She was applying an eye liner which made her eyes look alive. She paused for a second and looked at her reflection before applying gloss over her lips. She did that reflexively and unconsciously, the movements ingrained in her as surely as the sun rose over east. She looked at herself in the mirror with no expression on her face and her sardonic face looked back. She put on her shoes and walked out of the house without looking back. She walked long into the light, just drifting, breathing in the gas fumes of the traffic on the streets, her eyes burning in the smoke. She slowed her walk to a stroll and looked from one side to another, gazed at buildings and frowned at the honks.
She entered a park and walked on and on and finally sat on a bench overlooking a lake. She sat there and gazed farther into the light.
Someone came to sit beside her, but she did not turn her eyes to see who it was.
“It’s a beautiful day,” the stranger said. She did not turn her head. After a few minutes the stranger got up and walked away. She got up and walked away too.
She walked back on to the street, towards the direction of her house, her face a mask of serenity. The morning’s intensity was not present in them, yet she looked peaceful and settled.
Someone stopped her and asked, “How is everything?”
“It is as it is”, she responded, sounding somber. He stared at her and went his way. She sighed. “It is not his fault”, she whispered, seemingly to herself. She walked on.
“You look good”, said someone else. She looked like she could eat him alive and responded, “Yeah? So?”, challenge open in her voice.
“Sorry”, he said, his smile fading.
She sighed, “Sorry, I was preoccupied with imaginary hoodlums.”
He walked away. She sighed again.
“It is not his fault”, she whispered, again and continued to walk.
She walked into the house.
“There you are. Where have you been? Why did you walk out like that, without telling anyone? I was sick with worry and your mother...”, the lady saying that looked exasperated.
She looked at the lady and said, "Sorry aunty", her face a mask carved out of stone. She walked into a room and saw a figure asleep. Her face softened and she moved closer to the bed. “I am sorry mom, I had to. This is driving me insane”, she whispered.
Her face was in agony, looking at her mother, when she noticed her aunt beside her.
“You know she would have been worried if she was awake", her aunt said and gave her a hug. She did not hug back. Her hands were fists and her face was mask of stone again. "I will come back in the morning. Take care of her. I have placed food on the table, have it”, she heard her aunt say. She nodded. Her aunt gave her a quick pat on her head, as one would pat a small puppy and left the house.
She walked into the kitchen, opened the covered dish and looked into it and closed her eyes. Slight wetness on her cheeks seemed to annoy her as she furiously wiped the wetness and closed the lid. She took her bath and came back and ate the food. Then she went and sat next to her mother. She looked at her face lovingly and tenderly, her hand stroking her face with gentle pats. And suddenly, the tenderness swept away and her eyes were no longer sardonic, but harsh and filled with anger and she moved away from her mother, looking at her hands with wonder and staring at the shivering hands.
She walked out of the room and sat on the couch in the hallway, seeing the sleeping figure on the bed and just staring into the space. She grabbed a paper from the table next to her and started writing furiously.
Her eyes a cesspool of tears and she wrote, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Then she paused and looked down. She sighed and crumpled the paper and threw it out of the window onto the street. She sat quietly, visibly shaken and fell asleep on the couch.
Someone picked out the paper from the road and read it out loud:
I cannot. I cannot be angry. I cannot. It’s no one’s fault. It IS no one’s fault. I hate holding onto my life, holding for something, anything, a hope. I fear that the time has come, to let go. Yet, I fear that I cannot. I have to focus on something, anything. I have to get out and get away, from this madness. I cannot admit to this weakness that is growing inside of me. I have to be strong. I have to see the storm through. I need a life.
That someone looked up and shouted: “Well, get a life!” and moved on.
She entered a park and walked on and on and finally sat on a bench overlooking a lake. She sat there and gazed farther into the light.
Someone came to sit beside her, but she did not turn her eyes to see who it was.
“It’s a beautiful day,” the stranger said. She did not turn her head. After a few minutes the stranger got up and walked away. She got up and walked away too.
She walked back on to the street, towards the direction of her house, her face a mask of serenity. The morning’s intensity was not present in them, yet she looked peaceful and settled.
Someone stopped her and asked, “How is everything?”
“It is as it is”, she responded, sounding somber. He stared at her and went his way. She sighed. “It is not his fault”, she whispered, seemingly to herself. She walked on.
“You look good”, said someone else. She looked like she could eat him alive and responded, “Yeah? So?”, challenge open in her voice.
“Sorry”, he said, his smile fading.
She sighed, “Sorry, I was preoccupied with imaginary hoodlums.”
He walked away. She sighed again.
“It is not his fault”, she whispered, again and continued to walk.
She walked into the house.
“There you are. Where have you been? Why did you walk out like that, without telling anyone? I was sick with worry and your mother...”, the lady saying that looked exasperated.
She looked at the lady and said, "Sorry aunty", her face a mask carved out of stone. She walked into a room and saw a figure asleep. Her face softened and she moved closer to the bed. “I am sorry mom, I had to. This is driving me insane”, she whispered.
Her face was in agony, looking at her mother, when she noticed her aunt beside her.
“You know she would have been worried if she was awake", her aunt said and gave her a hug. She did not hug back. Her hands were fists and her face was mask of stone again. "I will come back in the morning. Take care of her. I have placed food on the table, have it”, she heard her aunt say. She nodded. Her aunt gave her a quick pat on her head, as one would pat a small puppy and left the house.
She walked into the kitchen, opened the covered dish and looked into it and closed her eyes. Slight wetness on her cheeks seemed to annoy her as she furiously wiped the wetness and closed the lid. She took her bath and came back and ate the food. Then she went and sat next to her mother. She looked at her face lovingly and tenderly, her hand stroking her face with gentle pats. And suddenly, the tenderness swept away and her eyes were no longer sardonic, but harsh and filled with anger and she moved away from her mother, looking at her hands with wonder and staring at the shivering hands.
She walked out of the room and sat on the couch in the hallway, seeing the sleeping figure on the bed and just staring into the space. She grabbed a paper from the table next to her and started writing furiously.
Her eyes a cesspool of tears and she wrote, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Then she paused and looked down. She sighed and crumpled the paper and threw it out of the window onto the street. She sat quietly, visibly shaken and fell asleep on the couch.
Someone picked out the paper from the road and read it out loud:
I cannot. I cannot be angry. I cannot. It’s no one’s fault. It IS no one’s fault. I hate holding onto my life, holding for something, anything, a hope. I fear that the time has come, to let go. Yet, I fear that I cannot. I have to focus on something, anything. I have to get out and get away, from this madness. I cannot admit to this weakness that is growing inside of me. I have to be strong. I have to see the storm through. I need a life.
That someone looked up and shouted: “Well, get a life!” and moved on.
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