Tani

A veneer of malice clings to her face, with incorporeal coercion she tries to contort her face to emulate a deep demure smile, cells of her face in constant quandary awaiting being designated to a certain emotion.

Inclemency of the weather was clearly reflected in his eyes, as the wind blew rambunctiously and trees swung jocundly, frivolous phalanx of dust moved in incomprehensible circles. He was silently waiting for a speck of dust to ravage his apathy feigning eyes so that he could transfer the weight of those eclectic emotions that were brewing in his chest onto the viscous wind. He could not comprehend her musings as they were standing 10 meters apart ,her back was towards him, Facing the bus station.

Is he standing there with fear in his eyes and fervour in his gait, Trying To weave his sentiments into a comprehendible sentence And efficiently navigate it through the voracious wind, Or is he standing there impatiently stifling his Visceral desires, scouring his eyes in search of a surreal anomaly or a tangible aberration somewhere so as to obtund the intensity of her presence, Or is he simply rearing pleasure from the fact that he can observe the quotidian activities of his immediate surroundings microscopically without having to glean any prudent or glibe inference.

Has he left ? Did he leave because the cauldron of emotions memories sensation had transpired into an arduous Labyrinth, Was it the violent wind that made him leave or was it the silent pain crawling through his skin.

He was a sloth who detested change, he was living, no he was existing on daily basis, taking one day at a time, existing barely without rhyme or reason, aimlessly ambling through life. Until the enhanced form of change i.e transformation had knocked on his door, he had resisted which in scientific terms is referred to as inertia.

She was loquacious, lascivious, detested stability. She lived inside a house whose precarious walls were composed of ecstacy, she seldom left her house as she knew difficulties and realities were lined up outside to confront her, and she had no doubt that in this war between reality and denial who would persevere. She laughed a lot as it is a known fact that its difficult for difficulties to navigate their way through soaring laughter, she slept a lot too as when we sleep we are in a semiconscious state now the difficulties could infiltrate dreams but they wont be as effective in eliciting a response, as compared to when we are conscious, when difficulty can materialize into panic, but in between these two states when she was suffering from sobriety difficulties, realities and their collective outcome regret haunted her.

Was it the sense of disembodiment from materialistic things of a particular place that had materialized into a void in her chest and placed a weight on her throat which was impending the flow of words, or was it the pain of once again being lonely and not alone midst beauty, midst treachery, midst mockery, midst ecstacy, the pain which could be gulped down with cheap alcohol, or could be ejected orally or through the nostrils in the form of smoke, or was it the explicit fear of his absence that was making her quiver.

He derived sustenance from the halo of alacrity she carried around towards ubiquitous activities, at the risk of being quixotic he mentally played a scene from the movie hummingbird where jason statham says to the nun that we have got enough in here ( pointing to a bag full of cash) to get us away for good, but the nun refuses, and he says that I was alive for a summer and now I wont exist in your absence. He would delve into himself and fervently scour every nook and cranny of this devalued vessel housing insentient objects performing redundant activities, for a sentence larded with the truth, outlined with melancholia dipped in reverie dried with the winters stinging wind ,sprayed with vernal bloom and delivered in a tone which would be pregnant with temerity, as he silently percolates in the violent wind, his acquired negativity slowly transpires into self doubt and scepticism which curtails the process of arranging words into meaningful sentences, he says to himself would the wind do me the favour of ensconcing my spiel so as to prevent its defilement from inconsequential spicules of matter, the wind is saturated with facets of numerous sentences, words uttered to no one in particular, words uttered to oneself, words leading to conversations, words ending conversations, and how would the wind prevent these words from pervading my spiel. He says nothing and silence prevails.

Daunting rays of sun slinked through the dilapidated window and gently caressed his decrepit face, as he opened his eyes a tear rolled down onto the soiled sheet, he glared at ceiling silently demanding from it a reason to lift his arthritic body up from the soiled sheet. To carry out his ablutions and to get dressed he would have to go through a series of intricate movements in a well defined order so as to obtund pain and discomfort, he intently observes himself in the mirror under youthful radiance of the sun, he carefully moves his fingers through time wrought lines of his face and ferociously removes a flake from his dried skin, he slowly walks with a leather bound notebook in his left hand and a ballpoint pen in his right breast pocket, each step inflicting an iota of sharp pain hence contortion of the face, he looks at his far right and sees his younger self carrying lilly's in his arms and a subtle radiance emanating from his face which is generally achieved in a love triumph.

On this day 32 years ago she had returned, he could never forget that moment, she had released him from her embrace, with dubious tears in her eyes, intense desperation in her crackling voice, intermittent sobs she had said “ I searched for myself in the puddles of water, but they were repelled by my countenance, they were dancing with the wind, I looked into the elevator mirror under semi lucid light and I immediately realized that I was disfigured, it wasn’t apparent but it was pernicious, it was as if the outer most layer of my skin had putrefied and was falling of, it carried with itself all the sensations, emotions that I had felt through you, you yourself were now being scraped off of me and were now dissolved in the sterile elevator air, the cloak of warmth that had ensconced me in your presence was now dissolved, my frail nerves were now exposed and I could feel everything that the sterile air carried anxiety, desperation, melancholia, anger, boredom, sadness, helplessness, pain, grief, emptiness, hopelessness, death, they were like concentrated burst of electricity moving through me, no matter where I went the air around me was profound with every facet of emotion that I had piously tried to block, and the eclectic layer of heavy clothing did not dampen the torture, when my body finally became numb, there was a lingering sense of loss, like the presence of a phantom limb, at that point I knew that I had lost you forever, I was free to go back to my previous normal life ( which was quiet abnormal to be honest ) and I don’t want to go back “.

In the graveyard he settled down on the wet grass adjacent to her grave, opened his notebook, he started creating her portrait first in his mind’s eye and then on the lifeless paper, hoping to instill life into it and in himself.