Mooney nights and soft drowsy sea, they have something to
do with each other. I can’t fancy about a sensual blend which can beat this
mix. And it was one such canvas, with my arms around her, and those wavy locks
falling over my shoulder, on which her head stay rested. The sea did its part
to add on to the moment by tickling our feet with it long cold aged fingers.
This was one posture that was always there in our life post card and hours like
this made us talk.
“honey, what’s life??...and what’s death??...have you ever thought about it?” the ebony shaded brine made me ask this. I was expecting a charming reply as night sky and cold wind tend to rub out a philosopher somewhere from my kiddy dearie. She swept her gaze on to me and I could feel the vibes of excitement in her. She kept thinking as a below par answer might fail to impress me.
“Mmm…I would say, it’s something like a curtain, I mean death” that was the first line of her answer and then she looked on to my puzzled eyeballs with a smile.She carried on with the explanation “death is a curtain,a semi transparent one. The view across one direction is clogged. Once you pass it, u can always look back and see the death related drama out there. You can keep the account book for tears, like who cried and who smiled. It’s like enjoying your farewell and licking down every moment of it as a token of appreciation for your existence over the past years. And then you realize, it was for this scene that you toiled all your life. The worst challenge would be to take in the fact that, you no longer belong to the scene that you are watching…that’s it”!!. She gave out that proud look and to be frank, I WAS IMPRESSED BIG TIME!!
The sharp penetrative aroma of the agarbattis made me open
my eyes, and it pulled me across years to the present scene. I was there, stranded
at the center of the bowl. All I get from the surrounding is a kind of numbness,
and an irritating stillness. I looked around, and the sight got plugged to the star of the show, lying inert at the
center, in that peculiar attire, all ready to stage the most meaningful show of her life. I still see that smile on
her lip, something that made my jaw goes loose over the years.
There was a time in my life when I used to compare a girl to
a cigar. And believe that the desire for it always had an expiry point, until
it’s is smoked to ashes and fume rolls. Then “she” happened to me and I fagged
this for a life time and failed to finish it. I used to get a new flavor with
every puff. And now as she move across the curtains, the psychic addict stays wilted on his knees.
I can feel the curtain, the world beyond the curtain. I can
see her at the other side, on a red giant couch, scribbling something on a small
book. At times trying her best to shield her smile behind her lips and then that that
periodic mischievous stare at me,a tint of pride somewhere in that looks.. I
turned back and walked out of the room, across the winds and thoughts, never
tried to give another look.I see memories playing around and over me. My wet eyes gave way to a smile of realization.
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