evening, a.i.w.c. working women's hostel

the lightning of an approaching shower begins to spark and scatter thru the pink-orange sky. in this dusky darkening day warden-ma’am pascal ma’am is sitting out on the bench in front of the houses taking in the air, as the wind sweeps the fallen deep pink flowers before it out from under their tree on to the asphalt in front of me. three girls in knee-length dresses, age ten tops, are jumping up and down before pascal-ma’am and singing a folk song, dancing off-beat off-coordination arms everywhere and feet shaky as pascal-ma’am nods on and a grey tabby cat lets out a yawn from where he sits lazily in his corner under the tree.

i settle my things back into my room with a thud, i make an attempt to neaten up, fail, sit back down at my desk to study, trying to bend my mind into some kind of compliance, to push myself thru these pages of mein versus meine, mujhe, mere, lists of verbs tenses and constructions. my brain i think to myself has been cooked by a long day under the sun, it is no use, i will have to face the tutor’s wrath (and even worse, my own shame) tomorrow. just as i go to lay my copy down i hear a rustle followed by a roar followed by the running of water.

i go to my window. all people have vanished, the pink the orange has vanished into black, rain is coming down in the near-darkness, and the grey tabby is hiding mournfully under the benches. the flowers are being swept away into the gutters. scorching day has settled into rainy night. i stand outside and breath in and out, i stick my hands out from under the shelter i have taken to feel the rain. and then (good girl) i go inside wash my face and go to open up my book again. gaya, gayi, gaye, gayin, khaya, khayi, khaye, khayin, piya, piyi... the rain pattering away outside.