Black White and Grey

It was raining. It had rained that day as well. Four feet by six, too small pronounced the architect biting down hard on his slim toothpick. Never mind she has shrugged off, ‘It’ll be for storage’ and they had moved on to more important decisions.
A tiny room banished to suffer the ignominy of neglect for more than a decade she mused carefully tying a scarf around a severe bun. The sheer quantity of things that had accumulated took her breath away. There, pushed against the wall stood his first cricket bat. It had cost enough and he had begged her at age 7 to not throw it away. Even after his Papa has promised to buy him a ‘better’ one she thought smiling. On the left sat a metal trunk full of saris her mother has thoughtfully chosen, each one hand picked to anticipate multiple functions at her in-laws, paranoid about looking ‘small’.
Most had been worn once and then folded carefully for those suitable moments to present themselves. With effortless ease she had given up the hassle of her badly tied sari for the immeasurably more convenient salwaar-kurta. Each year, only making her resolve stronger and that metal case had gotten buried deeper under the bulk of yet more unwanted stuff. Things she now needed to give away she decided, giving the trunk one firm push out of the small door. It opened up a room of possibilities she realized surveying the brick floor with dust eating at its every corner. More and more things formed a pile outside the door as the maids giggled helplessly at the sight of their Memsahib struggling with cobwebs and firmly refusing any help. Dust mops, jhaadus, wet cloths and buckets of water were all sacrificed to that room. The rain splattering on the trees outside made for comforting background music as she scrubbed away at those bricks. Each battle won with the dust added to her sense of accomplishment, the like she hadn’t felt for years.
Inches away from complete exhaustion she finally looked up and found what she had forgotten existed, a tiny window near the top of the room. She stretched out her hands and pushed it open to breathe in the first intoxicating whiff of that rich metal smell mingled with fresh rain. She balanced herself on tip toe and her eyes met the world outside as light began to filter into the once dark room. She smiled to herself and knew in her heart that the architect wasn’t right. The room wasn’t too small at four feet by six; it was in fact just right.

My-Real-Post-Script---- Deeply indebted to Sh who took the picture, around which this story is spun. Here's hoping we all get that tiny room, sometime.