Writing 101 day 2….a room with a view

Writing 101 day 2….a room with a view

I was running as fast as I could. They were chasing me. I could feel their cold breath on my back…my spine tingled, my heart was pounding….I kept running. I opened my mouth to scream and call for help ….I had lost my voice…running running…climbing…. So many stairs …. My legs began to tremble….something pulled painfully at my leg.

The severe leg cramp slapped me awake and I sat up in my dark bedroom feeling the pain in my leg. I felt disoriented tired and breathless. I went back to my pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

Once again tonight I was running as fast as I could. They were chasing me…. But tonight there was something different in my energy. I felt stronger as I climbed the stairs…all 64 right upto the fourth floor.  Quickly I rushed inside the first iron door and locked it behind me once I got there. I could hear them coming up behind me….I ran into the house in front of me. No 26 the door said on it. It looked familiar but I had no time to stop and recollect, I had to get to a safe place.

Shutting the door firmly behind me I finally heaved a sigh of relief. Only then could I make a visual sweep of my safe haven….my room with the spectacular view. My childhood home filled with familiar nooks and corners. The place I came into as a new born and spent the first 20 odd years of my life in.

I was so thirsty; almost robotically I walked into the kitchen in search of water. The walls of the space oozed familiar smells, fragrant aromas of curries and foods, echoing with the sounds of my Mum calling out to us, having a conversation with the house help, pots and pans banging water gushing.

The beautiful French windows of the living room, I could smell the wet earth, beautiful rain drops on the glass windows. Those gorgeous windows where I have spent many hours day dreaming, nursing a broken heart, listening to music, overlooking the green mango trees beyond first as a child and then as a young woman. As I sat down to rest  upon the chair my Father and we kids had built together. I reached out to fondly run my fingers over the rough patch, the patch that I had missed out to varnish. Those hours spent with my Dad sawing cutting sanding down woodwork, he had made all the furniture in this house. Sunday evenings spent with the family, my parents, my sister, listening to music, enjoying a game of scrabble…..

Morning came and I awoke for once feeling warm safe and at peace.

If I could even if only for one day I would love to be transported back to that house those walls that space that witnessed many ups and downs many a happy event many a struggle for my family. That place, the memory of which until this day fills me with a warm nostalgic glow.

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