"...something touched me deep inside, the day the music died...", she hummed the tune in spite of herself for perhaps the fiftieth time that evening. Then, placing her coffee mug rather precariously on the window- sill, and shivering a little as a gust of the early winter breeze rushed into the room, she wrapped her arms around herself.
Outside, the security guards and chauffeurs played a board game which from five stories high, vaguely resembled ‘ludo’. Her neighbour was doing his usual rounds of the complex with his dog, and she saw the lady in the opposite building, sitting comfortably on a divan next to the window and heard her saying into the telephone '...but you have to promise not to tell anybody'
Another cold breeze dashed in at her and pushing her hair back from her face, she finally closed the window.
5:45 pm.
The television, which she had forgotten to turn off, now played a B-grade Bengali movie. Unwittingly, she stared at the screen and watched the action take place. An ugly curly haired man was brandishing a knife rather menacingly at another man, wearing a tomato red sequined jacket over purple trousers. The latter ( as she later realized) was the hero, for he fixed a piercing gaze at the other man (obviously, the bad guy) and instantly two laser beams were emitted from his eyes, and the villain was killed.
6:30 pm.
The heap of clothes strewn over the bed had been lying there all day. She picked up her cream turtleneck sweater and, moving to the mirror, held it up against herself. It had a stain on the right sleeve. She ran her fingers through her hair. Her highlights were beginning to fade away. She considered getting that model’s colour but wondered if it would suit her complexion…oh well!
The plastic bags were neatly stacked under the mattress. She pulled out five, and not knowing what to do next, sat down and began folding the sweater.
It was pretty cold…even for winter. She wondered what the temperature was like...8 degrees, 9 degrees? Surely not higher than that! Yet, last night she’d had to turn on the fan at it’s highest speed because of the heat...and still she hadn’t been able to sleep...she’d laid awake till dawn,...her face wet; her skin hot...feverish.
An hour later she finished all her work. Picking up the guitar from its place behind the bed, she placed it on her lap and pulled at its strings. There was just one tune that she knew how to play, and she played it. He had tried teaching her other tunes, but she’d never managed to learn! It was kind o’ like that stupid move he liked so much and wanted her to do, but she never ever got it right!
8:00 pm.
She made two phone calls and brought out her bags from the bedroom. All the lights besides the reading lamp were switched off; the coffee mug was taken off the window-sill and put on the sink; the unread morning paper was placed on the rack; the hand phone was placed on the cradle; the ring was left on the table, by the ashtray.
"...something touched me deep inside, the day the music died...", she hummed the tune in spite of herself for perhaps the fifty first time that evening, and then walking out the door, she closed it behind her.