2 February 2012

That Evening I Waited.

Again, an article published on the Fountain Pen Guild website and something that I feel belongs here. About time I posted it. A real piece of nostalgia because it actually was written a year ago. And is about a time earlier than that.

That breeze kissed my cheeks gently.. waiting for you. The rectangular piece of garden. With a few roses and the little Jasmine tree right behind the swing. It was quite fragrant at midnight but in the late evening, it was just ordinary. The muddy part right next to it. The perpetual failure of a vegetable garden. The heat was still in the air. Hanging low.. dipping down to my feet and rising up slowly upto my neck. Drenching me in its powerful embrace. I felt drowsy. At peace even. Waiting for that pleasurable sound of the bike coming to a rest right next to the gate. Never too soon. Never too late. Just welcome. Every time. All the time.

Sliding my feet into the soil.. in, in it went. The bald piece of earth beneath the swing where a hundred kicks made it bare. Sad. Poor soil. Pushing my feet into it. My toes covered in dry brown dusty soil. Oh, it was warm. It was nice. Finding place under my toenails, will find a new home with the water that washes it away. Find solace. Companionship. Everyone needs someone. Just someone. Even to wash you away, take you to a different place. Not bad. Not good. Maybe just different. I got up and crumpling the dry withering grass under my feet.. trampling upon the earth.. found myself strolling aimlessly along the imagined little lanes and paths.. the singing tributaries of the dying afternoon sun. The heat hummed in my ears. Buzzed next to my brain.

My mind travelled along the yet unsunken treasures of a life yet unlived. Everything, yet undone. Uncalled for. Unseen.. unseeing. Simple and happy. I hopped on from the crinkly grass to the tarmac. Coarse and hard beneath my feet. So satisfying, specially after the ticklish feeling of the adorable grass. Go on go on. Pseudo smooth cement. Aah. Dust and leaves. Someone should clean you up. And burn you. Those burning people. My eyes fell on my white trousers. Oh now that’s dirty. So glad it doesn’t matter. Hands reach out to the gate. Iron and dust. Thin bars stretching all the way. Used to ride on this poor gate. Hah. Imagine doing it now. I still do. Old things always strong enough. I rest my arms on the gate and bury my head into the little niche made. Oh come on. Please. Quickly.

Feeling the gate creak and groan and then stepping out into the tarmac.. stings. Burying my hands intomy pockets and whistling some lose tune. I go on the road and turn back.. tracing my way back to the garden swing. Step by step, feeling by feeling. Sit on the swing for some while, leaning against one handle, hugging the chain, sighing. Poor child. Unlucky hour. The slow wait. Trundling down the boundaries on the garden, peering down at the shrubs and the little rose buds.. flicking at the overgrow, ripe fluttery roses. Petals falling of. Getting terribly sadistic at one and just leave a lone petal stuck to the centre. Dirty yellow and dark red. Smirking and moving on.

Stepping on the ancient tree trunk right in the middle. Little green shoots coming out from it. So cute. My eyes move up and the wonders never cease.. happiness never exhausts itself working for me. Grinning from ear to ear, jumpy and excited like a little kid. Holding my own hand, squeezing it gently and steadily.. oh God, the long wait. I plan to anchor down at the front gate and give my chin some rest on the corrugated iron.. eyes swimming over everything on level. Smelling the mustiness. One two three minutes. One two three. I feel footsteps next to me. Well, hello, stranger.

Polite unlatching and unhinging. Come ON. Hurried hand snatching and pulling and pushing. Go go go. Not inside. Not yet. Resisting, worn out sports shoes, followed by a pair of bare feet, pushing and shoving and then leading gently by the hand. Come on. Smiles – too knowing and sort of confused.

Those eyes. Pandora’s box of happiness. Feeling the grip tighten on my hand.. I have something to showyou. Right there. In that little tree. Next to the old stump. Close now. Tiny droplets of hidden musicsprinkling on to the ground around us. There. A nest. Newly built. I know it wasn’t there a few days ago. I undertake frequent enough explorations of this place. Peering in closer.. see.. little baby eggs. Aww. Little effable clouds of ecstatic muffled laughter. Two pairs of hands. Strange.. they look like one. God.

Happiness reflected in two similar mirrors of refrained indescribable words and wonders. Hands go to mouth. Oh wow. Tilting of heads and looking very closely. We should leave before their mommy comes back, you know. I know.

Creaking of the wooden door, gently slam and latch. That was just simply the best sight I have ever seen. Thank you very much. I know, I so do.

And the world sways gently to the murmur of those who loved.


No comments:

Post a Comment