The old school love

It’s monsoon in Delhi! Mr. Covid 19 has been around for more than hundred days. He has literally changed the lives of the people. For good or bad, remains a question to ponder upon. For some, there’s a peace after chaos of fast life. For the introverts, it’s a blessing in disguise. For some, it’s happiness for getting to see their kids growing up. For some, it’s hard, it’s lonely, it’s tough.

It’s a regular day today and Zafirah after her morning yoga and mindfulness practice, is ready to kick start her day. Wearing smile and standing in front of a mirror, she thinks that behind her smile nobody can see the volcanic eruption of pain that she went through in past few days. True, she’s a strong and resilient girl who knows her ways to get back to her feet. Sometimes, she takes time to do so but when she’s back, she never looks back.

She is still smiling and looking into the mirror, when her mother calls her, “Zafirah! Your coffee is ready”. Her morning starts with a perfect cup of coffee by her mother, with less sugar or almost no sugar and extra milk. She sits with a warm cup of coffee in her favourite cup that has a world map printed on it. A traveller by heart, she is. If she is not doing anything or in the mid of doing something, she is always searching for new places to visit and filling up her bucket of to-do lists. She opens her laptop to start her work. A perfect corner in her room that she has made her new workstation. She has always liked her workstation to be full of colourful things, pictures, postcards, magnets, motivational quotes, Tibetan prayer flag, and occasionally something related to work that she needs to remember. She has set up a workstation at home with the same feels, postcards, books, pictures, notes, and sticky notes on laptop to be reminded of important tasks to be done. She starts writing down the tasks to be completed in her notepad when her eyes look outside the window and gaze at beautiful monsoon sky that started to pour down on the dry land and spread a beautiful petrichor (mitti ki Khushboo). She loves these little things! These things make her happy and make her forget about everything in life. She is smiling again, a big wide smile. She then plays “who kagaz ki kashti” on her laptop, sits back with her cup of coffee and just look at the dance of rain drops. She lives for such moments. She enjoys her own company.

She is lost in her own la la land when her phone rings. It’s her friend Rabia. A daily call ritual with her has kept her sane in this lockdown. “Hey, Good morning sweetheart”, she says. “Good Morning, dear. How are you? Did you sleep well last night?”, Rabia asks her. Everyday, she bombards her with questions of her well-being. She smiles, and says, “yes, I’m doing good today. A lot better than yesterday.”. And they start talking with enthusiasm of being alive and living life. They talk about lot of things, but Rabia mostly talks about spirituality and Zafirah, of course, about travelling. Today, in this good weather, they talk about love and relationships. They both have different take on the topic but at the end, they discuss and come to a common point where both agree.

After a long discussion, she disconnects the call, and go back to her la la land gain. She ponders on the thought of what is love to her and how she wants it. Question, she has refrained to talk about but deep in her heart she’s a girl full of love. But her definition of love doesn’t fit into the modern world. She is a bit more old school. Her mind then sits on one of the clouds and takes her back to the old days where talking to a loved one was not as easier as today. The fixing of time and looking at the clock, sitting near to the MTNL (landline) to attend the call, used to make heartbeat skip. When ease of sending instant message was not there and writing letters was a privileged intimacy. But the love confessed in those letters used to be from heart. It didn’t involve only reading but the imagination too. Imagining the movements of the hand of the loved one while writing that letter.  When dates didn’t mean fancy restaurants but eating (rather sharing) an orange ice-cream that probably would have cost only five bucks. When kissing was a far-off dream and the most romantic feeling was just holding hands and listening to favourite songs on Walkman. When sleeping outside in balcony with a table fan was a luxury. When skies used to be blue without any pollution. When nights used to sparkle with gazillions of stars and she used to count them, make shapes of them, give them names and talk to them. Skies has always fascinated her. The vastness of the universe has always made her curious. When she used to sleep on the terrace, under the stars, tune in to radio show “purani jeans by Rj Sayma” and listen to old songs. In the darkness of those nights and brightness of stars, it is in those times, that she fell in love with Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey, Mukesh and old songs, which continues till now. She believes in soul connection and is not ready to settle down for anything that is not magical and do not stir all these old school love butterflies in her stomach. She is still lost in her own world when she receives routine call from her office at 9:00 AM. And she finally starts her work with a big smile. 😊

Depression & Mental Health

Today is eighty second day of lock down and I’m still struggling to settle down with the changes around. There seems to be no difference in days though but for you who are reading this I must remind you that today is Sunday. A day that otherwise would have been a resting day or a partying day or a hangover day or a family get together day, but the definition of Sunday seems to be changed in the ongoing situation. I had a relaxing cat nap and woke up to the news of Sushant Singh Rajput committing suicide. It has shocked me to the core. I’ve just seen him on screen, how can the death of a person I never talked to make me feel so devastated?

I’m a spiritual person, not religious, I must tell you. And I constantly strive towards the spiritual growth of mind. I’ve been meaning to write this but could never muster enough courage to write it. The struggles of life! I’ve had my enough share of struggles of life, mentally & emotionally. Not many people know this. I’ve an image of a VERY strong girl. Indeed! I’m strong but sometimes strong people also break, sometimes they too need support & courage. I’ve fallen hundred times in life, I’ve had breakdowns emotionally, many a times, sometimes sitting in office, sometimes in public places, sometimes sitting at home alone. I never talked about it. I still don’t talk about it to many people. I keep it to myself, but I have been fortunate enough to have such good family and friends around who listen to me, who no matter what stand by me, support me in all the ways they can. I’m grateful for each person in my life. One of my very good friends often says to me, “GP, you are a child of God. God has created a shield of protection around you.”. I tend to agree with him but then so do every person on this earth is a God’s own child. No?

I’ve so much to tell about myself but this post is not about who I am and what I have gone through. This is about a journey that I’m on towards healing. At some point of life, later or sooner, we all go through pain, so called “tough times”. Pain could be from anything, a loss of a loved one, financial loss, professional stress, peer pressure, an ailment, a failure in anything, a difficult relationship or a heartbreak, to name a few. I might have missed lot of them. When I say lot of them, what I mean is that right now at this very point there are 7.8 billion people in the world, and everybody have their own journey of life, so technically or logically or whichever way you could understand, there are 7.8 billion individual journeys and 7.8 billion ways of dealing with the struggles of life. Some may be able to handle anything what comes to them and some might not be able to handle even a slightest of joke that a friend would have made.

At some point in life, we all might have been racist, we might have bullied someone, made fun of somebody’s colour or the dress someone wore, may have body shamed someone, made fun of somebody being too emotional. Sometimes we would make fun and say, “it was just a joke man!”, you never know how much damage your, just a joke can do, stop, take a pause and introspect. I’ve been a VERY (in bold italics) emotional girl through out my life. I can cry in any given situation at any given time. I’ve been mocked for this and for a long time I wanted to get rid of this habit but no matter how much I tried to control my emotions, I always found myself drowned in a pool of tears for even small turbulences, otherwise being very strong headed. For a very long time I considered this my weakness. Also, some people around me made me feel it was a sign of weakness and I wanted to get rid of this habit. However, no matter what, I always found myself shedding out tears for things that I’m emotional for, relations, friends, love, seeing somebody else in pain. In past few months, in my journey towards healing, I accepted myself the way I am, and I understood being emotional and crying often is a not sign of weakness but strength. It means that in a world where people are not morally correct and have lost the values and principles of lives, where it’s easier for them to cheat or hurt or do something wrong, I was someone who could feel another person’s pain easily. I’m proud of myself irrespective of a fact that someone always tried to pull me down for being too emotional.

Like any other ailment where we go to doctors and take prescribed medicines, mental health too needs to be given importance. It needs to be taken care with love, support and guidance. Every person is walking their own journey and dealing with own fears and anxieties, be kind to them, listen to them. In a digital world that has the power of connecting us instantly, we tend to miss the real connections. We all have a heart of a child within us that needs love, acceptance and care. Be kind to everyone you meet or talk to, especially in this time of isolation. A team member, a friend, a relative, mother, father, brother, anyone you see quiet, lost in their own world, be with them, talk to them. I’m not saying be a therapist in somebody’s life but at least we can be part of their healing process. Healing journey can be different for different people with the goal of coming out of pain that they are going through. If we can’t do much for anybody, what we can do is to be with the person and give our time. As they say, “time is the most precious thing”. Give your time to them, listen to them with all your ears, hear them out without being judgmental, without commenting on their life, just hold their hands and be there. Even your being their silently would give comfort to them. We are in lock down, isolated from such a long time, some of you might be doing great but some are fighting the battle of loneliness or emptiness around, spread love and happiness. If you have come till here and read all this, I want you to give a promise to yourself that world needs your care and love in the healing process of some souls that are not able to take life’s struggles. You can’t identify these souls but what best you can do is to listen, understand, kind and be lovable towards these souls.

Portrait of a Poetry

All those broken pieces that she bore in her heart formed the “mosaic of feelings”. A chaos in her mind needed to be fathomed while she learned to weather the storm that life has thrown her into. Amidst the tumultuous waves of broken promises, she bore sunshine in the core of her heart. She keeps her fears behind her smile. She ties the flower of hope in her braid. There’s magic in her touch that knows how to heal a broken soul, mending her own shattered dreams. The sun in her eyes glitters the courage she holds in her little heart. Her strength lies in the goodness that she gives out with full joy. She finds solace in the pages of her books. She sees everything around her as a piece of art. The poetry that she reads, the stories that she make or the pictures that she clicks are the way for her to connect to emotions. She smiles and say give me more, I’ve faith in thy. With all the hope, love, affection, peace and compassion that she carries in her, she is nothing less than a “portrait of poetry!”.

My Delhi!

Come, hold my hand
Let me take you through the rise of my morning
Where this world be our theater and Sun our spectator
You’ll be the music and I’ll sit upon your lips as a morning song
Together, we’ll create our happy mornings forever.

Come, hold my hand
Let me take you through the strings of my golden afternoon
Where we’ll amble in Lutyens Delhi,
gazing at colonial architecture from the times of British Empire
We’ll then rest in green oasis of Lodhi Garden, under the yellow laburnums
Escaping the gridlocked delirium of the city
Together, we’ll weave our afternoons in golden memories.

Come, hold my hand
Let me take you through the orange hues of my evening
We’ll walk on the charcoaled roads of Connaught Place, heart of Delhi
We’ll then take a stroll along the Shahjahan’s walled city
Savor the scrumptious delicacies in the alleys of Chandni Chowk,
When sun will be leaving, and minarets of Jama Maszid will have lit,
We’ll sink in the echoes of Azaan, dominating the surrounding noise.
Together, we’ll make our evening blissful and beautiful

Come, hold my hand
Let me take you through my favorite part of the day
We’ll stand near the window and behold the moon
We’ll tune into radio and listen to late night romance
We’ll dance to old numbers and do some jazz
You can read me the English translations of Rabindranath Tagore
I’ll read you verses of Amrita Pritam and Gulzar
Together, we’ll make our nights soulful.

Together, we’ll make our togetherness purposeful!


My soul met your soul
As poet discern words for his poem
We met like torn pieces of our past
For the happiness that will forever last
The long evening walks, and purple haze
Orange hues of sunset, and your gaze
Warm hugs on winter nights
The prolonged kiss till the twilight
Soft smile of your eyes beneath your glasses
We were different than masses
Our stars were meant to meet
And become a galaxy
Our hearts were meant to meet
To become the Universe!

August Rain!


Regular office day (not near a window) seems mundane!

It’s 12’o noon and a regular day at office. Half day is passed by and few hours are left to finish her day at office. She takes her beautifully painted magenta colored coffee mug by India circus, in her hands. The warmth of the cup relieves her from chilling office cubicle. Rain pours down from the sky, and mist covers the window by her seat as she sips her favorite rose green tea. She isn’t fond of green tea but she isn’t fond of masala tea or coffee either.

She looks out of the window from the 12th floor of her office building. She sees a man running in the rain. She sees a bunch of colleagues going to the famous sutta corner of cyber hub. She sees a sari clad girl walking slow, taking each step carefully and protecting her saree from getting spoiled in rain. Soon her mind wanders in her own world and she is drifted to her thoughts.

Thoughts that come rushing to her every now and then. Though she works in a big MNC and she is always surrounded by lot of people around her but she still feels lonely. She escapes from eyes of her colleagues and start scribing something in her notebook. No one knows her habit of scribing. No one ever noticed. At least she thought so. Unaware of the fact that there is always someone watching you and admiring you for who you are.

She keeps her mug down and picks up her pen. She is fond of pens. Those fancy pens that flow as smooth as butter on paper. Every time she visits a stationary shop, she admire at the shine of those fancy pens but their price leave her crestfallen. The one she is holding is a regular smooth flow ball pen. She likes it too but someday she wish to buy one of those fancy pens.

She stares at blank paper of her thin spiral notepad, the one that employees get at office and a check on count of it for an employee is kept. She stares at the blank paper for a long time, the noise, the people, and everything around her has come to a standstill for her and she starts writing something on it. There are no thoughts in her mind just her pen and pain; and she starts scribing whatever comes to her mind. Most of the times her writing comes that way. It just come from nowhere and makes a perfect sense to her, describing her solace.

She leans down and keeps her head on her left hand on which she is wearing her father’s Fossil watch that has her father’s initials inscribed on it. She is a watch lover too. No, she doesn’t like fancy watches but she is fond of simple watches made by watchmakers. She wishes to wear world’s best watchmakers’ watches on her hand. She watches her hand flowing on the paper and writing words. The curves of words gives her immense pleasure. These words and curves belong to her, she thinks. Her love for writing is from her childhood days that started from first poem which she wrote for her mother. She had a flair for creating verses but travelling made her a story teller. She now enjoys creating and writing stories. She tries to find stories in every moment, in every person she meets.

When she is wrapped in the blanket of her thoughts and spilling out words from her mind, there’s a guy sitting right across her seat and watching her. He is a shy guy from a different state with a different language but the same fire for travelling is burning in his heart as hers. He doesn’t know if she too is fond of travelling but he is swayed by her simplicity, her cotton kurtas and bindi that sticks between her bushy raw eyebrows.

Watch this section to know what unfolds in their lives.

My acquaintance with the language of Csoma!

Well, I wonder how many of you can understand the title of my post. 🙂 Frankly speaking, few months ago I could not have pronounced this name ‘Csoma’ properly lest know him. This is the magic of learning a new language. This post is about my journey of learning Hungarian language and the way it changed me a little, little by little.

download (1)I had no reasons to join this language course except for the fact that I was free and so was this course. Hell yeah! Sounds weird? Of course in today’s time a free language course sounds fishy. Why would they do that? Don’t they have enough students to learn their language? Or maybe nobody wants to learn Hungarian. Questions like this were banging in my head when a friend of mine helped me in getting enrolled for the course. My stars can’t thank him enough for this gesture of him. I hope he reads this. 🙂 Okay, so my first class which happened after around five days of the commencement of the course. Sigh! I hope you understand the pain of missing a language class, that too the elementary part, like missing Ka,Kha,Ga of Hindi class.  Chuck! I was trying to be funny. Okay, so coming back to my first class, as I entered the class, I was shocked to see around hundred students (of all age group). Like students more than my father’s age. I liked it instantly. Prior to this, and I must admit that to my reluctance, my father and I learned Italian together. He somehow couldn’t give his exam but this made me know him better and his zeal for learning something new along with his struggles of remembering things. Anyway, coming back to the first class again (I have this habit of deviating from main topic) 😛 So, amidst all the students who were attending class from first day, I found myself lost in the pronunciation of the ‘magyar ábécé’ (Hungarian ABC). After that I wasn’t very regular with the classes but I kept trying learning it, missing some part, and then again picking it up from the next lesson. I didn’t made much friends at that time, I didn’t talk to anybody much. I came, attended the class, and went home. I don’t know that even after all this irregularity what kept me glued to this class.

imagesSo apart from my irregularities of classes, I was always regular at least with the events organized by Hungarian Cultural Centre. I hope the cultural people don’t read it. hiding face in palms I love exploring places, meeting new people, knowing about their culture. So attending events was like satiating my soul by knowing about their culture through powerpoint presentations, their music, songs and dance. And then of course snacks followed by events was like ‘icing on the cake’. Food makes a Punjabi happy! 😀  I have been to many events organized by various embassies but I found people here at this embassy very grounded and humble. Always smiling, talking to everybody, clicking pictures together and yes how can I forget mentioning Mr.Wilhelm’s (the director) wife preparing finger licking Hungarian delicacies for us. I mean who does that?

Okay, so this went on for two months and after that I didn’t attend a single class for around one and a half month. I messaged our professor that because of my father’s health I will not be able to attend the classes for some time. Meanwhile lot of things happened at cultural center. The venue for class got shifted, the cultural center shifted to the embassy.

downloadWhen everything got settled at my home, I rejoined the classes. Everything was changed this time. From hundred students to just fifteen were left. Now, I started talking to fellow students. They helped me in coping up with the syllabus. Tanár (teacher) helped me in understanding the lessons that I missed. Events were not happening much but this time I became almost (I was still missing some classes) regular with the classes. I now knew what kept me glued to this course and not leave it in between. It was because of our professor Ms.Margit Köves. Her patience and sweetness encouraged me to keep attending the classes. Wondering how? Well, as I said that I wasn’t regular with the classes so I didn’t know much of the things in the class but then she was always patient and never scolded me for not knowing the things. This motivated me to put more efforts to understand the things. She is from Hungary. No, I absolutely didn’t want to point out that she is not an Indian teacher. winks 😀 You got my point right! Right?

I also want to mention names of few fellow students whom I grew fond of and will miss them. Ramesh ji, legöregebb student of our class, he always reminded me of my father and our times together in Italian class. Gopal Ji, legvidámabb (most cheerful) student of our class who always made us laugh with his wittiness. Inderjeet,  úriember (gentleman) of all students who always made efforts to arrange food. wide smile Food makes me happy! Anjali, legfiatalabb (youngest) student of our class. She is also a student of Italian at Delhi University. Aman, a sportember(sportsman) who was always keen on learning. Sen ji, our fondness over Tagore connected us well and he found his forty years old friend from his school days who happens to be my neighbor. World is so small! Prashant ji, who was always keen on sharing knowledge of his field with me. Then there were Karan, Vinay, Manoj, Indraneel, Rehan, Sukhvinder ji, Vasundhra, Nisha and Divya(I hope I remember her name properly) who I didn’t talk too much but then it was a lot fun with all.

Now all those questions that wandered in my mind about free classes were answered or may be at least I understood them better. So conducting free classes is their way of promoting their language and connecting with people. What a noble thought! Human connection is something that today’s man craves for. We hook up to our smart phones for hours but we don’t like talking to or making connections with the person sitting next to us. I’m glad that I got an opportunity to join this course that not only opened up my mind and tuned it to accept the culture of another country but also made me rejoice the human connections with all the fellow students and our dear professor.

Oh! And I almost forgot to tell about Csoma, pronounced as ‘Choma’. Sándor Csoma de Kőrös was a philologist and the author of first Tibetan-English dictionary and grammar book. He was called ‘the foreign pupil’ in Tibet and was given the title of Bodhisattva by Japan in 1933. His journey in the Himalayas has intrigued me and I’m keen on learning advance level of Hungarian.

Beautiful Goodbyes!

I want to grow old with you
I want to die lying in your arms
I want to grow old with you
I want to be looking in your eyes
I want to be there for you, sharing everything you do
I want to grow old with you

Her phone played this song from her playlist when she was struggling to concentrate on her studies. Her mind wandered back to the day when she shared this song with him. Good old days! It was just five months ago when Kabir confessed his love for her. She had thought herself as the luckiest girl on this planet. Showing him her favorite things, reading to him her favorite stories and poems, going to her favorite restaurants, eating her favorite food, making him listen to her favorite songs; she showed him her naked soul. It was the first time she opened up that much with anybody. Though they started on a condition but soon that condition seemed like a past and he himself said, “Zafu, every time I meet you I get more attached to you. Just the thought of us not being together frightens me. I just want us to be together forever. I love you!”. “I love you beyond this universe”, she would say back. Whenever he used to think of separation, his eyes would be filled with tears. Zafirah was strong but one thing she couldn’t do was to see her loved ones crying. She used to hold his hands and say, “hey! I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. Okay? And I’m going to stay forever, till eternity. We will wait for each other’s parents to agree to it. Okay?”. She meant it, every single word. She knew her parents will never allow her to do this but she has always been like this. She knew what she wanted in life. Kabir was more than her wish. Kabir was her life. She once told him, “Kabi, within very less time you have become as important to me as my parents”.

In spite of all this togetherness and happiness, there was one thing that constantly kept her worried. She was elder to him by six years. It’s just six hears, she would say to herself. Kabir will take care of it. Trust him, believe him. Within last six months she has indulged herself in lot of self-talking.  She was a rebel from heart and she always thought of doing things differently. She has led her life on her own terms with the principles and values given to her by her family, her father and mother.

Amidst all this there came a very tough time on her and her family. Kabir was there, all the time. She grew more close to her. From good morning messages to goodnight kisses, they shared each and every moment of their day with each other. They were irresistible! She hated going to malls but she planned her every meeting with him in a mall thinking it’s him who is important and not the place. She had travelled world on her own. Her favorite place was amidst mountains. She always dreamt of having a small house there. But she thought she could live anywhere on this earth as far as Kabi is with her. She was ready to sacrifice her dreams for him.

It was different now.  They had decided to part ways. Kabir’s mother didn’t agree to their relationship and he wanted to end it. She was broken! She kept quiet. She didn’t say anything to him. Just two words, “I understand!”. Actually, there were things which she never understood. Not that why his mother didn’t agree or why he ended it but something else. It was something else that disturbed her.

After few days of last call, he finally called her up to meet him last one time. Reluctantly, she got ready because she herself wanted this to end on a sweet note. She wanted to keep good memories of this relationship. She knew that Kabir had already moved on and she was a girl who would never force anyone to stay in her life. She was loving, humble and kind but she was also very stubborn.

IMG_20180501_133840_518Finally, they met at a restaurant in CP. No holding hands, no hugs, no kisses; just a formal hello. Hiding her tears behind her smile, she asked him about his family and he asked her about her parents. There was an awkward silence. She still thought that Kabir would hold her hand and say “Zafu, let’s run away. Everything will be alright after some time”. This was just her thought. Kabir then broke the silence by saying that “I’m sorry. I feel guilty”. His voice wasn’t trembling. There were no tears rolling down from his eyes. Her mind drifted to his words which he said few weeks back with tears filled in his eyes. She was confused. Her heart was in a dilemma of trusting to what he said earlier or what he was saying now. She had been a good listener always. She kept listening to him. He just had one thing to say that we started on a condition. Condition, that if our parents will agree then only we will get married. She had lot to say but she wasn’t able to bring words out of her mouth. She kept listening. When Kabir was done saying whatever he wanted to say. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, “But ma never met me, Kabi. My age cannot make me less good or less kind. My age cannot make me a bad person. You could have at least made her meet me. This way I would have thought that you made efforts to keep the relationship. You moved on very easily. I once told you that I was like a bridge on the river that stayed and you were like a passenger who crossed that bridge. My words were true. I loved you, Kabi. And a part of me will always love you.”

She then asked him if she could drop him to the metro station for one last time. He agreed to it. Before he could get off from car, she released her seat belt, turned towards Kabi, gave him a tight hug, kissed him and said I love you. She wanted to cry out loud but she controlled herself. He stepped out of the car, came near window and said “I loved you too. I’m sorry”.

It was a beautiful goodbye for her. Unfortunately, it was just in her mind. He never called her up to meet. He never made an effort to at least protect the friendship they shared. I’m standing by my words even after you are gone.  I once promised you to give my words and I’m doing it even when you didn’t stand up to your promises.



Art of sharing

20160605_203908Lately, I’ve learned that everything we do is an art. There’s art in sleeping, talking, speaking, walking and in every action that we do. I’ve also come to believe that each of us as a human being is a piece of art in itself, created by the Supreme power. And we all are beautiful in our own way, irrespective of our shape, color and caste.

Of all the arts, I loved “Art of sharing” the most. I call it an art because it is not less than any art. It just not comes like this. Like all other arts, one needs to practice this art. Sharing may be anything; knowledge, time, money, food, just anything. In the process of sharing, you might feel hurt or betrayed. Don’t worry! Pain is temporary. Do not let anybody stop you from learning and growing. It might take a life time to learn how to share even when you’re hurt but continue to do it anyway. That is how you’ll emerge above all the shackles of hatred and that is what will make you feel alive. Hatred or jealousy kills you little by little. Being alive is a miracle! You’ve to love life and sharing is the most important part of it. I’m in process of learning this art and I hope that some years from now I could say that I’ve learned a little bit of it. 🙂

The little girl and airplanes!

20161110_164636When Zafirah was small, under the winter sun of every 26th of the January month, her father use to take her to the terrace of the house and show her flying planes, the fighter ones. Since then the flying planes in the open blue sky and sound of it has always fascinated her. She smiles whenever she sees the one in sky!

Today, standing on the terrace of her office, amidst all the noises around, she could hear only the airplane sound. It made her smile! She reminisced those days of watching the planes; clapping and jumping with happiness. She has grown up now and doesn’t like to let the eyes of people around to fall on her by over reacting but inside her heart there is still that little girl alive who jumps and claps with the sight of planes. She is the little girl and airplanes under the open sky still give her immense pleasure.

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