Jay Rana on Clubhouse

Bio

Writer of things | Climber of trees | Podcast Enthusiast | Patron Saint of Baader–Meinhof Experiencers
I just realised Clubhouse Bio has more character limit so here it goes...

A decade ago when we went to the northern hills, we stayed in a hotel called Mountain Nest. Located in the city outskirts, the two-storey residence was actually a huge bungalow run by a family of just two people, a mother and her daughter. The young girl was barely nine or ten years old but did her best to help her mother run the business. I specifically remember how she loved animals. Animals of all kinds. For the five days we stayed there, we saw her petting numerous kittens, labradors, pomeranians, and huskies.

I also caught her sneaking in a squirrel behind the reception desk and feed it groundnuts from the kitchen. On the same eve, as I stood by the window of our room on the first floor, that opened to the hills painted in shades of blue and green, I saw her in the garden holding a glass jar and quietly walking on her toes. She was after the fireflies.

The next morning as she served us soup, she pulled the edge of my shirt just like they pulled the train horn in earlier days, twice with an interval of a second. When I looked at her, she had her palms cupped like an oyster. As she slowly opened it, her faint eyebrows coupled with the rise of her wrist, till she revealed her treasure; a snail she found in the flower pot the same morning, slowly crawling across the lines of her tender palm. I smiled and patted her on the head before she ran away on another adventure.

The day we left, I picked a postcard from the reception and wrote to myself with the address of my home, just to see if it reaches before I do.

I had completely forgotten about the innocent race until recently, when the post office near my house shut down, and they found this decade-old undelivered postcard with hills painted on one side and faded ink on the other.