Windows always fascinated me. As a child I enjoyed sitting in the veranda, wondering about the tens of buildings around my house and the people who might be residing in them. I knew few of my neighbours, but was curious about the many others. Each of those homes, I thought, had a different story that was waiting to be told. Every window shows just a glimpse of what happens within the four walls- Like a trailer to a movie. Most windows might seem the same — curtains, plants, clothes hung to dry. One really has to look for those uncommon things like an old rusty bicycle, a broken lampshade, a dream catcher or sometimes a soul with a vacant stare blowing out puffs of smoke. That’s where the real story is and that’s what I’m curious about.
Now you might think of me as a creep who stares into other’s houses. False. I just love observing people, be it at a restaurant, airport, bus stations or sometimes just on the TV. I think secretly we all do. If I see someone who catches my attention I try to make a back story for them like where they are from, what their fears are and stuff like that. If you feel slightly perplexed at this point, please don’t be. I’m a storyteller and it’s necessary to feed my imagination. These are some of my window stories and for your sake, let’s just say, they are a work of fiction.
“Take your tiffin”, she yelled as she rushed behind her son. He ran back, kissed his mom goodbye and ran down the stairs. She made her way to the balcony where she would watch the boy wait for his bus. She would wait there no matter how long it took. Once the bus reaches and he gets on it, he would turn around one last time to see his mom. His mom would smile and wave back. He knew, she would always be waiting there.
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I’m late, she thought to herself. She wished she could have left work earlier so that she could reach home before her husband did. She reaches her building and looks up at the window. The room light was on. Oh no, he’s home! A cold shudder swept through her body. She knew he wouldn’t be happy seeing her get home late. She pushed herself up to her flat with the little courage that she had, and unlocked the door. As she entered the strong smell of alcohol filled her nostrils. He saw her at the doorway, “So you finally decided to come back! Why didn’t you just sleep in office?”, he asked as he stumbled his way towards her. “I can explain”, she says apologetically. “Shut up” he says as he smacks her across the face. No one knew this happened almost every night. How would they, from the outside, their house was just like any other.
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He had golden hair and big black eyes that looked like he was waiting to be held. Every time he heard a kid on the street, he would reach up and peek out of the window. And then fall back into a heap on the ground. His parents who had initially adopted him loved him like their son. He was taken everywhere, had all his freedom in the house and it was the best 4 years of his life. But then they had to leave suddenly, and he was brought here. They (his current caretakers) also liked him, but preferred he stayed outside the house. One afternoon while he dozed off watching the view from the window he sensed familiarity. He heard footsteps. “Could it be?”, he must have thought to himself. And then a familiar face came before him. He leapt with joy, wagging his tail. First time in months, they noticed a smile on the dog’s face.
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Everyone thought they were newly married, but the fact was that they were married for 9 years now. For most the romance fizzles out by then. But not for these two. They still looked at each other like it was their first — with love, admiration and awe. They never had children, not that they never wanted, but that’s what was their fate. They accepted that and believed that it was God’s way of keeping their love for each other intact without sharing it with anyone. The only thing they did share their love for was their home garden. It was their pride and they had set it up beautifully in the balcony. “That’s our Eden”, they used to say. She first started gardening when she got to know she can never be a mother. Soon he joined his wife and spend hours working on it, watering the flowers, taking out the weeds and sometimes talking to their plants. Their favourite was the bright red hibiscus that stood out from the rest and would grab anyone’s attention. They lived in that house for 22 years before they passed away. The society decided to keep the garden in fond memory of their love. The house was eventually rented out to a husband and wife. But if you ever look at their window, you would still see the bright red hibiscus in all its glory.
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The old man always seemed to be there sitting on his wheelchair and looking out of the window. I always wondered if he was waiting for someone, or was he out there because he was alone. One day, as I walked past his building, I looked up and said, “Hi Uncle”. He looked down hopefully, but realised he didn’t recognize me. He made a disgruntled sound, which I presume was a Hi back, and then went back to looking elsewhere. “What’s the story of that old man who stays opposite our house?”, I asked my aunt that evening. “It’s quite a tragedy, almost like a movie”. He lived there with his wife and three kids”, she said, “One night there was a break in and the thieves stole everything. In the chaos, his wife and two kids were killed. His youngest daughter was never found. Many say she ran away, others say she was kidnapped. It’s been years but he still waits for his daughter’s return”. My heart sank. I actually felt terrible about it. The next day was Diwali. I got a box of sweets and rang the bell to his house.
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There are many many more stories; each home living a different one. While some stories are fascinating to hear, some rather be kept a secret. They are nothing that you haven’t heard before. What has changed is that we shut our own doors and isolate ourselves from everyone around us. The windows were and are always there to share their bit, do we care to listen?
