| 'Time' Series: Book One |
| 'Time' Series: The Azar-Dogra-Sassoon Saga. |
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In "Secrets Hidden in Time," a riveting tale unfolds as Hinduja Rao...
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12 | Dear Diary (11/05/2007)
11 May 2007
Friday,
4:15 pm
Dear Diary,
As I sit here, under my hideout, away from the visibility range of hereyes, and put in writing my thoughts for you to wade through, I watch herensconce herself under the enormous deciduous tree, skimming through herschoolwork with a Nataraj pencil sharpened from both sides at a rate of knots.
It's summer again.
And like they do every summer tide, the flowers in that canopy of bright emerald foliage that she at all times sits under have blossomed again-it's flowers scarlet like the blazing flames of fire, yet so soft and sublimely mellow, just like the cerise dungaree she is clothed in today.
The little girl with pigtails has grown taller and chubbier over the course of the last four years, yet she still looks so tiny to me. Her fluffy black pigtails remain the same, though, still tied in bright and vibrant polka-dot scrunchies.
I gaze at her as she violently scratches the crown of her head, like monkeys do, evidently confused due to some gibberish scribbled in her notebook. One thing that I have noticed multiple times is that every time she writes, her hands move across her notebook like an arrow out of a bow. I can already deduce that she has a very bad handwriting despite never having witnessed her penmanship.
Nowadays, most sheets of my exercise books are filled with her doodles. Tuesday evening, while I was again squiggling a barely decipherable picture of her in one of my registers, perched up at my study table in my room, Nirjhara slipped into my territory with her Complan mug loosely held in her hand. As she tried to sneakily look into my notebook, Miss Lilliput somehow tripped on the football kept next to the leg of my chair and had a graceful touch down on my laundry bag head first-not that I care about it. That brat could go bathe in a bucket full of cow dung and stink all day, for all I care. But the issue was something different: the Complan mug in her hand, just like its owner, had an elegant landing on my poor head as well. Thankfully, it didn't break my skull-----I hate missing school.
