My Little Corner

Upon waiting for almost ten months, I get to use my little corner. It is the other end of our living room which opens to the backyard, and I sit right on the threshold, my back to the semi-winter sunshine. Why is it special? Because, in spite of the endless complains I get to hear about the lack of sensibility I have towards others' movements in the house, I feel at home there. For two hours, or for twenty minutes, it has always yielded my best.

My best has been a calender I had made for a very, very dear friend. It was made from scratch. I have painted on hard-boards there, doodled on notes, have weaved winter itineraries. Done my editing, had my black coffee, peeled my oranges, took time out to listen to music while I did all that -- for two hours, or for twenty minutes. Seen the world around remain the same, and the world within change from that little corner.

 

This morning felt so wonderful with absolutely no need for the fan. The house was empty, I sat there and I wrote. With music and coffee for company. Birds chirped and squirrels paused. Sellers shrieked their wares and cars honked at the bend. The breeze embraced me with a strange sensation. I could hear it sing about the happiness of seeing me.

My little corner energises me. For a brief minute, I decided to give up everything and register my name with Ola or Uber and become a driver. "Do that" ma said. She is used to my randomness. And then I thought of the many experiences I could have as a lady-driver. The tips could possibly be thicker and the intentions wilder. I gave up the idea thinking this would be my next story. Of a lady-driver. I sat to write. My little corner yielded two other stories instead. 

It revives in me various shades, shades that become one through the year show their true colours. Eagerly waiting to find out what this year unfolds.