My window, a tiny window of my tiny room-it was my window to Nature. Through my window, I could see a mango tree, the royal mango tree, mad and dancing as though intoxicated. When it danced its leaves produced a sound, better than any music; it was that sound that made me happy, that made me dream of love, of bliss. Its branches moved slowly as though a drunkard was standing unaware of the surrounding world. This tree, yes, this very mango tree had witnessed so many changes in my life, in my moods. When I wept and felt sad, this tree wept with me, consoled me. It told me that I must stand and bear all seasons of life just as it itself was doing. And when I was happy, when my soul danced with ecstasy, this tree was there to laugh and play with me. The wild breeze shook every atom of my tree and I was carried away into a world of dreams. I saw innumerable dreams, rich and warm with the burning passion of love, of sorrow, of rapture. I dreamt of God, of bliss, of death, of life after death but all this while this tree remained with me; it was my passage to my dreams; I reached the plain of fantasy through this tree. If understood me so well. Every leaf of it responded to my thoughts. When I was afraid on a lonely, scary, black night, this tree became a dark ghost for me and I drew the curtain and avoided its sight and brushed aside its idea. But when morning came, when everything looked clear and bright once again, my tree laughed at me, ridiculed me for my foolish fears.
 
And this window of mine presented the view of another tree, a eucalyptus tree but it was behind the mango tree and so it did not come near me. It touched me only when the wind and the rains shook it and then it looked so enchanted. My window also showed me a patch of sky-a blue patch of calm, serene sky. It was beautiful but its beauty was essentially sad. The sky could not dance as the trees did and so it became sad. It also wanted to sing and dance and enjoy and live like the trees but it had to bear the heavens on its shoulders. It could not come down and lie with me. It was like that child whose body does the home work within the house but whose spirit desperately wants to flow out and play with children outside. But the sky was not unmindful of me. It sent its kisses to me. It helped me most when I was sad. In my moments of pain and melancholy, it told me, "Why you be so sad? Look at me. If I only brood on my sorrows, well, then I can't blow as the winds blow, I can't roar as the clouds roar. Sobriety and seriousness are my fate and yet, you see, I'm happy. Why I'm happy, because, you are with me, you look up to me, you talk to me. Your eyes are my strength; this pair of shining, broad, bulging eyes gives me courage and hope. Think of me-if you will be sad what will happen to me; I'll die," And so it soothed me.
 
I loved me window most when it rained. These rains, you see, are my dearest, sweetest, my most precious friends. Each drop of rain gives me a new ray of joy and hope. I'd not have survived but for these rains. I laughed and wished and waited for these rains every second, every minute, every day, week and month....Then my window at last showed mercy on me and the skies changed colors and it roared and rained. The thunders are so impressive, so convincing; the lightening, so life-giving. It rained. The drops fell on ground. I failed to sustain and contain myself and my soul flew out from my window and joined the rains. I lost myself in the rains. I became the rains.
 
While watching the rains, one should not look upward or downward. Rains look most thrilling when watched in the middle. I looked straight through my window and the rains looked a perpetual phenomenon. It looked like a raining painting. Drops came and fell and then new drops came but it made no difference to my vision. I imagined drops were not coming down but were going up. It was pleasant to watch rains. I saw many rains, many upward, downward movements from my window. Then came dusk and then night and everything outside became a still painting and it terrified me and I drew my curtains.
 
But whenever I dared to look out of my window in the night, sometimes Mrs. Moon obliged me with her gracious visits. Though I couldn’t offer her tea and biscuits, I offered Mrs. Moon my smiles and she accepted them smilingly. I complained of her rare visits and she said that she would try to come more frequently. Then once or twice she did come frequently but after that forgot me for many days, even for a fortnight. And when she came back, I shut my window to show my anger. But she called so softly, whispered so nicely that I had to open my window again. Then she told me about her obligations elsewhere. She told me that she had to go there and there and there. Then I said that so I was no special person for her and she would treat me just as she would treat others. Then she said that no, I was the rarest of them all and that I was her favorite but like all other nice things, she was also bound in some ways. And when I told her that it was alright and that she could come as and when possible and I will be happy. So my days and nights passed off nicely.
 
Some four or five stars came almost every night to visit me through my window. Ah, stars looked so funny as though puppets sent to entertain me. I laughed when I saw them. They resented that why I did not take them seriously and I laughed more. The more irritated and teased they were of my casual treatment, the more I laughed. Those stars, so small, so cute-they looked just funny when they tried to be serious. Actually, starts should only laugh. They need not bother about the serious affairs of life. But those stars of mine were so stupid-they tried to be sober because they knew that will that make me laugh.
 
I think I have told you all about the wonders of my small window. My window, my dear window presented such a fine gallery of friends. I never felt companionless because of my window. Now, a wall is raised in front of my window. A new house is being built there. All my friends, my moon, my tree, my stars all are leaving me for ever. I'll cry. Why people build houses to make me lonely and separate me from my only companions, my only hope, my rains. They could have built their house somewhere else-only if they would have spared my window! My friends, my only true friends on earth have gone. It took me so many years to develop intimacy with my friends and just in one stroke, it is all gone. Now I weep but all in vain; mo one comes to console me, soothe me, love me. When I go out, I can't identify and catch my stars, there are so many. I can't point out my tree. My moon is no longer my moon; it is Mrs. Moon visiting all, paying me no extra attention, not talking to me. What has happened to her? Why doesn’t she love me any more? I'll weep. Break the wall. Give me my friends back. How will live? Oh, can't you give me my friends back?