‘I want to see a million stars Zayed,’ Ruhi said. Zayed smiled knowing what she meant. It took him back to his remote village at the edge of the backwaters which got a road and electricity about two decades ago.
He was twelve when electricity had finally arrived. Before that, the kerosene-lamps were the only source of light. There were three of them set up in a line to cover the entire verandah. Then they lighted the lamps, said their evening prayers and studied in the yellow warm light. After that, it was playtime. With so many siblings and cousins at home, games and fights were the norm.
But it was after dinner when his father would round up the children to tell a story of some God or brave men and women, he would lie on the grass staring at the ink black sky strewn with a million stars . With no light pollution, they twinkled like diamonds. The city-bred Ruhi had never seen it. And now, that was her last wish.
Zayed drove Ruhi to his village. It was one of the last things she saw before she died. She lay there in peace looking at the stars.
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Hot cup of Kaapi 