Windows have always been a part of my cubicle life. There was one behind me while I was in OOW. It overlooked a huge tree. I even have had a few simian visitors. Then came FCB. There was a window seat which we all looked forward to grab. This window overlooked the army grounds. Unfortunately it remained occupied till I left. Then there was one at DDB. In fact there were two. The first one belonged to the writer whose seat I had occupied while moving in. Then came the window that overlooked the Al Khuwair roundabout. These windows were never opened for the sole reason that the weather outside was hostile. Now for the latest window in my life. Its the O2 window. This one overlooks a park and a banyan tree. My visitors include a squirrel, a crow, parrots and a few mynahs.
I have to write. Those were the words that escaped the dying man's lips. He was found lying unconscious near a mountain of blank paper. His autopsy revealed over exhaustion as the reason. But what did he want to write so badly that it killed him, no one knows. The task was designated to the junior cop who was part of the investigation team. Let's call him Namura. So here we are with Namura in a room with the mountain of blank paper. He is awed as to why should there be so many papers near a dying man. He picks a sheet on the top. He studies it. It's as blank as blank papers can be. No pencil or pen has violated its virgin whiteness. Namura thinks of the white bed sheets back home. He is tired. All he wants is to crash on his bed. He feels angry about the whole situation. Here I am, staring at a blank piece of paper, wondering why someone who wanted to write so badly didn't write a single word, while the whole world is sleeping on their comfy beds. He wanted to tear the ...
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