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Sunday, March 9, 2008

in darkness and in light

I opened my eyes to white. White walls, white sheets, white everywhere. There was a faint beep- beep somewhere in the room. I couldn’t see what it was that made the noise. My eyes struggled to keep open.

Blackness.

There was a little girl running behind her grandfather, clutching a plastic bag behind her. Every time the bag filled up with air, the girl whooped in joy and the grandfather laughed at her, his completely white hair glistening in the sun…

There was that little girl again, rocking her baby sister to sleep, singing like she had seen her mother do. She prised open the baby’s eyes, to see if she had properly slept. The baby slept on, and girl sighed in exasperation! When would she grow up?

My eyes opened again. The vision seemed a little blurred than before. There were dark patches around my eyes. I couldn’t understand why the beeing wouldn’t stop. It was slightly irritating and was adding to the heavy throbbing at the back of my head.

Blackness again.

There was that little girl again. She looked older now. She was sitting with her father, brows knitted together as they when her father clicked his tongue and put his bishop on the black square and said- “check mate!”

Why doesn’t the throbbing stop? It’s getting worse by the minute. And the beeping has become an impatient one now. Beeping faster and louder than before. If I could just get some sleep.

The little girl has grown up. She is lying on her back on the terrace, her mother with her. They enjoy watching the clouds, except that they don’t get much time to do it together. And so this moment is special. The girl lies back in contentment and asks her mother to sing. A soft song fills the air and the girl smiles in abandon.

The white room is not so white anymore. I lift my hands to massage my head, only that I can’t lift them. They feel like rocks. I try moving my fingers- they feel like boulders. I panic. The beeping is getting on my nerves.

The grandmother is making pickles so that the girl can take it with her when she goes back to the hostel. The girl asks her grandmother to teach her to make pickles. Her grandmother explains the art of making pickles in her gentle voice, while the girl looks on fascinated.

I see people all around me. Curiously, all the people are white too. Only their eyes are black. Even their hair is white. I wonder why. I realise they are all wearing bandanas. But I’ve never seen men wear bandanas before. I try to recollect if I’ve seen men wearing bandanas before. But thinking makes my head pound harder still. I want to scream. But I find I cant. I am wearing some kind of a mask over my mouth. There are tubes poking my nostrils. Now this is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am dressed in this peculiar fashion. I am angry, but I find I don’t have the energy to even be angry.

There is a boy waving to the girl. His dimples wink at her as he smiles. She runs into his arms and hugs him tight. They walk together along the beach, hand in hand, the girl jumping in glee whenever the waves tickled her feet. He holds her by the waist and pulls her closer to him and kisses her on her soft lips. The sun sets behind them, giving them their moment of togetherness

I now feel a shooting pain down my legs. There are tubes there too. The number of people seems to have increased. I black out.

It’s the girl’s wedding. She is standing with the boy, smiling and laughing. Sometimes her husband gently brushes his fingers over hers. She blushes while he grins wickedly.

There is a small home with lots of trees around and a small garden. The inside is just how a home should look. Its neat—in a very untidy sort of way. There are photographs all along the wall. Of him, of her, and of him and her. There are books everywhere, papers flying about. A coffee mug stands alone on the table near the couch. The boy and girl are sleeping on the couch, cuddled together in sleep.

The girl is running around packing her bags. Her husband keeps dumping things in the bag and she takes them out again, and puts it the way she wants it to. They jump into the car finally. She is laughing away to glory in the way she always does. The boy laughs and leans over to stop her laughter by kissing her full on her mouth.

The white walls stare back at me. I am drenched in sweat. I feel myself being transferred to a bed, which is rolled down a long corridor. I want to cry.

I remember the crash. The way the truck hit our car. The way both of us was thrown off. I remember him trying to reach for my hand. I remember someone lifting me into a van. I remember not seeing him beside me. I remember the doctor telling the nurse about how he could not be saved. I remember hearing someone tell someone else as to how difficult my condition was, and how they were trying hard to keep me alive.

I don’t want to live…not like this. When I know the best part of me will not be with me anymore. Why don’t these people in white understand…I don’t want to live. You are all fighting a losing battle to keep me alive.

My eyes cant see anymore. But I see the little girl running. I see her growing up into a woman. I see her long hair flying in the wind. I hear the sound of her laughter. I see the boy waiting for her…his arms stretched wide….

I know you’ll be waiting for me outside this world. Am coming to you my love, my life here was perfect because of you and the love we shared. And so am coming to you, to be loved by you—once again.

My eyes close—coloured darkness.

25 comments:

suji said...

loved every bit of ths writing.. of him, of her, of him and her, d whites, d colored blackness..its amazing how ppl get to feel n put it down so well..thanks a lot vrinde.

hari(sh) said...

such a delectable piece!!!!...almost every line drips emotion...past, present and future perfectly packaged ...and cuddled with the conclusion in particular.

"I know you’ll be waiting for me outside this world. Am coming to you my love, my life here was perfect because of you and the love we shared. And so am coming to you, to be loved by you—once again."

wish i get to read more like this :-)

vrinda said...

@suji and @ harish

am humbled...really...
its comments like these that make me wanna write more....

thanks a lot sujichetta n harishetta

Vinitha said...

tis has juz moved me to tears..:( nice way of putting it..'the colored darkness'..:-)

vrinda said...

@vini

thank u :) nice to c u back here :)
but am sorry it made u cry :(

crumbs said...

hey,

loved the piece...it's well constructed...VERY.

wish it had a li'l more unpredictable end though...but I absolutely ADORED the first part...describing memories is never easy, and you've done it well...

vrinda said...

@crumbs
i had difficulty in chosin memories to put down...once of those times when u r so bogged down or should i say overwhelmed by memories that u associate wit so many people..u dont know what to chose.....
glad u liked it :)

ARUN said...

touching indeed, but for some small misgivings in the end.when i say it made me want to write a sketch/story myself (not kidding it's already there on the blog), i think that will do for the compliment part.
:)
write more.

vrinda said...

@arun chettan...

read ur blog post...loved it :)

and i do hope to write more :)thanks for the comment

Swathi said...

wow. i'm never able to come up with pieces that are not filled with "I"s.
damn cool. :)

vrinda said...

@swa
thanks da...
n i can nver hope to write like u..u r amazing...:)

Anonymous said...

Elegant is what i would call it .... neat .. A great boutique of emotions ...
But i feel that all emotions are not given enough importance ... for ex : the last para made me feel that the love the girl had for her husband was much more than the love she had for her mother and sister ... It doesnt affect the beauty of the whole piece .. But some readers might find it difficult to accept and relate to it ...

Putting that apart ... A Brilliant piece ! ... Dont ever stop writin Vrinda :)! Awaiting your next post ..

vrinda said...

@anon

thanks a lot for droppin in :)
am waiting for my next pice too...it jst seem to come hee hee.
thanks a lot again...

Aareet Krsna said...

Picturesque! The narration was smooth and gripping. Good work!

Thanks for dropping by Onomatopoeia.

vrinda said...

thank u aareet...

and the pleasure was all mine..ur poems are a treat

Lena said...

started reading and couldnt stop.
such a wonderful piece of writing!
Brought really tears to my eyes. You are a good writer! :)

vrinda said...

@lena

thank u so much fro dropping in :)

Rauf said...

Right from your heart Vrinda, you have natural talent, no strain anywhere. Just beautiful and easy to visualise.

vrinda said...

@rauf

glad u liked it..and thanks for droppin in..
:)

Abhinav Viswambharan said...

Too good a post.

A unique and intriguing way of writing.

vrinda said...

@abhinav

thanks again :) glad u like my posts

manorath said...

'coloured darkness'!! u deserve an award and the best in that for this piece.. though the subject is cliched, ur style and the narration was that which made my heart beat with he plot...

i gonna add u in my blogrolling list.. and gonna come back for more stories which ve an edge like this

vrinda said...

@ manorath

i find ur blog really interestin too..and thnks for blog rolling me :)

Ammu said...

Vrinda...

im too proud to comment on this...without any reason...:D

just kdding!am admiring ur courage! such a beuaiful naration on darkness....i never thought darkness can be colourful...u made me feel....:)

thanks

Akhila

vrinda said...

@ammu

thank u :)