There is an old building over the hills, I call it my home. If you want to see me, then hop over the bushes and skid through the gravel, spare the snails along the way, if it rains, don’t usher yourself under the trees, take your time to drench. Smile at the kids playing under the huge banana leaves, ask them the way to the only bookstore in the small town. They might look suspicious with just their pajama and a cotton vest with little drops of water falling from their glowing faces. Believe them for that is your only choice.
When it starts to drizzle, take out your camera and capture the dew-drops on my favourite lilies on the way. Maybe look back quite often, there will be some vehicles that might pass you with a swish, they will the bicycles from the nearby station. By the way, if you happen to meet the post man with his customary brown uniform and brown hat, heaving and blabbering about the state of his parcel. Follow him. He is coming to me.
The kids with you might be a bit clingy, you are new to the place but they are adorable with hearts so pure, while on your way, if you find a bicycle leaned to the barricade, spare not a thought, that is mine and the mansion that you see is of the Mayor’s. Well, the cycle is yours until you reach me but you might prefer to walk the countryside, not all roads are paved. Kiss the kids a good-bye, they have reached their home, the lane where all the houses are alike is their gift from the Mayor. No, they wouldn’t just leave, they will follow you until you reach me. I have something to give them, definitely not the chocolates.
Ask them my name and they will show you the path, to the bookstore up the hill, the only bookstore in the small town of Farma. Deny them your company and they will sulk for a while, so come anyway. Pick the stones sabotaging the path, those are meant for you to trip. Now spare the kids for they seem to hate you, come anyway with them.
When you reach the roads that is paved only for the few, you will instantly know which. THey are planted with the white lilies, a beautiful curve and a stoney path uphill, you might loose your breath but the walk is worth the landscape.
The clouds are so near that you can touch their fluffy cottons, the fog might blind you but everything is worth it. The petrichor and the chirps make you feel alive while the slimey snails makes you want to jump. Dare not step on any of them, they are precious. Finally when you inhale the divine air and sink into the lush greens sprawled around you, step left to the fountain of sparkling waters, there under the shade of the huge banyan tree you will find a old rusty structure, made of red tiles and wet bricks, green mosses growing all over it, a heaven on earth I call it.
There is no door, you can come in, don’t gasp at the collection of my books, they range from all the genres of literature and for all spanning ages. At one corner, facing to the east, if you see a beautiful girl rummaging through the books for her lost locket, speak to her, she is not me but the Mayor’s daughter. At the far end, there is a huge chair towering my height and I sit in there, knees close to my heart, with glasses that is big for my face. I read my favorite novel, you would have never heard of the book though. Well that’s me. I won’t get up to welcome you, I am stranded for a lifetime, you gape there standing while I distribute the story books to the kids. Yes that’s me, in the white sweat shirt and a blue jeans on the black wheelchair.
Come over to hand me that recommendation letter, I will see if you can be my librarian. And I call this my home, I’m the second daughter of the Mayor of the small town Farma, a devout reader