Something of Myself

She was a tiny child when she lost him. It took her some years to understand her loss. It was not easy. It never is - to negotiate - specially with the absence of a being. Moreover, as fate would have it, she did not have much time to understand either. She had to rise to the occasion. She did, with grace, murdering her desires with her own hand in the process.

She lived alone. A life of a loner. Introvert. But she liked to observe. People fascinated her. Her shortcomings consistently drove her to aim for newer heights, to conquer the unconquerable. And she did, with grace, murdering her desires with her own hand in the process.

She had a task at hand. Feeding three would never be easy, never be like others, where the aura of the patriarchal head stood like a towering figure. She took to her responsibilities. Birthdays were celebrated, albiet quietly. Festivals were welcomed. Gifts were exchanged. New clothes were bought. Cakes were baked from that same New Market bakery. But she compromised on the little things that made her happy. She overlooked herself. And she did, with grace, murdering her desires with her own hand in the process.

Then dutifully she got married. But never for once did she lose sight of the task at hand. The same cake delivered on Christmas - black, rich, with nuts and fruits.

Over the years, she skipped meals so that she could reach work on time. She worked late so that the bosses were impressed to grant the bonus at the end of the financial year. She submitted herself to his drunken desires. Body and soul.

Then she became a mother. She now had another responsibility. Another being to take care of. She did, with grace, murdering her desires with her own hand in the process.

Then with a flash, life came a full circle.

She lost him.

But there was a HUGE difference. She could sense her loss as he was breathing his last. Her life mate for the 28 odd years of her life. She knew her world would be uprooted, like never before. But then, she got up again, and rose to the occasion. And she did with grace, murdering her desires with her own hand in the process.

She lives alone. Yet again. Struggling through age, wanting the world to pass by her, around her, above her, below her...wanting to stagnate. She wants to pause. To catch her breath. But as fate would have it, she has to move on and plant the seeds, and till the land, and wait for monsoons.

Just that she does not have much time on her hands. And yet, she hopes and lives. The hope of a better tomorrow. A short span of time that will neatly re-infuse life into her murdered desires. Some of them at least - like seeing the Sydney Opera House...like spending time with her son...like enjoying the same old cake with lost friends...like being able to sit back and watch her grandchildren grow.

I hope that her wishes are granted. Else, my faith in faith will be betrayed. A lifetime of struggle and so little fulfilment! Life sure has to be fair than this! It damn well be!