Okay, it is a Sunday again and here I am at work again with very little to do. I have been trying to open the sajha website since forever but seems like there is an error in the site.L So with nothing to do, I thought of writing a story about my days in India but to no avail. My mind seems to be running blank, and it simply denies letting me go through the files where my memories are stored. For some unknown reason, it tells me that I can?t go back to my reverie and enjoy the moments that are deeply cherished. Hmm.. so with nothing to do, I am all blank and am realizing that when one has nothing to do how useless one feels. Let me therefore write a fiction story, which I don?t think I am really good at. But let me try anyway. What about a story in Nepal, a girl whose family is really strict and living in the 19th century world? That should work out quite fine I guess. >>>>>>> She woke up in the morning with a start. The alarm was ringing beside her and it was almost 6:00 am. Had she slept any longer, her mother would come storming into the room with a look of disapproval in her eyes. She was not a morning person and had realized that 12 years ago when she was a mere kid of 7 years old. She thinks about those times. Times when she thought that her life would be that of sleeping beauty. Though sleeping beauty had been asleep most her life but the king and queen had loved her immensely. That?s what she had really wanted. To be ba and amma?s little princess. Till the time she was 11, that?s how she had felt-- like a little princess. But there had been an abrupt change. She would now compare herself to Cinderella. A girl who was named so because of the cinder that was always clinging to her. The cinder that was so hard to remove that she would seldom taste it in her lips. And there was prince charming, who had come one day and swept her off her feet. That always brought a smile to her face. When everything else dies, hope keeps one going and aiming of the bright side of life. And that?s how she took her life, a feeble beating of the heart who?s only inspiration and motivation was a tinge of hope that one day it would all change. She had no time to daydream or slip into a reverie that would last only for 15 minutes, before her mother would bring her back to the harsh reality. Her father had again come home drunk last night, but thankfully had not laid a finger on any of them. He was too drunk and for that. He had not even been able to drag the limp 57 kg of body to his bed. Amma had to forcefully drag him, by supporting him with the small body frame. She only had a height of 4?11? and weighed a mere 42 kg. But amma never complained. She felt the emptiness too, but she swallowed her sobs and dried her tears. Lalita got out of bed quickly and rushed to the bathroom. They had all the modern facilities, but the feeling of living in the ancient world sometimes choked her. Most of her friends would wear fancy jeans and skirts. Some were even daring enough to try the tops that people called ?strings?, which had not thing but a flimsy string at the shoulders barely holding the cloth to their chest. But as long as she could remember, she had never had the opportunity to wear anything but the kurta surwals that amma would handpick for her. They normally were nice colors as amma had a good choice, but went no where closer to the modern kurtas that the bollywood actresses wore to show off their slim body. Had anyone gone to Lalita?s cousins and friends and asked them about her figure, they would have given you a blank stare that would say it all. They had no idea of what you were talking about. Lalita and the talk of bodies and figures did not go together. Though she had a fabulous body with the curves at the right places, she had never had a chance to show it off. True that her best of best friends had seen her awkwardly try a pair of jeans and beautiful shirt clinging to her body, but it had come off before she had even put it on. She had been immensely self-conscious and the expression on her wide-eyed friends had given her the wrong impression. If she had known that they were shocked to see the beautiful figure behind the shield of items that were a good excuse for ?clothes? she would have been less self-conscious. Lalita was a statute of beauty, Venus would have been proud and envious of the picture she presented. As Lalita got out of the bathroom after shower, the heavens would have parted to give a tribute to the untouched beauty. Though only 5?2? she had the look of a goddess. Her long hair wet after the shower gleamed as the ray of morning light touched them. It was neither curly not straight, and yet could not be called wavy. It was what every girl would die for, yet Lalita never gave a second thought to it. Her skin was smooth and it seemed like she washed herself with milk everyday. Her olive complexion glowed and her light brown eyes twinkled as if they had stories of their own to tell. She needed no false make up to define her perfection, but she yearned for a hint of mascara on those lovely eyes.