She woke up with a jolt as if someone had goaded her. She had been sleeping for a while now. She sat up in the bed only to realise that it was her own conscious that was her sole company so far and as usual. Getting up from bed, she stood near the shrimp window of her decrepit room.
Outside her window, the last rays of the day lingered dispassionately.
Street downstairs wore a busy look in contrast with the sullen aloofness of her room. The area was engulfed in the familiar cacophony of sounds for it was the market place.
The street lights turned on, some flickering and some shinning brightly. They tried in vain to light up her spirit.
All she noticed in her glance downstairs was a sea of pairs of feet. A pair of feet in a hurry to reach home. A dragging pair fumbling out of bar. A persuasive one selling the lemons, running behind one and all. A dawdling pair returning after the tiring day at work. A relaxed one stopping and marching, busy shopping. All had a nest to return she thought to herself.
She noticed them all, from little high up, never ever, even once paying attention to their faces. Crowd never has a face, she always thought, just like her.
The door behind screeched, opened.
“Not ready? Dhanda nahi karna kya? Paint your face fast”, berated the cold, hard-hearted pan chewing voice.
Her day began on usual note, at night. And outside her window, the day was to set for the world, as it did everyday.