She works at one of those big, grey publishing houses nestled in the swank New Cantonment. Sometimes, she would rush out during the break to walk with me in the deserted park nearby, sandwich carefully wrapped in a paper napkin.
The Michael Jordan in me indulges in layup shots, three-pointers and wanton fouls the entire day, as I am stretched out on my back on the lawns. There is no trouble from the time-keeper, the food at the canteen seems more edible, and nothing can go wrong with the world. I don’t even need my jacket today. I am warm, flush with fluffy, cotton-candy thoughts.
The IHM Chronicles Series
On My Nightstand
Tweets and Chirps !
Follow @sonisomarajan on Twitter