little Beast.

she was a little girl, unlike other little girls from whom you expect gentle behavior, neat attire, pleasing manners, and polite accounsting “Mamma! i have made my bed and cleaned my closet”. she was different, way too different. her hair would always be ruefully disoriented, her mud clad self was too crude for a girl of her age (grown-up enough to take care of herself, to write her name and to discern between the whats-nice and whats-not-so-nice, although she never even once intended to accept it) her manners were too savage and she would pick her nose in public and would not be ashamed of it. she said to me once that she was different, that she knew, what she didn’t know was that she was rude, impolite and very wild to consider urbane too.

she was younger to me, almost 15 years, that means when i was 24 she was 9, when i was 25 she was 10, and she thought ten means someone so big, TEN, it did sound too grown-up like, it also had two digits in it, 1 and 0 and she thought 0 was a real big number, adding one zero to any number make it so big. she thought that ten meant she has grown one fifty times in one years, but she didnt like 25 she wanted me to skip this year and directly go on to the next 26, which she thought was better to 25. as if growing 150 times in a year was really possible. as if skipping years out of life is something that can be done. as if living the way you want to live is achievable. as if.

she would share with me things too, which she said she would not tell to others. why it was so, i could never comprehend. she might have found her own reflection in my grown up self, and if it was something else, she didnt tell me.

she was then too young to probe the attitude variances, to answer the plathora of whys and ifs that poped in her head, to judge the indifference people had for her. her no-body-ness to them, and since nobody care for nobody, nobody cared for her. she was not allowed to intermingle her peers. she was just to climb up the grill, dangle her feet (a little larger than the feet of normal girl of her age.), rub her cheeks against the post but Nought to play.

she would keep watching children playing hopscotch and would keep on making illusionary friends. I probably was her only real friend. she would never play with dolls, because she was different and never played hopscotch because for that two players are needed and i was too grown up to play with her.

she was very clever and soon learned that loneliness itself is a bliss, and that two “w’s” water and writing always help.

i dont know if she had written stories to cover to or painted because colors are ecstasy, i guess she must have because she was a good learner and she must have understood these.

i know, because i did the same too, she? my oddball, i smile in the mirror.

.a.
Feb 07, 2007

ps. wrote it in notepad and in one go, hence all the spelling mistakes are pardonable :p