When the world came to standstill , he heard the news of lockdown from his neighbour . An illiterate man was unaware of lockdown ,social distance or the deadly virus . He was worried and wished to earn more pennies before lockdown . The house was gloomy , with a dim bulb making the darkness feel . Some gave me advise ,while some gave rumours ; all that mattered was to take care of each other and sit inside the house . He saw how people were looting , investing ,purchasing into masks and sanitizers . A small piece of cloth from his tattered shirt was sewed into a mask , just for sake of self and others .
The walls of his house , echoed hunger . That first lockdown night , food was not cooked . Agitation was lingering along the hunger. Few days passed with meagre food in plate , and an NGO blessed illiterates and poor like him , some sacks of food . Agitation of hunger was decreased . He heard how some flew kites ,some played games or made different recipes to spend time in lockdown .
Whereas ,he discovered his wife’s beauty after 37 years of marriage . He viewed how beautiful she looked even in grey hair and wrinkling skin . The years went by , struggling for pennies and he hardly saw or felt his wife . After marriage , daily she would wear dark maroon bindi on her forehead , tucking small jasmine into the hair bun ,with vermilion smeared in-between the scalp. She hardly wore any makeup , but her bindi and kohl eyes , enchanted him after 37 years of marriage . She circled her wrists with colourful glass bangles . And her tinkling anklets were the music , he never heard . Every morning she would pack his lunch and cook dinner with adequate ingredients . But now with scarce grains , he began savouring the memories of delicious lunch .
He felt stupid and horrible for not experiencing his wife’s beauty and her innocence . He had laboured for pennies but missed the enchanting charm of his wife . The lockdown made him realise that he was never thankful to her . He wished to applaud her after 37 years … but this time ,she was captured in a framed photograph and he experienced her , in the lockdown .
For some, lockdown was crashing of plans ,travels , weddings and what not . For him , it was a farewell and remembrance of his dead wife . He longed for his wife ,who had passed away before the world came to standstill . For the first time , he yearned to share love towards his wife and a 2020 lockdown made it remembrance and farewell for her .
" Hey ! Do you remember ? Our last Christmas picture !" , she purred , as snow was freezing her lips . " Yes !! " , he replied ,as his eyes alight like festive lights . " Ughhh ! I wish ,we could re- create it ,again "
" Well ... It's snowing ." he raised his eyebrow , with a smirk .
And they did re- create the moment , but camera failed to capture the souls from graveyard .
As I am settling in to bed for the night , I hear an unusual scratching sound at my bedroom window .
Who could it be ? What could it be ? How ? Why ?... All these unsettling questions are forming a hazy cloud in my bedroom.
Oh ! Oh ! The scratching is pitching the musical notes , I have heard these notes ; but where ?
The scratch is forming irregular designs on my window pane . It's like wild flowers , growing in my old childhood home ; I left back years back . The lines are intertwined into my mother's favourite vineyard . The lines are out growing the window panes ...same old melody , I learnt from my father ; at the age of seven .
Who could it be ? I cannot see anyone in the window , just some irregular scratches . Should I open it ? Or should I leave it ?
Oh ! Somebody is peeking in my bedroom window . I know her , I have seen her ...its my reflection ... scratching my childhood at my asylum's window .
Goodbye(s) are painful at times.. and so is the time of present. But somewhere, we all are unable to express this. Because we know, this pain creates the unfavorable season of unhappiness, season of unacceptable sorrows, season of old moments that slowly become memories... and memories brings days of that old togetherness, that is about to get lost.. after the ultimate goodbye.
Everything in this world has some good and bad features.. Same is with present and goodbyes. Goodbyes are good because of its past and bad because this is the only past that never repeats itself in future. This past-future actually confuses our present, we think that past must be forgotten and future is never predictable.. Amidst this, we ignore, we forget, that present is the time, that suffers the most.
I compare goodbyes with present. Both are painful, both suffers. They're never at fault, they just face everything, in silence, in pain. My present state of body feels like breathing past, Inhaling memories, exhaling aches. I feel bad, for present, for goodbyes... both suffers, without any fault.. breathing painfully.. in a closed vault.
There was a tinge of sadness in her voice When she uttered MISS YOU BOTH with her small lips.
Gazing hardly at the vivid sun through the canopies, Her eyes slowly were embracing salty iotas Which once were bound to hail fantasies.
Taking a glimpse of the giant undyed bungalow Residing on the rugged estate engulfed with foliage She recalled the o'clocks near the lane.
When her santa claus was letting her soar Towards the azure holding the firm rope of the swing And her angel was there to feed her with the slushy Finger tips, the pungent cupcakes.
Now there resides only resonates of crickets And those dazzling fireflies Residing in an abode Built by curved anatomies of creepers.
Holding her memoir full of reminiscence In form of snapshots, verses and recitals She let her hands pass through the folios With remembrances of days filled with giggles And deadnights with warmness and lullabies Being sung by her angel while tapping Those soft hands onto the scalp of her.
Scripting down every notions with a smily at the fringe of the diary Her eyes once again flashed the fortuitous sight. And again there came the recall of howls And loud voice produced by hospital wagons.
Those blur portrayals that arouse of Eyes full of teardrops and fear. The eyes which gazed at two bodies being Loaded with blood at edge of the road, With two broken cars And two panting physiques Making promises of stepping there feet Towards the cosmos.
And there she was, a tiny infant Being grabbed in arms of a fat woman Eating her salty thumb finger Dipped in teardrops pouring from small eyes.
Now she is there, breathing in the macrocosm With imaginative replicas of death screams And nightmares holding views of vital fluids.
Nothing else was there which made her smile As the two epitomes who held her happiness Now lived may be as a meteor in the heavenly sky Or a dust particle fluttering Beneath the humus as it travels by.
If people make a crap to you and make you feel like a crap; then do crap too!! And make them feel what it feels to crap it up! Sometimes taking crap isn't sufficient but doing the same crap to that person is what you needed NOW!!
Don't feel bad or end up giving second thoughts. GET YOUR ASS UP AND DO WHAT YOU FEEL LIKE! Because nobody the hell cares what you do. They just end up thinking how you made them feel and you know what...that's what it's needed sometimes...MAKE THEM FEEL! And yeah, Don't go overboard because precautions are necessary, but don't lay back just like that too!!
So do CRAP or MAKE CRAP or just let it go...but just do something. Don't let anyone belittle you! YOU ARE WHO YOU ARE! So just gooooooo!!!