Holaaa!
I know, I know It'' been a LONG time that something was posted up here. Partly because of being busy with school, partly because of some bizzare theories that keeps humming in my mind and partly because I am a nutcase. Well, life's been good this far. Mornings are pleasant, with friends by your side, you are bound with strings of laughter and memories. Afternoons go bland and poetic. Nights, well nights, I find intriguing and still trying to figure what it wants for me. I completed reading four books, 'Far from the maddening crowd'- Thomas Hardy ( It's a Hardy, man! what more can I say?), 'Six yards of silk'- Mallika Krishnamoorthy( plain storyline with beautiful and vivid descriptions), 'One Day'-David Nicholls( Delight for the romantic idiots), 'Sons & Lovers'- D.H Lawrence ( Hard to believe.). I've been doing my portfolio and there are couple of write-ups in them that I am particularly fond of. Also, there's Psychology. A period where I marry unicorns with pheonix'es. Where I think about dating a cocker-spaniel, give creepy looks to my equally creepy chapati-faced teacher, where my imagination meets the wilderness of the amazons. And my mind wanders off. Sometimes these fantasies keep going on and sometimes I am productive and write poetry and stories.
So, that's what I am posting right now. A story that I wrote a couple of classes back.
Here it goes.
~July Despised~
Maya sat up from the rocking chair. Not her's. Her Grandad's. A beautiful rosewood piece whose armrests had traces of Madhubani paintings engraved on it. Her ears finding solace in the rich, velvety-soft voices of Agnetha and Anni singing Mamma Mia. 'The antonyms of life!' she thought and chuckled to herself. The black-rimmed spectacles with high-powered bifocal lenses were still kept on the study, without any hindrance. And her Grandpa's room still smelled of him. A stale stench of sandalwood and furniture, which she didn't find appealing anymore. She walked up to change the 'abba' vinyl playing in the radiogram. But instead she just stopped, right in the middle. Her white face which seemed like a corpse now. And in that pale yellow room with now muted lights, she imagined her Bhilai man dancing with her. Whose presence still lingered in their old little house.
It was an astonishing discovery to find him pale, like that. His cheeks, had lost their glow and grace. He sat there motionless still fast asleep in his beloved rocking chair. Eyes closed with spectacles still covering them, and a copy of 'The Godfather' tightly clutched around his pot-bellied tummy. It was Maya, who found him like that. Not her parents."Dadu, get up It's getting late. I've told you earlier too, right? you HAVE to STOP reading after midnight. Get Up!" she yelled, rolling up the curtains, opening the windows.
But he didn't get up. His last breath was ensnared within that four-walled maze.
He had died.
And took away with him a piece of Maya's heart, which she was desperately trying to find.
And there she was standing right in the middle of her Dadu's room. Trying to reason with herself.
Now there'd be no one who would take her hand right into his and calm her down. No one, with whom she could debate Frost and Wordsworth with. No one would gaze into her eyes and story-tell her. Now, who would ask her to go Shimla just because that was a place that helped him get through tough times and he believed, that it would cure her Granddaughter's problems too. There was no one now, with whom she could talk about the beauty of chinese food. He won't see her off to college nor would he smile, his deep-dimpled smile. He won't give her talks about the Frenchmen and Jacobian's nor would he sigh and boast about his daily meetings with his friends- the chain-smokers of the Calcutta Coffee House. There won't be a prickly hand wrapped around her's when she walked on her terrace, spotting the constellations. She had to do that all by herself now.
She was alone.
A few months after July, she could hardly talk. Let alone eat and sleep. That'd take up all her energy. She just sat on the bamboo 'jhula' hugging her Gran's spectacles. It seemed as if, her body got accustomed it. To not eating or drinking much. Grapes and water was the only thing she consumed. Her collar bones tearing apart her skin, her shoulder blades now seemed as bird's wings flapping vigourously whenever she moved her limbs. And her cheek had sunken. She had cut her short right at the day of the funeral. And buried them in their garden and planted a Neem sapling on it.
She did that for her Bhilai man. Her Grandpa. Her cherished pal.
And as these thoughts kept flushing her mind right in the middle of her buddy's room. She walked closer towards the oddly-coloured ochre almirah. Opened it and found a box. A big blue-coloured box. She opened it hurriedly and all of a sudden, her eyes which hadn't been moist for the past 9 months, were stinging with pearl-sized tear drops. The eyes that had forgotten the feel of kohl were suddenly filled with tears which now justified there presence.
In that box lay a beautiful, purple-crimson windchime. The same windchime she had lusted for when she last went shopping with him. It had flowers, wines, birds and several other charms embodied on the silver strings. And tiny little bells that made a lovely sound when anyone touched them. "How I wished I had one of those!" she had said with a glint of sadness. Gramps had just smiled and they walked forward, hand in hand. With nothing much to talk about.
He had bought that for her. Maybe for her birthday. Maybe he just knew, she needed the warmth of his presence and his smell dangling even after he was gone.
Taking her gift, to her bedroom she hung it right near the window, facing the balcony. And everytime it made a sound, a smile that had abandoned her would return to grace her face. She ran her fingers over her oversized tee, brushed her hair and drifted away thinking that she was not alone after all. Tonight she would hop on to her terrace and talk to the brightest star that shined under the blankets of the thick skies and would quietly whisper, " You're still here. Aren't you?"
~The end~
(As I sit writing this post, Sia sings 'I go to sleep' to me)
