Friday, September 13, 2013

Relics and Reality- Part 4

A short recollection of the other parts (Click on the part you wish to read):

I ran all the way to the bathroom, my hands still flaming from the remnants of the hot drink on cloth. I returned to my study in some minutes, and the scene that faced me provoked doubt and a sense of insecurity in my heart- the broken cup was not broken! There it stood on my study table majestically. I was sure I had not imagined it all, and there were the burns to prove my point, but there was the cup! I could have dropped the coffee,       but then the book was not wet as well! What in the name of Lord was this!

Puzzled and my brain riddled with questions, almost all of them about ghosts and sprites, I reopened the book to the page I was on, and continued my journey of love.

It’s just a day since Mataji and Pitaji have come, but I feel Rahul ji has changed. He does not talk that much with me, and nor does he cherish those intimate moments. His sweet voice has transformed into a sneery rasp, and his once flowery language is now lined with abuses. He keeps on chatting with Pitaji in his study, and Mataji keeps busy by shouting incessantly on me. There is no one for me, and I feel all alone. I think I should visit ammi and abba for a couple of days. It’s strange, but I hear their names emanating from the study various times, and it’s not in soft loving tones, but in voices of scorn, anger, disregard and disrespect. It shames me to talk about this to Rahul ji, and so I haven’t approached him yet on this topic.

The house seems smaller to me,
And my importance is ceasing to be;
Anger is all that comes forward,
As my mistakes are all they see.

Rahul ji is calling me, after such a long time. I’ll need to run, I’ll be back soon baby.

My mouth went dry on reading this. There was neither hatred, nor a single sign of disrespect for the husband or his family even though their emotions were very clear. It swept me off my feet, and I just wished to stop, to throw the book away, to burn it, and dispose it. But there was a sense of belonging which prevented me from doing so. I could sense the feelings as though they originated from me, my heart. Dousing those thoughts, I snuggled into the wooden chair, and continued…

I turned the page.

Excerpt #4 from Diary

Mere lahu ko mila aaj naya rasta,
Jo lag gaya mere hath ek chura, bahut sasta,
Nikhra voh lal rang, syahi ke rup mein,
Aur aaya mere palkon se paani, raha barista