Doused flame..

     It danced and flared glowing away in the dark.
     It exhaled warmth and made the cold corners light up

     It promised to shine for a limitless while
     The tinge of gold hemming the heart of blue

     With radiance and gleam, it rose.
     With gentle wind and drizzle, it fluttered.
 
     It played along ..with the dark, radiance and the cold
   
    A glow before the cease.
    The light coaxes to leave the dark.. black.
    Fluttered before the end.
    Smoke before the douse,
    Scent left the air scarred.
 

   

   

   
   
   

 

...Of age and ashes

    She woke up as the pendulum struck 6 in the morning.It was a daily ritual..ever since she entered the verandah of the house 50 years back..Except now she didn't have any purpose to get up so early.Even the beam of the morning Sun glistened idly, with shapeless, seemingly massless specks floating around, with no guided steering.

She mulled over the similarity of her life to the floating particles.Both the entities seemed to have no direction.Even in the light.

     With age come wisdom and respect. With wisdom come transcendent noesis and peace.All of which is accompanied by constant palpating desolation and an enduring need for someone to just be there to see you through.Through the good times when you wished time would cease to exist and through the difficult times when you hold on to every possibility that conveys of time flowing.Sometimes even healing.

    The layer of  faded yellow paint peeling off from the walls sometimes had strange resemblance with the worldly things.Or was it her imagination? It engaged her slow mind for a while before moving on to the mighty almirah placed against one of the walls.It brought back the memories of her late husband.
The ceaseless disputes that arose from the bed every morning and ended in the bed every night.The comforting silence in the room while he read his newspaper and she talked about the naughty things their grandson did whilst the day lasted and the worries that pounded her mind whilst the sleeplessness lasted. It didn't matter how much he listened to her.All that mattered was the manner in which he 'hummed' after her pauses.It gave her the strength to go on.
 
        She thought of beautiful moments as a couple when they had each other.. everything seemed within reach.In the lives.In the minds. All strength came crashing down when she was left without his company.
The light of the day seemed dimmer,the life seemed longer and purpose of living evanesced.

      Lightly her eyes followed the door which seemed like the only getaway from the memories which knotted her to this room and she decided to walk through the door to draw in the sunshine into her mind.. Memories made her feel weak and overpowered her heap of sanity that came with age..She called for her daughter to help her get out from the bed..

     She stood up with a support.. trying to push back the memories that floated around her.Hoping that one day..the room would stop oozing out the memories of sweet nothings and let her rest.

    (  ....With age come wrinkles of dependence, tears of helplessness, specks of forlornness and eyes full of dejection..  )

The quest of love..

   

                                                                                             

       She trudged along the winding staircase.She ran her fingers on the old charm tiles with peacocks embedded below the balustrade as she climbed along the steps carefully.

Steps were narrow.Her eyes admired the intricate work.It resembled her life. You'd have to look closely to understand its flow.Or its make.

It was an old building.The enchanting glass work windows glistened bright- prussian blue, vermillion red, lemon yellow and transcending green which lit up against the sun during the day and 

The colourful light made the entire stairway look entrancing.It was one of the reasons she married him,to live in the old world charm building made of wood.. and adorned with beautiful artwork,apart from the fact that her parents wanted her to marry him as he was a  'man who looked wealthy and full of values.'

     Also because she didn't have any opinion or judgement against him.Infact,she didn't build opinions against anyone..She knew it is not the person..but the circumstances that makes a man what he is...So she believed she could live with him..in the old building..situated in a small town far way from the crowd..yet far away from desertion..somewhere in between the two worlds..

    She cooked for two..which was seldom consumed by two.She attired for his attention..he hardly ever looked.She waited long nights..he would rarely come back home..She smelt of jasmine and sandalwood.He smelt of liquor and betrayal.

   She longed for sharing the bed  in somebody's arms..for the lock of eyes that is indulged in to express the unstated desires.. folds of bedsheet to convey the story of a passionate night..for a rumpled jasmine garland that now sits still in her wavy hair..wafting away the fragrance that titillates no one..but her. She palpated the absence of a man in the house in her heart..

     

     She was like a rock..didn't need anything to sustain on..but longed the company of the blades of grass that would sprout out from below the rock only to add some green in the dull grey.

    

    She still sits by the window pane waiting for him to arrive..and allow the flowers of jasmine do its work..while she does hers..to await her love.

P.S. I don't know why I write about women.I guess its cause they are beautiful souls inside..So many emotions..such unstated expressions.. 

    

                                                                                             

Casting away the ugliness..

   She placed a red bindi on her forehead and looked into the mirror.Intricately designed,the mirror had cracks spanning in various directions.It was smudged with persistent spot-like marks which more or less covered the mirror half way.She chose it because it was that way. As it was a mirror in which she could see only half her face. The half she liked looking at.

  A woman in her 30's.Long,dark,wavy hair flowed from her mane and reached her waist slightly brushing against it while she moved about doing her daily chores. She liked the feel. Because there was hardly anything except her own feel she had ever experienced in her lifetime.Her mother weaved her a long braid when she was young and told her beautiful tales as she went about the task. However her memories faded with time.What doesn't? Everything is meant to be volatile. Love.Family.Trust.Life..

 She was a playful child. Like all girls her age,she dreamt of a prince who would fall in love with her,talk through the gazing eyes and look for her amongst the stars in the night sky.Thus she had dreams. Dreams big and small.However nothing makes the dreams shatter like a resounding laugh of mockery of the fellow mates when they know your innermost desires. She was laughed at. For dreaming so.How can she? they asked unbelievably.She had a face which was wrinkled into innumerable folds due to a corrective surgery after she was victimized in a fire when she was a toddler. Which common man let alone a prince would want to gaze into her eyes however soulful they were?

  So she lived casted away in a room of loneliness with dreams.Dreams were shattered but not quite gone.No man ever teased her or playfully pulled her long braid. No man ever thought about her the way every girl dreams for.No man took any interest in the twinkle of her trinket or looked into her gazing eyes lined with kohl.Other women cried about broken relationships,some cried about how disgusting men are but she cried for the presence of a soul to not look at her face and turn away.She wanted someone to look at her beyond the ugly folds of destiny of which she was unfortunately made part of. There came days when she gave in to the nights of loneliness and wept out her heart's desire to find some solace from her ill fate.

 Others never understand you.Only you can understand what your heart desires.She gave away social life and started living her life her way.She began to cherish the other half of her face she liked looking at.She looks beautiful everyday.In the mirror.In her mind.She realised no man will ever see the beauty of the other side of her face..as they are all stuck up on the wrong side.

 Slowly rising from the dressing table she put aside the mirror. She was beautiful today. The half mirror reflected her radiant face.She found the half damaged mirror beautiful. Only she can understand the pain of what it means to be halfway where you dreamed to be.Her hair brushing against her waist and giving her the pleasure of being touched.Touched and loved.By herself.


xxx