This window never opened.The moss on the walls just stare into the world and mind their work clinging to the window in silence. Everytime I crossed the wall, the window greeted me with a sullen shut of the doors. Quite naturally, I have wondered what lies behind this passage of air and light.The rust on the pane instigates my antique curiosity even further. At times, when I laze around the roads, I make it a point to press my ear against the window and test my luck of hearing a voice or two.

One morning, I suddenly woke up from a dream of a shehnai’s music coming out of the window and filling my ears of the faint happenings behind it.  After days, luck took pity on me and I happened to hear voices and noises from this window. From my point, it was a progress. The voice I heard through the window was enigmatic.  On some days, it would be an eight year old merrily singing to her tune or running away while her anklets try to keep with her pace. On some other days, it was a woman of sixty grumbling about her aching joints while the pots and pans agreed in clamour. I’ve caught a sniff of the sambar and stored it in the pockets of my memory as I savour it mentally. The window gave away the secrets of a woman, probably in her thirties, with her shy giggles. With her, I smile too.

I wondered why this window never opened. Was it the house’s way of sealing its emotions? Does it not want the shouts, the cries and the laughs to seep out in the air? Maybe the window had a reserve of all these feelings and provided it when the house was devoid of them. While its bigger brother, the door, opens its arm to the world, this shy little window is still hesitant and it closes itself in all glory.