He wanted to die. Yes, Die. How could he just let go? Forget her that easily? The reason he was alive all these days. The reason he opened his eyes every morning. The reason he felt safe.
He looked around at his surroundings, the world was moving along at its usual steady pace. He felt small, almost invisible and he knew; his pain was his alone. People could pity him, try sympathising and maybe make him feel better temporarily but, no one could truly say or do anything to make him find this sudden transition acceptable or normal. No, he did not want to grow up and deal with it. No, he did not want to do what was right. He just wanted his old life back where this was where he was meant to be. This was what he was best at. She was where he; his heart and his soul belonged.
Standing by a strawberry bush in that beautiful garden where his love for her had initially blossomed, he watched her. She stood at a distance quivering in the cold; looking at him in the same sensuous way she always did, moving gracefully beckoning him to her with dewy eyes.
He didn’t move, he didn’t take his eyes off her. He couldn’t; but at the same time he could not get himself to go to her either. He felt like a sinner. He had done her wrong. The promises, the soft whispers in her ears, those intimate moments, the conversations, growing up together, the long endless days spent in each other’s arms watching the rain. Those days of laying in the sun and the endless nights spent counting stars. And here he was today, wanting to say good bye. No, it wasn’t disregard nor was it the lack of admiration or respect. He didn’t know why or how; but, it had somehow reached a point where he had nothing to contribute or offer anymore.
He watched her all morning, those inviting eyes making him weak in the knees. He realised that he had an overdose of her; an overdose that was making him nauseous. He found himself reaching for support and holding on tight to a branch. He knew then, that he had to get away, knew it was time he stopped watching her. He knew that the only way to let go was to stop searching for an answer in those lustrous eyes.
Ignoring the tears he couldn’t control anymore he started to spin. Round and round, making sure he kept his eyes shut because one look at her and he would have lost the will to continue. Round and round. Round and round. Round and round.
Finally the little caterpillar stopped spinning and opened his eyes to observe his handiwork. He sat down in his cosy little cocoon and smiled, proud of what he had accomplished. He thought of the little green leaf he had left behind and he knew he had done the right thing. Because this was the circle called life and letting go was part of it.
Because only after finding the courage to let go of a leaf, can a caterpillar morph into a butterfly and chase flowers!
Friday, November 11, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A spinning tale
I watch her every day, so I reckon I know her quite well. But who’s to say what’s running in her mind. Not like she ever cares to share the circus of thoughts running in her head.
She just walked in, stormed in rather; her demeanour being very different from usual. On a normal day she usually bounces into the room excited or glides in absorbed in one of her books; too pre occupied to bother about the mess her brother has left behind.
Today she is doing neither. Today, she is staring at herself in the mirror like she is trying to size herself up for what she is about to do. She opens her cupboard; and is busy searching for something amongst its contents. Bang, push, clatter……………. I watch with baited regard as a box of pencils spills out, she curses; picks them up, throws them back inside, for the first time not bothering to arrange them in neatly or stare at them and smile for a while. She gets back to her noisy search and finally pulls out a file. An ordinary looking grey file. I wonder what its contents are, maybe a few papers, maybe some assignments. I noisily turn around to get a closer look. She lets out a weak sigh, flips it open and stares at her marks card. She runs her finger down her marks and halts her progress in between and smiles. But, this smile does not seem effortless; it doesn’t even reach her eyes; like there is a grimace hidden behind it somewhere in the layers of her face.
She slaps the files shut and sits on the floor. I watch her close her eyes in an almost meditative attempt, take a few deep breaths and her body seems to loosen up a little, the strain vanishes from her anxiety stricken face and she starts to relax.
I take another lazy turn without taking my eyes off her. My curiosity tinkered with by the unusual behaviour.
She clumsily rises and looks around, shaking her head on noticing the mess. She slips the file into her handbag and looks around the room again, in an almost melancholic; farewell bidding fashion. She lets out another sigh, an expression of confusion crosses her face, she shakes it off, straightens her shoulders, takes in a deep breath and leaves. I continue staring at the spot where she stood a few seconds ago, wondering if I should have enquired after her.
I wish I knew what was running in her mind. If only she would share that part of her with me.
The day goes by, as lazy as ever and the evening rolls in with the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the window. She should be back soon I remind myself, and as if on cue; she walks in. A bright wide smile on her face, she goes about with her usual tasks and then walks out humming a familiar tune.
I am left to ponder about how fascinating people can be and how true it was, that no matter how hard you try, you can never understand a woman.
I watch her comb her hair; and climb into bed. She isn’t reading today, my curiosity picks up again. I watch her cast aside her phone. Very very unusual. No calls? No texting?
I raise my eyes to the heavens, wondering how one person could go through and entire eternity worth of emotions in such a random flourish and not explode. I take another lazy turn and I suddenly realise that I am being watched. I look around and our eyes meet, for the first time in days. She looks at me like I might have the solution to whatever it is; that is bothering her.
Her phone rings; ruining our moment. She answers, suddenly chirpy again; the smile suggests she is enjoying the conversation, she laughs, I hear her wish the caller a good night. I find it hard to look away, instead I continue to pry. She returns the phone to the corner she had set it in, I continue watching her. She lifts her hand and stares down at her fingers; then her palm and I continue to observe, even in the dark. She looks at me again, wipes away a tear. Another one rolls down; she doesn’t bother with it this time. I wonder what’s behind the roller coaster of emotions she seems to be going through. Maybe, I should say something or maybe I should continue to not bother her.
I know; she knows I can witness her pain, but what can I possibly do? What do I know about people and their pain? I’m just a ceiling fan.
She just walked in, stormed in rather; her demeanour being very different from usual. On a normal day she usually bounces into the room excited or glides in absorbed in one of her books; too pre occupied to bother about the mess her brother has left behind.
Today she is doing neither. Today, she is staring at herself in the mirror like she is trying to size herself up for what she is about to do. She opens her cupboard; and is busy searching for something amongst its contents. Bang, push, clatter……………. I watch with baited regard as a box of pencils spills out, she curses; picks them up, throws them back inside, for the first time not bothering to arrange them in neatly or stare at them and smile for a while. She gets back to her noisy search and finally pulls out a file. An ordinary looking grey file. I wonder what its contents are, maybe a few papers, maybe some assignments. I noisily turn around to get a closer look. She lets out a weak sigh, flips it open and stares at her marks card. She runs her finger down her marks and halts her progress in between and smiles. But, this smile does not seem effortless; it doesn’t even reach her eyes; like there is a grimace hidden behind it somewhere in the layers of her face.
She slaps the files shut and sits on the floor. I watch her close her eyes in an almost meditative attempt, take a few deep breaths and her body seems to loosen up a little, the strain vanishes from her anxiety stricken face and she starts to relax.
I take another lazy turn without taking my eyes off her. My curiosity tinkered with by the unusual behaviour.
She clumsily rises and looks around, shaking her head on noticing the mess. She slips the file into her handbag and looks around the room again, in an almost melancholic; farewell bidding fashion. She lets out another sigh, an expression of confusion crosses her face, she shakes it off, straightens her shoulders, takes in a deep breath and leaves. I continue staring at the spot where she stood a few seconds ago, wondering if I should have enquired after her.
I wish I knew what was running in her mind. If only she would share that part of her with me.
The day goes by, as lazy as ever and the evening rolls in with the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the window. She should be back soon I remind myself, and as if on cue; she walks in. A bright wide smile on her face, she goes about with her usual tasks and then walks out humming a familiar tune.
I am left to ponder about how fascinating people can be and how true it was, that no matter how hard you try, you can never understand a woman.
I watch her comb her hair; and climb into bed. She isn’t reading today, my curiosity picks up again. I watch her cast aside her phone. Very very unusual. No calls? No texting?
I raise my eyes to the heavens, wondering how one person could go through and entire eternity worth of emotions in such a random flourish and not explode. I take another lazy turn and I suddenly realise that I am being watched. I look around and our eyes meet, for the first time in days. She looks at me like I might have the solution to whatever it is; that is bothering her.
Her phone rings; ruining our moment. She answers, suddenly chirpy again; the smile suggests she is enjoying the conversation, she laughs, I hear her wish the caller a good night. I find it hard to look away, instead I continue to pry. She returns the phone to the corner she had set it in, I continue watching her. She lifts her hand and stares down at her fingers; then her palm and I continue to observe, even in the dark. She looks at me again, wipes away a tear. Another one rolls down; she doesn’t bother with it this time. I wonder what’s behind the roller coaster of emotions she seems to be going through. Maybe, I should say something or maybe I should continue to not bother her.
I know; she knows I can witness her pain, but what can I possibly do? What do I know about people and their pain? I’m just a ceiling fan.
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