Asha.

I knew I would write about her though I had been resisting it for a while.

She looks at me every time I step out of my home( if she is out too).
She is a maid who looks after a child, a child who calls her by her name. Asha, that is what her name sounds like.

It must be Asha, if it is not Asha then it must be something else.

I really don't know her name to be quite honest. As they say "Honesty is the best policy". Simple and sweet it is. And true too.

It is simply the best policy.

So, Asha. She looks as if she belongs to a royal Bengali family. Big eyes, long hair, a strong body she has, and a deep beautiful complexion resembling some dark chocolate.


Beautiful she is. Then that child, he is real snob.
Proud.
Ill mannered.
He speaks rudely to her.


But, my mother loves him because he is fair, beautiful and little curly hair portray his innocence. But he is not that innocent. What does my mother know about him? How many times have I seen him barking haughtily at his poor maid, who bears all his abuses and still carries him in her arms while his mother works in some distant branch of Punjab National bank.


Getting back to Asha. I feel she will run away from this place someday. No, she is not beaten up. But I feel she is not happy here.

She keep looking at me without letting her eyelids shutter her dark brown eyes.
She looks as if she wants me to come and talk to her. To soothe her heart. I feel she wants to share her thoughts, her heart, her hatred, her love, her pain, her life, wants, desires, dreams, everything. To bring her out, out of a dark world where there is no tomorrow. No aim.


I might talk to her one day.

Not sure when.

Not sure.

Unsure. Maybe one day when I am sure of what I am.