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ENGLISH 07

It’s summer The Red Lady four year old who had
now. All the come with her
trees are grandmother. The oldie
a semul tree. Of course, paleness of the sky.
burning I had no idea that it was One February afternoon, was chatting with her
bright in the called a semul tree. All of unable to resist myself, I friends on a bench like
Sun, but none look so its identity vaporized into set out to the every day. The young
lovely as the semul tree a streak of positivity. A neighbourhood where girl had dark eyes like
did that random deep brown trunk with the tree resides to take a that of a blackbird, and
February evening. shining red blossoms in closer look at her. The her mouth slightly
I had board exams since the fag end of winter, sky was launching dusk opened on finding an
mid-February so my standing tall amidst a when I stood under the adult scouring the
heart had been a rainbow of death. Praise tree and looked up to ground for untouched
tangled mess of nothing be the Lord! savour my lady in red blossoms. She didn’t
since December. Poring As time progressed, the honour. To my horror, mind though, and we
over the same syllabus tree became more the red became shadow spent a happy quarter of
and countless books enigmatic to me – the underneath her. There an hour doing what kept
had transformed me to a source of such were blossoms on the her occupied and gave
cynic. Winter is elegance, joy and hope ground which had been me unspeakable
unforgiving though couldn’t possibly be stepped on by young euphoria.
snowflakes are beautiful lovers, the crimson I tried to click pictures of
granted to human eyes. my lady with my
and wondrous. The turning stale with shoe-
She was ‘The Red Lady’ smartphone. Lovers and
neighbourhood was marks. They were those
and I was her senior citizens alike
sunk in a bucket of grey lovers who sat on the
undeserving suitor. She stared at me as if I was
and the torpor was benches to enjoy the
was the quintessential an alien but I steadfastly
perfect for me to study – solitude of Mother’s lap,
lover –dressed in red, ignored them. The light
winter afternoons spent while she cried in agony.
supportive of my was all wrong in the
in isolation. The world drudgery while I tried saving one flower pictures so I just feasted
outside my window for my study table. In my senses on my red
consisted of a lake challenging the this, I was joined by a lady. I tried hugging her
bordered with several but her slender trunk
trees and benches, a was ridden with ants.
road beyond and two- She wasn’t mine but
storied residential look at how everyone
buildings. The ignored her! I stomped
streetlights were the off the place in disgust,
only sign of modernity in brimming with anger at
the quaint surroundings. humanity and
Since they didn’t turn on technology.
till half-past five, I could The lady lost her flowers
relaxedly write poetry in in late March. I watched
the form of my History in dismay as many other
notes. trees bloomed in their
But the calmness soon glory, spreading gaiety
turned to nothingness and colour all around.
during the long hours of But none are as
my preparation. On one beautiful as the semul
of my black days, I tree that February
looked outside my evening when I realized
room’s window (my that nature gives and
study table was attached gives even when no one
to my window, which is watching. And no one
was really more can capture her.
distracting than
Riti Bhattacharya
soothing) when I spotted
Sowmya Das, VIII A (DS)
XII (Humanities)