Silhouettes, again (One)

Silhouettes, again

Story Synopsis:

Arzu is a mid-aged older woman. She never quite grasped the full understanding of the psyche of her husband. Religiosity matures a person; religiosity complicates one too. While standing there, one stumbles to hold the inviting hand in the here and now, and as one reflects in the distant past of childhood, life starts unfolding with incessant causes; trivial, mundane and labeled otherwise in importance.

The main character of the story is Salah. He grew up as a member of the joint family. His life recalls past with a pain, a pain of unfulfilled desires. He tries to look for a job desperately, and a past denial of a proposal of a love affair still lingers in him in his present. Incidentally, he comes to know Arzu, who is thinking to divorce her husband. Her long-term relationship with her husband is going to end soon. Salah felt a sense of responsibility, and out of this, he tries to know the details of the events. And the continuous ongoing vulnerability made Salah realize that he is still waiting for the unfinished chapter of his life, and he feels determined to search for the girl whom he denied before.

Arzu, Salah, and a torn page of a storybook of life. A life containing sufferings, pains, and a beautiful rainbow of colors in the tear-soaked sky with a vast horizon, full of glum and glee.

Page Break

A sudden tune trickles down the emotions, still faraway...

“Are you done?” Mridul asked in a soft voice.

Arzu stared back. The lentil curry is boiling, in obvious fuming heat. A perfect simile of an intense quarreling moment is in the duo of fried chili and cumin, amidst all possible and impossible problematic permutations and combinations. Right this moment, Arzu can deny Mridul’s presence, she can also throw an implicit comment...but, apparently, her face is a nice and graceful one, the situation did not allow her to elaborate any further.

“What were you saying? Do you need anything?” Arzu asked back.

"What's the menu for today?" A quick response came, in question.

"Not done, yet...cooking", Arzu replied. There is a trace of reluctance in her voice, with a certain coldness. Still, she knows for sure, that this will not startle Mridul a bit, let alone the possibility of making him anxious. People turn to stability with habitual maturity, people turn dumber too. The day-to-day realities of life demand one to become that, often.

Arzu, while cooking, on this very moment, observes Mridul, and she forgives him. Arzu, one ordinary lady, the glowing hue on her face, her light-colored sari, turns her slowly in an almost mysterious fable, a distant one. An impermeable realm of a lady behind curtain. Still, Mridul tries to look for something there too, with caution, with care, as if it is nothing but a mere fragile one.

Without even noticing my presence, anywhere, nearby.

The faded afterglow of a life passing through mid-age is also wrapped with an expected pattern of probable uncertainties. The moments that can ignite true spark, are not numerous, neither those are absent. The known gesture of guessing is too much predominant, as shadows of waterdrops on a glass, marking those hidden threads of thoughts exposed, a naked embarrassment of emotions, flowing in the undercurrent. Often there, a word is greeted with a big yawn, rather than floating along with all those oncoming words. Too many clichés are scattered everywhere, everyway, filling the gaps of the silent love, a hindrance toward eloquence. And along with it comes an unspoken yearning for the truth in love, with words only meant for the special one, for another special day.