An attempt at creativity

There was a crazy litany in her head…sounds and images creating a synaesthesia that made it impossible for her to concentrate on what the instructor said. Words were a mumble and the classroom a mere blur. She had travelled miles in her thoughts – too far for her own good. Teachers in school often complained that despite her being a more than average student, she never paid attention in class. She found the butterfly or the new blossoming flower more interesting. Life and nature had always intrigued her.

She was in search of something – the undefined. For years now she was striving to know who she was and what her mission in life was. A home, a car, husband, babies – not quite. She craved for more. It had been twenty five years and she was still wondering what it was. Friends and family dismissed her thoughts as immaturity, blabber of a confused mind and more considerate ones heard her alright and then whispered to one another - “philosophical jargon”.

She loved her solitude as much as she hated it. For in her loneliness she discovered her vulnerability. Life had taught her many a lesson but she never could find a definitive answer to the whimsicalities of the human mind. In her chosen moments of solitude she would try to debate with herself and always the socially conscious self would triumph with “I told you so”. But she was not content. Of all thoughts that piqued her, the one that daunted her most was ‘love’. Love was more enigmatic to her than death perhaps. It was intense, dark and treacherous.

Yet, love was also refreshing like the first drops of rain on your cheek. It made your soul blush with the colour of the twilight. It was as intoxicating as the smell of the wet soil that lingered on. It made your eyes sparkle like the dazzling dew drops on a wintry morning. To her, love was a spectrum of colours and life, the prism. Each hue intact in its uniqueness and each spectacular in its own right. It had taken her a quarter of a century to decide what she aspired for – she wanted to be drenched with the rich colours of love.

Two years she had waited. In silence. Everyone wondered why the emotionally vulnerable girl had not shed a tear, never complained only bore it with a patient shrug. All who knew her were assured that she was brittle and she stunned them all. There were things that mattered and things that did not. To her this did not matter – at least not any more. The small diary was lost, the bracelet he gave her had broken – as if she commanded them, and they obeyed. From a dream, to a figure, to an image, to a name and then to nothing -- all traces of him vanished and his image receded into oblivion more smoothly than perhaps day melts into night.

Two years and the phone never rang. Till one day, when all spirited she received the call. The teaming house met with a hushed silence. She thought he was history – but no! His voice was unmistakably familiar and her heart skipped a beat. All the pent up questions and anxiety choked her and defiant tears smeared her cheeks as she shamelessly stood victim to the banter of a dead love. It was crueler now than ever before and she shuddered to see the sympathetic faces and hear the murmurs that crowned her the mistress of dejection. How even in his absence he had controlled her emotions and toyed with her unconscious self. Love was dark and treacherous – true. It had tricked her into believing that she was beyond it. She could fathom nothing except the sheer disgrace of being taunted by a man. She felt dizzy and her limbs grew weak when she heard him say “Is it so difficult to forgive me?” Indeed! He had walked off for another woman and fancy the man’s guts to make his new found love call her to ask “how good he was”…but she had forgiven him. Did she forget? She never would.

She smiled. He was groveling in the dust, lying as low as possible – all his dignity and ego dripping of infidelity. “Did you do anything for which I should forgive you?” she asked. Silence ensued and a triumphant sparkle lit up her eyes. Love was intense – it was not bound by the pettiness of human fickleness – it was self redeeming.

Her thoughts trailed off…The classroom came alive and she jolted back to reality. Her memories were laid to rest like all those dreams that she ever dared to weave; but only to rise from their ashes when she would carelessly tread the unknown realms of her mind.