I know it every morning, when I wake up before the sun does. I say it to myself as I win over my alarm clock. I know it while I walk to work. I know it while I wait for my cup of cappuccino. I know it while I reply to one mail after another. I recall it while the coin trickles down the vending machine.
I see it in so many eyes. I feel it within.
This is the story... of neon lights and lonely streets.
The entire lane was laid with fallen flowers. Crushed, desolate and crowded together.
I loved those flowers, in petals of white and pink. Or may be I loved it so much because I can still remember the crisp sound of our shy footsteps on them. While the white of the petals shone bright on his face, and the pink - on my cheeks we walked that very path, every evening of every spring.
I also remember that ‘certain’ period, when I was far from young and innocent. But I loved the game of pretext. I lived like a kid. Screamed into the sky… walked backwards… whispered in his ears – half lies and full truth.
Not to forget, the stories we made pointing to our lean shadows on the long winding road. How I blushed at the shadows inching closer… How I grew out of the girl I no longer was into a woman I so longed to be. So many secrets, so many more images…!
.......of mere flowers, shadows and a love that never was.
The lane is still laid with fallen flowers, I hear......Crushed, desolate and wet with tears.
They say, you can tell from the person’s eye if he/she is lying or not. What do I tell from this one? Read on.
Promises have always been on the list of all things with faint belief. More often than not, they just serve as some fancy seasoning on top of a not so good dish. When life remains simple, and thoughts stagnate atop more thoughts, there is little to do and the brain enjoys the inertness around – you can surely bet there is a rude awakening that lies ahead. This is one such episode, a very recent one at that.
I was at the local school, doing some routine blind reading classes. I usually handle science for class 3 but this time it was spoken English for Aditya and Dharini. I went through their lessons to brief myself about what has been covered in the past and I realized that Aditya had an incomplete homework. When asked ‘why?’ all he said was that he was sorry.
Pissed as I was, I was bent upon getting the reason out. Having asked him around 10 times already, I gave up. I took a moment’s deep breath. Let out all the heat and told Aditya (gripping him firmly by his wrist) “Promise, that you will finish it by next week!”
Aditya kept silent.
I asked him again, much louder. “DO YOU HEAR ME? PROMISE THAT YOU WILL FINISH THE HOMEWORK BY NEXT WEEK!”
He kept silent again. I had given up a second time by then.
Just as I began to loosen my grip around his arm, and was going to let him go – he held mine. Looked faintly in my direction…. Blinked a couple of times with uneasiness and then with a sort of conviction I haven’t seen in even physically able people – he said to me
“Why do you want a promise when I am telling you the truth? Does honesty require re-enforcement? I will finish it. Please trust me. “
Its just a short and simple equation, this thing that we call life. Isn’t it? Endless nights after countless mornings, all I do is walk around and observe. I tend to believe am the only one observing. But am being watched too. By who? or Why? Doesn’t really matter anymore. In a land of strangers, we are all alone together. The people I see, the eyes I meet, the voice I hear, the smiles that console; are not necessarily from people I’ve known for long. It just comes from the ones I see everyday. Most times I don’t even know their names. But we wait together for a common cause. At the bus stop. At the hotel counter. At ATMs. At a million other places.
It’s a comforting experience. The familiar face, and the expected smile.
Familiar Strangers.
