Point of View

It is a chilly December night. A light breeze is blowing westwards, rustling the tree leaves and swaying the jasmine creeper, casually spreading its fragrance. The streetlight has cast an orange glow on the surroundings. Sitting in the balcony, I am resisting the temptation of a cozy bed inside. The task of waiting for the loved ones to safely get back home is something I never get tired of.

At times like these, I usually observe the people walking on the street. It has become a habit now. Our low hanging balcony is an ideal place – near enough to be able to see the road clearly, but a good distance away from the compound wall to provide privacy. During this time of the year, people wrap themselves in woolen clothing; reminds me of those Prussian purebred, furry cats.

Most of them walk briskly – with an unmistakable intention of basking in the warmth and comfort of their homes. The sheer variety on display is amazing. There are blank faces, beautiful ones, some plain and others interesting. I can recognize the few people who walk in front of our house regularly.

Hers belongs to the interesting category.
I watch her shadow growing longer as she walks towards her home. A short, plump woman with a bulging shopping bag in hand. Her expensive clothes and stylish shoes that always matched the outfit speak of a fat salary and probably no serious commitments.
Everyday she carries something or the other in her hand – a compulsive shopper? May be there is a little kid at home awaiting her return; many a times I had seen big cardboard boxes with pictures of toys on them. Her arrival at 8.30 pm every night meant she must be traveling by office transportation as most software professionals do.
A tired but contented soul, one would assume.

However, there is something peculiar in her style of walking; a whiff of an anomaly. She seems reluctant to walk towards her house. It seems to me her longish face is filled with dread unknown to the world. I can feel it. Probably she is not all that happy. Is it the marriage that may have died even before it took off? Who can know the real story except the one who suffers through it all? The phone in the drawing room is ringing incessantly – I have to get back to my world now.

Padma had noticed the woman on the balcony.
Every day the lady in white would sit on a chair, observing people on the street. She had felt her gaze probing in her direction quite often.
Padma was curious: who was she? The woman looked frail and bored. She must be quite lonely – who would spend their evenings watching random people? It was quite evident that they were affluent – the house was palatial in its size and splendor; there was a security guard too.
Why won’t she go out? Was her husband the suspicious type? Padma had not seen any movements within the house that indicated presence of other people. May be she does not have any children or, even if any, probably belong to the class that has neither time nor inclination towards visiting parents. How does it feel to be sitting all alone, waiting for some company? she wondered. She would have gone crazy if she were to be in such a situation.

Presently, Padma could see the lady walk out of the balcony into the house. Poor thing, looks like one of those clueless people, sad and bored, for whom life had no more excitements to offer.
Padma sighed and hurried towards her home.