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Ah! The fine tunes of a violin. She sat and practiced, tweaking and re-tweaking each note many a times; but not getting it right. Maybe it was the lack of rosin and she rubbed the resin on the bow. Her delicate arms would run and rub, but never doing as good a job as her master. When he did it, a white smoke almost engulfed the violin bow. She took the bow and started practicing again; checking with her notes again and again. But still the perfection she desired for was as elusive as before.

She was disheartened. Practicing and more practicing and even more practicing had not smoothened out her notes, especially the high ones. She looked up, distress on her brow; for she felt as if she were ramming her favorite instrument on the floor and then stamping it.

Her hair tied up in a bun, high on her head; had come loose. She put down her violin and bow. She kept them carefully in the box and let her hair down. She went out into the garden; barefoot of course. She wanted to feel the breeze in her hair; feel the crunch of gravel under her feet; feel the sweet smell of roses and jasmine tickle her nose. She wanted to escape her frustration and this was her way. She saw a rose in full bloom. She knelt down to take a closer look; but her attention drifted to a spider close by; busy building its web.

Meticulously it went on and around; its yarn shimmering in the sun. The playful breeze at times would rock the web, making the spider’s job hard; but it did need the web. He forged on completing the job. She smelt the rose and then smiled thoughtfully.

She walked on and a sparrow flew overhead. The mango tree was in full bloom and even a few tender mangoes hung from it. They beckoned her. She jumped, trying to pluck one; but she couldn’t reach them. She then climbed up the tree, to one of the lower branches. She then plucked one with satisfaction. She sat on the branch with her legs down, swinging and swaying while she munched on the mango. She killed a mosquito which dared to sit on her arm, dared it in broad daylight. A very daring parasite that got killed… a devilish smirk played at her lips.

She listened to the songbirds as they chirped to one another and saw the squirrels run up and down the trees. She was getting a clear view from that branch; and she enjoyed it in the shade and the breeze. She even saw a snake slither into the thickets. She reminded herself to warn her parents. Ah! A perfect tender mango on a perfectly lively day. She however did miss the salt crystals which increased the taste many times over. But it was still worth the climb. She jumped off the tree with a content grin that matched the summer sun in its brilliance. She ran into the house; cool and welcoming. The mud tiles glistened for they’d just been cleaned. She smelt the aroma drifting from the kitchen. Her mother was busy and her stomach gave a growl. But she had something more important in her mind than food. She ran into her room and almost flung open her violin box.

Outside in the garden, the sun shone, the birds chirped, the flowers swayed in the breeze and every organism stayed mesmerized as the sounds of a violin pure in melody and spirit danced on in the air…

Hmmm...

She looked at herself in the mirror. She opened her mouth and saw her first wisdom tooth about to spring up from its rosy soft bed. She closed her mouth. She saw a louse climb up a loose strand of her hair like a spider in its web. She was disgusted with herself. Quickly she caught and squashed it between her fingernails; like how she used to when she was a kid.

She had grown up; she had lost her baby fat but she still had that spring in her step; that twinkle in her eye; the spirit in her heart. Wild and unbroken; innocent.

A louse infestation. She sighed. She slept.

The next day ushered in. She woke up.

She sat in the garden-basking in the sun; on the soil, cross-legged. She loved that. She loved the nature. She loved looking at her shadow, playing with it. She would make all sorts of movements with her hand and would watch her shadow mimic her every move.

She then got caught in the turmoil of thoughts through her brain. She never wanted to scratch her head. Her mom promised to comb her hair… She had stubby fingers or so she said- square palms, it seemed. She looked at the scar at the bottom of her thumb. Shera had bitten her there. She started at the sound of the squirrel. She saw a kingfisher on a telephone cable. As she stood to get a closer look, it flew away. She sighed and searched for that squirrel; but it was no where to be found. She sat down again; the ants scurrying past, busy. She at times would create obstacles with her fingers for them, observing how each ant would react and overcome the obstacle. A green sparkly fly flew and sat on her thigh; before she could do anything- get a closer look or swat it off- it realized her thigh wasn’t a flower and flew off. She sighed again.

She started scribbling in the soil; digging in with her fingers; drawing, writing, whatever came into her mind. That’s when her Shera ran up to her; sniffing, wanting to play. He ran behind his own tail to try get her attention. She threw a stone for him, to run after. He came back for more within seconds, dropping the spit covered stone next to her. Panting, his tongue long and pink hung out. She however was too engrossed in unleashing her creative skills that she didn’t notice. He nudged and licked her. She growled and he backed down; but he came back and nipped at her. Surrendering, she threw stones for him and then went back to scribbling. Shera sat next to her, realizing he wouldn’t get to play anymore.

She touched her left arm. It was hot, slightly red. That’s when her mother called out. She ran; sprinting followed by Shera; like the wind and the leaves…. And the ants kept scurrying past where she’d sat…now no longer obstructed.