The wind blowing from the Arabian Sea ruffled her hair. She pushed them away
from her forehead. The pages of the book that she held in her hands fluttered
in the wind. The shopkeeper pulled out another book from the stack from the far
end of the stall and showed it to the girl as if he knew what she wanted to
read. I tried to read the name of the author on the spine of the book as she
held it limp while trying to read the name on the cover of the book that the
shopkeeper held out for her. She shook her head, dropped the book in her hands
on one of the stacks near her and walked away.
I followed the book and picked it up. It was a dilapidated copy of Nikolai Gogol's Dead Souls. I tried to find the page that she was reading. I turned around and saw that she had moved on to another shop and had picked up another book. I looked at the pages that she was turning. She was trying to find something in the book, a word, a sentence, a character, a story. I couldn’t know what. I looked on just to get a hint of her quest. What stories had her eyes read? Which authors had she known?
I kept the ruins of Gogol back on the stack where she had left it, walked to a lamp post and stood there leaning against it. My eyes never wandered to her shoulder length hair or her slim waist. I kept looking at the pages that she was turning. My eyes sometimes caught her long fingers, and nails colored sky blue. A dull pain began to rise within my heart. It hurt that I couldn't help her in her quest. In the black of her eyes I tried to catch the words she was reading.
The homeward bound evening crowd started milling out of the offices. As the crowd thickened I could see just the back of her head. The fear of losing the book that she was reading gripped me. Will I ever be able to know which book she had picked up? Did she take it home? I tried to make my way through the crowd coming toward me. I saw her white kurta and then she disappeared. I tried to weave my way. I saw her turning around and then I lost her again. I moved swiftly and reached the book shop, but she wasn’t there. I looked around, tried to get a glimpse of the pink bag that hung on her left shoulder but it wasn’t anywhere to be found.
I turned around and looked at the stacks of books. Which book did she hold in her hands? I looked around desperately trying to remember the color of the book cover. I couldn’t. I tried to look for any sign of disarray amongst the neatly stacked books. There were none. I turned around and stood on my tip toes to get a better look but I knew I had lost her in the crowd. I looked at the books lying in the shop waiting for their turn to be picked up, to be devoured by keen eyes.
By now the crowd had thinned. Far away the sun was slowly dying in the sea. It seemed like I had lost a part of me again.
I followed the book and picked it up. It was a dilapidated copy of Nikolai Gogol's Dead Souls. I tried to find the page that she was reading. I turned around and saw that she had moved on to another shop and had picked up another book. I looked at the pages that she was turning. She was trying to find something in the book, a word, a sentence, a character, a story. I couldn’t know what. I looked on just to get a hint of her quest. What stories had her eyes read? Which authors had she known?
I kept the ruins of Gogol back on the stack where she had left it, walked to a lamp post and stood there leaning against it. My eyes never wandered to her shoulder length hair or her slim waist. I kept looking at the pages that she was turning. My eyes sometimes caught her long fingers, and nails colored sky blue. A dull pain began to rise within my heart. It hurt that I couldn't help her in her quest. In the black of her eyes I tried to catch the words she was reading.
The homeward bound evening crowd started milling out of the offices. As the crowd thickened I could see just the back of her head. The fear of losing the book that she was reading gripped me. Will I ever be able to know which book she had picked up? Did she take it home? I tried to make my way through the crowd coming toward me. I saw her white kurta and then she disappeared. I tried to weave my way. I saw her turning around and then I lost her again. I moved swiftly and reached the book shop, but she wasn’t there. I looked around, tried to get a glimpse of the pink bag that hung on her left shoulder but it wasn’t anywhere to be found.
I turned around and looked at the stacks of books. Which book did she hold in her hands? I looked around desperately trying to remember the color of the book cover. I couldn’t. I tried to look for any sign of disarray amongst the neatly stacked books. There were none. I turned around and stood on my tip toes to get a better look but I knew I had lost her in the crowd. I looked at the books lying in the shop waiting for their turn to be picked up, to be devoured by keen eyes.
By now the crowd had thinned. Far away the sun was slowly dying in the sea. It seemed like I had lost a part of me again.
