Windows💜

 Love.

I heard this word multiple times throughout my life, when moms at beaches held hands of their little kids who caressed the sand with their feet for the first time; when patients died at hospital rooms; when somebody’s son graduated; when people bid goodbyes and when they mouthed hellos. It’s weird how the same word could mean so different and yet grace every bit of the situation with nothing but itself. A wordless power it has! 

My journey of love started the same, from hospital wards where I heard stories that my dad ran the whole hospital corridors after my birth, screaming with happiness. This meant a lot different back then, for a girl wasn’t something everyone wanted. And yet out of everything, I existed there, in the arms of my mom, wailing like any child would do, and despite that annoyingly bitter cry, she vowed to love me till her last breath. 

Growing up, transitioning, being loved by things and walls around me, making myself an archive of my little memories, locking them in and intentionally throwing the key away, I got a different take at it. 

Life.

When your skeptical, not-so-good tantrums you throw at your brothers keep them close to you; when practicing wrestling with them with just learnt WWE moves make you feel nothing less than Undertaker himself, and when all those after-school classes with your dad about political happenings connects you to him a bit more; you realize there are tiny reflections to life. Those bouncing offs and those lessons; but when time ticks itself and you finally find the key, the lock is knocked down. Already. 

Seamless. You thrived connections, but the loose strings never left their presence. 

Every moment, I was served with realization. Numbered, programmed, given a chance and taken away. Be it the window I broke down playing cricket, the window that pinched my finger mercilessly during the storm, the window whose blinds I slid everytime I sat on my table to write something, the window which loved me with the sweetest morning rays. It was the same window every time. But, it was always a different me. 

Countless things existed. My phone covers, spectacles, notebooks, pens, those many paper cuts, inkless writings, everytime I fell asleep with my glasses on and woke up with a broken one, stickers on book covers and post-it notes on walls; little things helped me gain perspective. It was easy. I loved them. Effortlessly.

Time. 

Moving on and on until the end of it. Be it being the unasked electrician of your home during problems with the tubelight, using an equatorial mount telescope for the first time two days before the greatest competition on Astrophysics, mistakenly preparing for Chemistry and giving Physics exams, prolonging the estimated time of your speech by thirty minutes because you love to speak about women’s rights in a practical way, being the one teacher children are always scared of while also being the teacher they come to with doubts, or being the Physics lover staying late nights to get hang around some theories. Time stayed with me. It put up with me all those times I tried to defy it. 

From takeouts to stakeouts, little things transitioned to bigger changes. That hospital run of my dad, my first walk with my mom, my brother’s first busted WWE move, the first piece of my writing, the first run I ever took, the first glasses I ever got, my first sticker (it was spiderman), my first speech, my first science project; everything transitioned, and every day there were new firsts. Turns out, life was just loving the new firsts that came along. 

When some other kid’s first window-breaking ball breaks the window today, I shout “Try higher.” Partly because that sounds motivating, and partly because it won’t touch the window that way. After all, I love that window. As much as those stickers, pens and notebooks. As much as the ticking time and as much as my life. 

Time taught me to love little things in life. And, it indeed, has made a difference.

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