Sunday, 21 August 2016

An Article by Anshika Aggarwal, Grade 7 was given a photograph to look at and write her thoughts.

Anshika was given a photograph to look at and write her thoughts:

      I had heard stories of how the outside world was, saw photographs of faraway places, smelled the roses that bloomed in spring, heard the cuckoo sing; all this I had done, but I had never really known it or atleast the other dimension of it all. To begin with, I had never seen it with my own eyes, except for the little outlook from my glass-paned window, and that doesn’t count. I had never seen a river or a lake, never trod on fresh green grass, never even felt a plant on my skin. The house was my world, and the outside world, some distant fantasy that merely existed, but wasn’t real.

I fail to understand why those fortunate creatures who are given access to the places I never saw, groan and grumble if they so much, as have to get clothes from the line in our garden, leaving the boring video games and television shows that my life is infested with. My world is small and weird in many ways. I have seen pictures of places like Tokyo and New York, but never experienced a minute in my own garden. I’ve heard much about school, but never been there. It sounds so wonderful a place to be in; I don’t know why my friends groan to go there, as if they would rather loll about on a wheelchair at home; day in and day out, as I am obliged to do.

There is one thing outside that I dearly want to know; ‘rain’. I hear that rain is just water falling from the endless blue that everyone calls the ‘sky’, and that I might as well touch water under a tap, which, according to them, is much cleaner and more convenient. No one understands what rain means to me; a phenomenon already known, but yet to be discovered. Not just water from the sky, but some sort of magic of nature that I have heard much of, but have yet to know it personally on different dimension.

It was raining. The droplets were forming sparkling diamonds on the glass window of my room. I touched the transparent material, wishing it was as non-existent as it looked, so my hand might go right through and touch the rain. Not the first time, I dreamt of the wonder and vibrance of the world, the lush green fields, the trees that spread wide, the birds and animals. Running away was out of the question. I was far too weak and dependant.
Just then, the rain stopped. It had formed a large puddle on the ground. Droplets glistened on the leaves of the old banyan. A cuckoo started to sing. Unintentionally, I smiled. I felt contented. As I looked out of the window, it seemed like a picture of all I had ever wanted to see. All I had ever wanted to know. To see. Maybe, someday, I would. Perhaps, someday...

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