Tuesday, June 01, 2010
She opened her diary today. The red and black one. The diary which was dear to her all through her college life. It accompanied her to every lecture. Each page was inked with history and psychology notes. Somewhere here and there were vague drawings of random things, a habitual practice when she paid no heed to what was being taught. The pages were still crisp but slightly yellow now. She flipped through each page carefully. The ink had faded at a few places. But the words were still clear. Every page had a story to tell. Memories from the past spurted back. She gradually moved her fingers over the fine print. But very next moment she felt her 4 year olds hands wiping her rolling tears.