I step closer to one of the rectangular glass windows for a fresh peep of nature’s work of art. My eyes long for a freshness beyond the cream walls and the salt and pepper furniture. This subconscious pattern is routinely followed in the last few months.
The L-shaped living room boasts of only three windows. All three bear an uncanny similarity. The wooden pelmet shading the windows looks equally drab and unattractive. The striking similarity of the windows spreads even to the pattern of dust clinging on to the outer sides. The artist is none other than the erratic sand storms and mud blowing from over the seas. Each new design unashamedly reminds me to clean the piling grime. I conveniently ignore it.
The strong sandy gale one day may decide itself to blow strong and vacuum the windows to a sparkle. But as of now, the sandy windows act as canvas for kids in the neighbourhood. They draw ingenious patterns with their tiny little fingers. On some days it even turns into a blackboard. Kids merrily scrawl their names on it, messing their fingers and clothes. Jumbled names with occasional missing letters end up forming a literate pattern in the lower part of the window.
Eyes accustomed to the sprayed dust and illogical patterns were greeted one morning by few small peeping yellow flowers on one window. The ignored shrub below the window had branched out small multi-layered yellow flowers. The dust on the window awed by the flowers beauty dislodged some of the dust letting me appreciate the flowers. Sleepy senses got a jolt and a cheer rose in my heart. Each spread out branch had a bunch of blossoming flowers at its tip. The following days multiplied the yellows and heightened my happiness. I could not drift my eyes from them.
The lifeless window seems to have sprung back to life, the other two windows envious for obvious reasons. I let the window bask in its new found reflection. I leave the window with an inner reflection, so akin to human behaviour.