it’ll be a home full of books.
apart from a roomful, there’ll be books on the center tables, gorgeous coffee table tomes, she’ll relish with endless cups of ginger teas; on writing desks, acting as mirrors to souls and giving bookmarks their reason for existence; on childrens’ bookshelves, winking them goodnights and waking them up with goodmornings; in the kitchen preparing him for lessons never ending, as he tries to figure how much salt to put in the dish he is cooking for the fifteenth time; and on the balcony settees facing the street where they’ll see the world pass by and when it rains the first thing they’ll rush for are the books rather than the clothes put out to dry…
this delhi book fair, as i thought of the last year’s affair, where she must have had entered my heart firmly, i remembered a dream long forgotten. of a home made of words & wisdom, of stories & spices, of her and of me.
and some evening, when the sun has gone away to light a distant world, we’ll write a story about a home full of books, life and love.
tum padhoge na, hamari woh kahani?
(you’ll read, that story of ours, won’t you?)