Staring at the screen, the speakers blaring A R Rahman music. Faint strains of home. Soft voices of neighbours floating up through the windows. Clutter of roommate cooking busily in the kitchen. Words float around head.

Type furiously for a while. Stop. Look. Cringe. Backspace-backspace-backspace. GAH. Frustration! Am I a bad writer?!

Favourite childhood song plays. Smile. Think of days past. Holding on to Ma’s pallu and hiding from people shyly. Perched on the bed, looking at Pa getting ready for work. Dancing to my song, this very song, for everyone. The only confident, preening time. Running away again and hiding from compliments. Smiling softly to self.

Renewed vigour. No one is watching. I can do this. Start typing again. The beats are running out. Quick, before the song ends! Finish with a flourish. Sit back with sigh. Wide grin. Read.

Grimace again. Never perfect, hardly good. Well. That is that.


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