her. “she said in a tone sterner than before.

I was bumfuzzled. She was wealthy enough to have her servant run all her errands for her while she breezily read a book or watched people from the window. Yet there was a dark secret in her life that her domestic help was fierce enough to guard for her. The more I wanted to stay away from it, the more I could not contain myself.

The next day, I found her at the dairy. I swiftly walked up to her and insisted on an explanation for her behavior. Why was she acting so cagey? Did she think I was a stalker waiting to pounce on this helpless girl? I had let her in on details that were not even close to being creepy. I had watched her sitting by the window all day, often her nose tucked in a book. I wanted to know more. Was that so wrong?

She stopped in her path and said "Ï’m no messenger. I’m here to run my morning tasks. I have to be back before she is by the window “she said coldly.

“Why would you not even talk about it?”I demanded. She picked up the milk can with a heave and started walking with long strides with milk leaking from the sides of the container.

I planted myself before her. I wanted an answer.

She looked agitated with my behavior. She stared at me with a piercing gaze.

“Ï’m not her maid “she said in a strange tone

“What? “I spluttered

“I told you to stay away didn’t I?” she said in a sharp whisper.

I was starting to feel nervous. What was she saying? Why was she giving me irrelevant facts. She was almost ready to burn me down with the fire in her eyes.

“She has to be plopped by the window because I chopped off her legs. She tried to elope with a man. Now as a cruel reminder,I let her sit there and watch the world walk around her” she spat with a scorning laugh.

I was dumbfounded. This was beyond reason. Why would this woman indulge in such bizarre behavior and be so callous about it. Why would she place her by the window like it was a trophy to the world?

Änd you are? I almost swallowed my words.

“Her mother”.