SWING

Mrinalini though fascinated still,  she knew now  swings never would be what it used to be on the mango branches at childhood but can have something like that from ceiling hooks and cane basket ofcourse cushioned fitting to her age that she never told correct to anybody and never heard so even for her utter satisfaction that  determined not to remain so for long since family entropy started threatening being inflated in due course of time as she heard recently in native Bahagabata, time wounds and heals in cyclic way as if it has nothing else to do like her house keeping and cooking that have been following each other so long that her children thought it might go on endlessly and they left deleting this chasing game from their timelines that almost made a Y to her timeline while the two were taking stairs to world ahead through the gate she put and colored with cherry paints the best   of the market of her time. 

Mrinalini on swing is a chasm in present and her swinging is a lullaby of her dreams that neighbours in habit of lending years whisper of deliriums though such things have been at every house of the greying colony that hides its desperation on  grey feet trying self pathetically brisk in mornings  so much so that in evening cable operators scrupulously send balm adds to colony tv sets with such a rage  not only kids turns furious but also pharmacy shops complain to slow down to match with company supplies.

Mrilani has made her swinging unique for helping self. she closes her eyes and pushes the cane basket up and up; and soon falls asleep for pictures to project on her eye-lids preferably as those have turned enough white for good viewing. While going up and up backward, the cobwebs on route uses to disappear along with the big spider with its sticky hairy stalks that used to horrify her before. The route gets alive with foot steps and the walks become so fast that she sometimes desires to brush her shoulder to a few of previous choices. And then she chooses to swing forward, again up and up towards an orange and to find small flowers blooming forever in airy garden of angels who play hide and seek  like movie hero heroines on her wide large wall hanging tv that everyday makes stealthy effort to make living room noisy of her choice.  For some unwanted item songs creeping in her eye lids crack open to find Mithun standing with ginger tea to find swing, relatives and neighbours as usual remain the same!