Nostalgia isn't what it used to be...

Monday evenings are Me-Time. I snarl at intruders.
I love evening. Tis is a pity that most people are either at work or swearing at the traffic at this time. I walk to work these days, and I try to leave early so as not to run.Pune roads are too harsh for evening.

I just walked on our lawn. I removed my slippers and walked on the grass. I hate that all the apartments look out onto the lawn. With a little hidden-ness, I could have lain down on the grass. We used to do it school. During the sports season. I'm no sportsperson, but I loved being outdoors all day. I would read, counsel all those who were running and scream my lungs out cheering for my friends. I had the grass, wide spaces and the winter sun.
Lying down on grass is supremely sensual. And extremely private. You feel it rough at first, prickling in your skin. Then, gradually....it yields. Or maybe your skin yields. And suddenly, shoes seem a burden.
I miss our playground. They should make playgrounds for adults. Swings and slides and lots of space to dance around and spin with joy. Should be compulsory in all corporates.
I love to swing. Both the heavy, gentle jhoola and the childlike dolna are happy seats. In school, my legs would fly up to meet the wind, my hair falling out of its Puritan Plait. I was far more inhibited back then and didn't often indulge in the swing.
My home consists of a big library with wood-panelling and a floor-to-ceiling ladder. Hammocks, both to sit in and to sleep in, a bay window, a jhoola and a dolna. All on my very own lawn where no other balconies peep to watch me and my very own grass.