NOISE

(because holiday mornings are s'posed to be all happy happy)

Written for Ziyaa, to brighten up her winter morning..

On an idyllic Sunday morning, a morning that was surprisingly peaceful for New Delhi, little Farhan sat on his little wooden chair, looking out of the window. As the usually magical golden dust that danced in the path of sunrays was presently at the verge of accepting defeat at cheering up the little boy, one could conclude he was sad, or some such other word that could be used to describe such travesty. He sat there, chin on palms, elbows on knees, shoulders drooped, smile un-present and eyes fixed at the slight panorama of Delhi-6 outside his window.

As gloom gave way to sudden cheer, the magical golden dust looked up, eyebrows raised in question: had it Not failed after all? That question was soon answered as its vision quickly shifted to the window where Farhan stood, one hand outside the window, holding onto a red paper plane he had grabbed as it had flown past his window. Eyes gleaming, and wide smile in place, he held it with both hands and thought of the dream he had had last night.

Not too far away, somewhere in the same city, a girl readies the next colored paper plane she would set into flight. She has boxfuls of colored paper and a long list.

Typical morning for Ziyaa as she goes about setting dreams into flight.