Her Story
She stumbled upon an old diary yesterday. Going through the yellowed pages, she felt ashamed. She claims never to do anything for the sake of doing it.
Yet the diary. Reminding her of the scribblings that are there just for the sake of being scribbled. And she feels like the biggest hypocrite.
Funny how we can claim to be who we are not… Funny how sometimes we want something so much that we start believing lies about it…
She planted a lilly bulb yesterday. And then sat lovingly looking at the tilled soil. It has been turned. The seed in it breathing life, lightly, slowly. As she sits there and watches it, she is impatient to watch the first bids spring out. The wait is so tremendously painful that she has to try hard to keep her heart from breaking.
She just could not help looking out of the kitchen window everytime she was in there, to see if something sprang out from the ground.
And unbelievably, she drank almost 12 litres of water and 7 cups of coffee. Just to be in the kitchen.
Now she is sick. Coffee doesn’t suit her in excess.
She has been taught to respect people as they are. She has been taught to respect her own individuality. She accepts people as they are. She knows she is not perfect. But She finds a comfort in knowing that no one is.
He wants her to float in and out. Something that she despises. She once told him… she thinks he forgot. She is willing to forgive him. Even though he has not apologized.
Maybe is a word that she doesnt give much weight to. Nothing is quite ‘maybe’ in her life. If she doesn’t have her whole heart in it… she is not there. That is the only way she knows how to do it. She never asked him not to come back and rediscover her. She feels he should not ask her for things she would not do.
She can drive herself sick to see the bulbs blossom. That is who she is.
She has a very poor sense of directions. Yet she hates to be directed. She likes to get lost and find her own new way. The roads, ignored. The roads less travelled. Sometimes the regular ones. But she wants to be on her own because she is fiercely independent.
She doesnt mind being directed by being fooled into believing that that is what she wants.
But to be blatantly led, she refuses. She likes his moods, respects his wavering love and wishes that he would give an equal respect to her fervour.
Infinite patience is all she has. She was never looking for anything particular.
She once opened her doors in the himalayas and smiled to the clouds who had waited so patiently to meet her. To welcome her. She tried to shake hands with them. Like she was used to. And shy as they were, they turned back. Shying away. They would not be touched. They came to love her. But on their own terms. The more she tried to hold them, the further they went.
She understood in time and respected them. And you know what? They came to her bedroom the next morning. Woke her up by making love to her. Kissed her lips and engulfed her into their arms. They gave her their aura. And she took it willingly. For she was in their power for the while.
And she knew that that was what she wanted.
Years later… a castle of sand with the cream brown shells and a fairy tale buried in it… and she knew that that was it…
They are right. She will never stop. She will keep unravelling the mysteries of life. Just the way she will keep asking her questions…
That is the only way she knows how to live.
Hope you are listening. It’s sometimes the most obvious that we overlook.
Sometimes we get used to the screams so much that we forget to hear the whispers in the wind…
- Neha
The Clown says:
just found you today…. but found you…. liked the way you write….. might even come back…. smile.
May 20th, 2006 at 05:34 pm