ScriBBles: oF DreAms & Th'OuGht's

My name is Asha. It means Hope. Ironically neither my name nor my story can stand guard to my name. It has been 3 years since I used alphabets for anything other than scratching a name on the walls over and over again. I have never received any letter at my new address in Janakpuri. Years ago, at my old thatched cottage, I used to get letters of love every week. Although eventually I came to know that most of those letters were from Prema. One day I received a letter saying he wants to know my story. Even after ignoring the request for 10 weeks, he kept pressing on with reasons and promises of the power of a so called social something. So this letter is a reply to the young fellow's request. I was born in a small village. Even after so many years of development, or pseudo-talks as I prefer to refer, we never saw a pole with cables, even till the day I left my village. May be in these 3 years I'm at Janakpuri, they would have received the fortune. I was born in the dark of

The three of us were going to the footpath veggie market to restock our fridge for the week. Just before we took the turn, I saw her running towards us, clearly on her jogging path. I irked my trio to walk faster so that she doesn’t catch up to us. Within minutes we reached the veggie footpath. From where she appeared, at that turn, I presumed her to take the left on her track. While we were busy negotiating with the veggie prices, I saw her racing past us from the corner of my eye just to stop a few steps ahead. It was quite a chilly morning with a thin crowd. It was then I noticed what she was wearing. She wore black tight jogging pants with a sleeveless tight top. Her face, her arms and her neck was sticky with sweat. She seemed to be running from quite a time now. The faint sunlight gleamed from her face giving an illusion of divinity. She stopped in her track to work out some stretches. As she flexed her body like an acrobat, she sang to herself, her own stretching-song that