मैं उसे जानता हूँ, फिर भी मैं उसे नहीं जानता.....

With the wind blowing through the feeble quip in the glass, she continued to flip through the primal sides of her grandmother's   diary. Every time she crossed it, it's whiff sent her about for a toss. Although manners had taught her to impart people their share of privacy considering she was a private person herself, she couldn't refrain from opening it. There was always a stillness that surrounded her each time she fondled it. Leathery, tattered, tanned, it's yellowed pages compelled her to consume each word into her soul like they meant something to her. Slowly unleashing each page of the diary, like unlocking a chest full of jewels filled Maya with excitement. Encountering each day of her grandmother's, she laughed because for Maya her grandmother was an enigma, who had all the time for adventures in her life. Until one page caught her attention. Emptying the contents of the page into her mind, Maya tried emptying them into her little sphere of belief too, but she failed. 

14/08/1941

I can never thank Wazir enough for accepting my child. I owe my dignity to him. I will have to spend the rest of my life repaying mt debt and forgetting Ajay. 

It shook Maya. The ink of the last few words had been smeared, like someone had cried while writing this. She knew her grandmother, her Walda had cried. Something had happened. THIS had happened that turned Walda into the cold woman the world knew her to be. Meaning which, her Baba was never her Baba. She flipped further to find more, but there was nothing more. It told her that Walda gave up living somewhere then. She had to know the truth. She wanted  to know the truth. She instantly reached out for her phone.

*rings*

"Maya, meri bacchi, kaisi hai tu?" The Pakistani touch to his voice always held a warmth. 

"Baba, I found Walda's diary. We need to talk, Baba."

To be continued...

Bugged, and bored,
Ak.