Fighter

She was smiling as I chased her around.Her legs carried her puny frame fast enough, but not fast enough for me to catch up. Yet, I slowed down to let her feel as though she was unreachable. But, when I heard her falling short of breath, all it took was two strides to catch her by her waist and haul her up on my shoulder.

The sounds of our laughter rang in my ears, even after she lay in the bed with the wires running around her failing body.

“You are a fighter, honey”, I told her every single day. So, to make her believe it, we played our little game every evening in the hospital garden. Her eyes came alive like the bloom of the flowers even though her life seemed to wane away into the horizon like the setting sun.

‘Only that the sun rises again’, I had inwardly despaired!

“I am a fighter”, she said when she climbed back into the hospital bed. She believed in me, more than I did.

The sounds of my sobs and the feel of my tears on my cheeks as I saw her each night, seated by the hospital bed, stayed with me, even after all these long years.

Today, I am on a similar bed reminiscing about the years gone by.

“You are a fighter” says a voice. Barely a whisper!

I half open my eyes and I see her in her white frock with red polka dots, a red hairband holding back her black hair and her eight year old teeth sparkling through her bright smile. But, hasn't it been thirty years since then ?

I am brought out of my reverie when I feel a drop of tear on my cheek. Tears that, are not mine.

I open my eyes wide enough to see my daughter standing . Her eyes adorned with tears, but it fills me up with strength.

At the age of eight she taught me to believe in the spirit of fighting and today, as a mother of a eight year old, she reminds me to fight for myself.

“I am a fighter”, I say out loud, with great belief while my granddaughter claps happily.

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The longest wait

She wished she could use words to describe, to explain in words what had led to the series of events, of how she faltered. But, would words ever do justice?

She waited, of what seemed to be her longest wait, with every rustle outside, stopping her midway while she pranced to and fro the length of the tiny living room of their one bedroom flat.

She had always known that she was wrong, but she had never pondered; never let guilt taint her heart, never let regret spill into her soul drop by drop. The horrific feeling spread out in her; while every drop like blood spread out on a white garment, slowly engulfing every layer, every thread of her soul.

When had she slipped into the abyss of darkness, despite being careful to jump over each crack each and every time, she never knew ! She hadn't ever realized that she had slipped until, she saw him peering down upon her, from up above. Not a single word was uttered, but she could hear everything that he would say that evening.
So now, she waited, of what seemed her longest wait.

The clock ticked and so did her heart with fear. Tear drops lined by the hem of her eyes, wanting to spill over, to find release; but, she wouldn't let them. She found herself beyond pity, beyond the realm of the comfort of her own tears. Some paths you take in life are like that, you would want even your tears, to desert you.

The most horrific of thoughts crossed her mind with obscene deaths of suicide. Only that, if it happened, she would be a murderer. She hoped that strength had been by his side after he had seen her with another man. She wished for him to be mad, only at her, and not at himself. More than anything she wished, for him to come back home, no matter in what state. She was prepared to face drunken murderous rage.

She waited, of what seemed to be her longest wait, until, she heard the doorbell. Hoping it was him, she opened the door.

He walked past her, placing groceries on the table, never once glancing at her.

Ever since, there had never been a day gone by, without her apologizing, without him accusing her, without them discussing it- only through their eyes.

Words, had evaporated completely but each day she waited, of what seemed to be her longest wait,even after she was buried beneath the earth. But in reality she had buried herself long ago, beneath guilt and the longest wait.

Image by Santiano Caruso. Link here 

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Compassion ?

There were cold stares, no doubt and each pair of eyes radiated as much hatred as anybody could muster. The sea of hostile eyes was not something she had not expected. What took her by surprise, was that single pair of greenish brown eyes of a stranger. They seemed to be giving a knowing look, a look of apathy and compassion, almost.

The scene didn't change over the next few months. Every hearing was followed by the same looks of animosity. She didn't care as long as she got to see that single pair of eyes that emanated of compassion. She hadn't expected and somehow it kept her going.

 She drew several pairs of eyes on the walls when she felt she couldn't take it any more  Every time she recalled those eyes, it filled her with renewed vigor. No, vigor was not the right word. Vigor to her had meant running in the fields chasing the dandelions by the sunlight. Those days were long gone, trapped in a past she could hardly recollect. Let’s just say the memory of those eyes just filled her with a sense of sanity.

Weird as it might sound, she did not recall the face that contained those eyes. She did not care how the person looked - if those eyes had seen the worldly ways or if they were yet to discover the dark clouds. All she waited was for that fraction of a moment when she could lock her eyes with those eyes when her reasons seemed to come back to her and assure her that she had done everything for the best.

The final hearing was done. Justice that everyone clamored for was served. While being led out, she searched the crowd for that pair of eyes, for one last look, that she could seal forever in her memory, hold it close to her heart and sketch it in every layer of her mind. Maybe she would take one extra second to see the face, one last time to convey her gratitude for the strength she had gained.

“.. and justice has been served. After the speedy trial,The assassin of the revered man of this society is now sentenced for life. May he finally rest in peace!  With cameraman…”

She was frantically searching for those eyes. "One last time. . ", she thought !

Somehow, she felt that they were watching her from somewhere. They did not exhibit compassion this time. They were narrowed as the trigger of the long distance rifle was pulled.

A piercing pain shot in her forehead. She searched for the greenish brown eyes.  But, she never saw them again. She wasn't sure of her reasons any more. And nor of her sanity !

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Winds of change

She smiled as she passed. Towards her, my heart leapt.

To strings, she was never attached. To her free spirit, I surrendered.

Blinded as I was, by her charm that the winds of change, I never noticed. 

She left but, her essence lingered. Memories of her caresses remained. 

The path she took was where my gaze was fixated. 

By the coaxing breeze, I remained untouched. Bitter, I grew; Cold, I stood.

The winds whistled by, seasons passed; but nothing thawed my icy heart.

By a sudden rustling one morning, I was moved. It wasn't her; but the touch - it seemed so familiar.

Yet again, strings there were none, but by her presence, I didn't want to be altered. A lesson, hadn't I already learnt?

But with time, she persisted, never leaving me, caught in the web of my branches, embracing me tightly even in the harshest of the tempests, this torn kite, she stayed, forever, by my side.

Image Courtesy:flickrhive

***

Sometimes, all that we need is to wait for the change that the winds bring.

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Every afternoon..

I sipped tea while she sipped coffee as the music of rain pouring down upon the asbestos sheeted roof filled the room.

She looked at the rain drops clinging onto the glass pane while I looked at the tear drops clinging onto her cheek.

Her heart wished to see the beautiful patterns of the drops of rain on the glass pane while my heart wished to see her flawless cheek dotted by drops of her tears which, she never wiped away.

She looked beautiful especially, when she smiled. But, she looked amazingly beautiful when she cried. 

The tear drops, like pearls added beauty to the long eyelashes that cradled her big black eyes.

Each drop that fell from her eyes was a unique gem containing her essence in their purest form. For, tears are pure, purer than the fake smiles.

Each afternoon, she would come by, walking across my lawn, stumbling against pots, apologizing and grinning sheepishly. The grin reminded me of my childhood. It was the same grin flashed by a kid who had bullied me.

I hated it.

So each afternoon, when she came by, I narrated stories-tearjerkers. I made her cry-out of happiness! And when, I couldn’t tolerate her smiles, I made her cry-out of sadness. But, she came every afternoon without fail. A routine, formed for life.

I just made her cry every single afternoon when she visited a wheelchair confine that I am, without ever reminding her of my disability, without ever reminding her that she was the one who ran her car over me in drunken rage !

Image : A pic clicked by me

***

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Captivated - 55 Fiction #4

She looked at me with sad eyes even though her lips were half smiling.

The same look which had captivated me for years, which had me tethered here. 

But now, I wanted to leave, had to.

I stepped out of the house, while my unfinished painting of her, turned to embers along with her memories.

Image courtesy : A travelogue in http://convassor.info

***

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Tattered !

Surrounded she was by sisters and brothers of her kind. 

Yet, her heart yearned for a company, albeit of a different kind.

Bored of the same old conversations with her siblings, she sighed loudly “I wish for someone afar, who would tell me the tales of a different life, of a different existence.”

Wishes and dreams, they say come true eventually.  And one day, when she heard the stranger approach her slowly, she knew her dreams had come true.

His initial apprehension ebbed away with her willing submission.

She heard, all that she wanted. Charmed she was, by his ways. His caresses, she enjoyed.

Over the time, she swirled into the breeze, whiffs of mistrust, if there were any.

He was so very gently, so very tender that she did not even notice that he had started devouring her essence of existence. Scars, she oversaw and holes of abuse, she neglected.

"What is a bit of hurt when you love someone truly", she thought.

Warnings, she dint pay heed to. And one fine day, all that was left of her were just threads of tattered dreams for him to walk over.

****

Inspiration clearly were from the pics clicked by SmartAlec. Thank you for clicking wonderful pictures that almost always tell a story which inspire deep thoughts and make me pen down a few lines from time to time :). Keep clicking !

Even though the story seems to be of a leaf and snail, the occurrence of dreams being ripped off in real life is not uncommon; though in real life, grit and strength to hang in there shall help one recover and emerge stronger to live dreams in spite of the hurt. Hail the undying spirit of human will !

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November rain

Coiled threads of memories intertwine with jumbled emotions just like my fingers on his hair.

Nothing has changed over the years. He still sleeps like a smiling angel.

Wasn’t it just yesterday when I set my eyes on him? Love at first sight?
No, I was already in love even before he made his dramatic entry into my life.

I have always loved November rains for the calmness they exude in spite of the heavy torrents. Wasn't it on one such night that God bestowed this gift?

The rumble of the thunder pierces my swirling thoughts. I walk to the window and stretch out my hand to catch the first few drops of November rain.

It sure is a symbol of new beginning.
Or is it a perfect ending to the relationship we share?

I curse myself for such thoughts. How can I be so doubtful, so selfish?
This relationship can never be tainted. The oozing drops of any other color, even if it is red, will just beautify it more.

But hadn’t Vani told me how things changed?
I feel torn. I am not sure any more.

I watch as the rain pours down in torrents just like my tears.

I don’t see him walk up stealthily to me. It is only after he holds my hand that I realize his presence next to me. He clasps my hand tightly and looks at me.

“Just like old times”, he says as he smiles.

We both stretch our hands into the rain together, just like the hundreds of times before. Time seems to have flown by in a jiffy.

But, he is still like the November rain- gentle, tender and loving.

“Nothing will change about us, even if I fly half away across the globe. I promise, Mom”, he says.

****

P.S : Wrote this in a jiffy and published it even though it did not turn out how I wanted it to :/

Picture : Link

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Invitation - The consequence : Guest Entry

Read  Invitation  The surrender

The consequence

The seductress turned around in search of another victim.

The dismissal of the dried maple leaf wasn't a matter to mourn. It had begun its journey with the lake, not sure if the lake was a friend or an enemy. She swirled in her own notion to celebrate the victory, yet had considered to have enough time before the hunt. 

He was strong; she was afraid not only of him but also of his shadow. His existence reminded her the meaning of ‘Battle of Survival’. He was powerful, strong and could not afford to care for her.

She ran hither and thither. She pleaded the maple for place to hide. Maple denied sheltering the carrier of his son’s death angel. She had no place to fight, she, now, knew the feeling called surrender. She capitulated.

She burned into vapors; He did not even realize her agony. His aim was to travel from east to west without disturbing the cycle of Mother Nature. He concentrated on his job as he shone brightly. As she rose higher and higher, she watched him furiously. She couldn’t be tranquil like the leaf. He did not bother about her trepidations. 

“Rest in peace” said the Sun as the day was about to turn dark.

She walked straight into the lake in form of rain drops. She got that she wasn’t created to be alive to play around; she was existed to die to spend rest of eternity with the leaf that had surrender to her existence.

***

This was written by an angel called Snehal, for my previous blogpost. Snehal, thank you for writing this wonderful piece for me darling :)

Apart from being an amazing writer and someone who I consider one of the best writers I've come across, she's a total sweetheart of a person ! You can find her on blogspot here : $nehal

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Invitation

My name she whispers, ever so softly.

Her fingers, they caress me.

Calling me, she has been, forever.

Her invite, it tempts me.

Seduction is her game. I thought I had seen through it and had gone past all of it, but, I think I shall fall prey soon. She’s a free spirit who taunts my bondage. She‘s a wily witch who promises to show me the pleasures of a free run. Of her capabilities, I have no doubts. For, she has the ability to take me to places I have never been to. But, I had never considered it worthy. I loved my values. I loved belonging to someone. But, now, when I am old and wrinkled, I have doubts if I am wanted here any longer.

“Do not resist me”, she says in her honey voice.

I look back at the life I spent, of the memories bygone. All my youth I have watched her sway around me, trying to lure me. It’s true that I flirted with her, swayed to a few tunes too; but, I had scoffed, even laughed at her dejected face when I rejected the offer to join her.

“One day, you will, just like the others”, she had smirked at me.

My end is near. And I knew the time has come, to let go off myself, to accept her invitation. It is better to drink the beauty of her companionship, one last time, rather than to see an abrupt end.

She smiled victoriously for she had attracted yet another victim.

Gently, she caressed me as I held her waist, swirling sweet tango. Breaking my bond with my abode, I took off with her, for a final dance, for a rendezvous, quivering because of the fierce passion she exhibited.

Accepting her invitation was worth the sights and the pleasures she had to offer. Contentment, I felt.

“Rest in peace”, the autumn breeze whispered as she blew the dried maple leaf to the nearby lake.

***

Inspiration : The photo below posted by a colleague Gopalakrishna Hariharan in SLR Bulletin Board of my company.

Thank you for permitting me to share it :)

Plus the dancing peepal leaves that I saw near the IIIT junction. (Being caught in traffic sometimes has advantages :D)

PS : This post has a guest entry contributed by an angel which I shall share in the next post !

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