the lost pearls

my room is transluscent. tiny shreds of light have managed to sneak through the crevices of the rickety windows and doors. the tiny rays of luminance defy my sordid attempt to lose myself to oblivion. maybe it is the advent of "compres" or maybe it is the overpowering heat that is playing tricks with my mind. tiny beads of sweat have decked my forehead. on cooler days i would have referred to them as pearls but today they seem like shackles of heat which refuse to let go. just when the listlessness started to sink in, my reverie was abruptly broken. it was the intrusion of the high pitched voice of the spinster who collects newspapers. even though i had seen her countless number of times i looked out. attired in a ghaghra" emblazoned with a multitude of hues she stood there still as if challenging the vagaries of nature to stop her from her daily toil. her skin was wrinkled like the layer of cream which collects on cooling milk and her eyes shone with defiance. the old, dirty rucksack was lazily slung over her shoulders. she reminded me of the mystic sagas of the himalayas, the wandering lost ascetic and the whining melancholy of flutes in the distant lands of time. an epitome of elegance and grace, she had traversed the borders of age and had survived the angst of poverty and had emerged out unscathed. her cries were not unrequited pleas. on the contrary her voice was resonant with the confidence of someone who is much higher in stance and stature. unable to attach any meaning to my silent gaze she moved on. the emboldened sun blazed way but the lady's steps didn't falter. she cantered on resolutely. i stood there transfixed, staring at her till she was a mere dot in the spectrum of space. the beads of sweat still adorned my forehead but no longer were they the bane of my freedom. in a moment they had transformed into pearls. pearls laden with wisdom...........