(1)
Our old Assam-Type house had windows,
I mean those old ones made from pure Sal,
Sal logs shaped into wood frames for windows,
Windows that were held together
by horizontal iron rods
perfectly equidistant from each other,
Windows that had stories to tell – all happy ones;
(2)
Our old Assam-Type house had windows,
Not too many though
as Abba wanted the walls
for hanging duas and murals,
As a child, I stood near the window
of our small drawing room
at stolen leisure moments;
(3)
Our old Assam-Type house had windows,
I could see happy simpletons
returning with contentment in their hearts
after a hard day’s errands are finally done,
Their toil didn’t seem to exhaust them,
I could see more spaces on roads,
less humans
and even lesser traffic,
I could see the colour of air,
I could see a green world around me surround me,
I could see birds, buffaloes and humans
returning back to their homes – together,
just at the stroke of dusk,
I not only see the rain, but sense, smell and feel it too,
And on days when the hail came down,
my outstretched hand would catch hold
of a couple of chilled white marbles from Heaven;
(4)
Now –
Our old Assam-Type house that had ‘happy-windows’
is abandoned,
We have now shifted to our swanky RCC Duplex mansion,
Abba is no more,
So the windows are aplenty,
They have iron grills just like police barricades,
I somehow find sometime to see the world outside
through its limited pores on offer,
I could see unhappy and exhausted souls
returning back from work,
Birds and buffaloes
no longer return together
with humans back to their homes,
The world outside
is brown and grey and concrete now – not green,
Surprisingly though,
humans have deserted the open spaces on roads;
Humans, it seems are on a summer hibernation;
© Sabah
