To Let Go

She was up on the terrace flying her kite. Her kite was flying high up in the sky and every time she felt that the string was taut, she held it even more tightly and closer to herself. To ensure that string never broke and that she never lost control over her kite, she would limit its movements and not let it fly any higher. She was insecure about letting it go and was not willing to lose it.

"If your concern, limits its opportunities; then its possessiveness and not love"
She stretched out her arm and let go of the string. The wind blew the kite way up and far from sight. She saw it flutter in the wind and be driven by the wind away from her. I noticed the marks on her palm caused by the tension in the string and her conscious efforts of not losing grip.

And she turned to me and said; "Its good for us two, to just let go and move; to a place where there are no obligations and restrictions, and where there wouldn't be any pain caused by frictions."

              

oh! the rain..

So this time when I went outside my room, I saw the great grey sky pouring down drops that looked like pearls after the solar torture.While I was brimming with excitement, I noticed that instead of dancing in the rain or singing out to the generous sky; she was simply lying on her bed, looking out of the window, staring at the rain.
This new behavior worried me. She didn't look sad and neither did she mention a tiring day. Was she just being lazy? I couldn't understand.
      Whatever it was, after an hour or so, I found myself lying next to her. The two of us, facing the ceiling, talked endlessly; while the two chairs set out on the verandah, sat there watching everything else getting soaked in rainwater...

I knew that she couldn't...

I saw the rage in those eyes

Enough to drive her to do anything

For a moment I thought she was going to get even.

But as expected and hoped; she didn’t!

She said that she thought she shouldn’t;

But I knew, somewhere deep within,

The real reason was that she just couldn’t.

Under her bed

It was past midnight and I was passing by her room. That’s when I saw through the window; the golden light of her study lamp lighting up her face as she worked diligently on her desk. I felt tempted to peek in and take a look at her creation, but then I decided to be patient and wait for the moment when she would herself proudly display her work in front of me.

I looked at her as she skillfully made strokes on the sheet in front of her. I noticed strands of her hair unwillingly drenched in paint; a million brushes of various sizes lay on the table next to the lamp. A sense of pride filled me as I saw her working so intently and she seemed so satisfied that she smiled at her creation. But what surprised me was that she took the painting and hid it under her bed.

The lights went out and she dozed off.

I stood by the window, staring at the dark room, wondering….

        Was she scared of possible corrections?

         Didn’t she crave for a little appreciation?

         Was she satisfied keeping it all within?

         Away from comments and opinion?

Away from myself...

I stood next to her while her eyes were filled with tears. Batting her eyelids to somehow get rid of those tears, she looked into those eyes that were red with rage. Eyes that mercilessly accused her of imperfection. I saw her as she swallowed to clear her throat in an attempt to justify herself and bring to light her efforts; but all in vain, for she couldn't even gather enough strength to voice her grief and anger.
     While they smiled as they saw her crying beneath those persistent apologies; she slipped out of the crowd and hid behind those doors , and tears rolled down her cheeks.
As I proceeded towards her with intentions of consoling her, I saw him standing opposite her and wiping off those tear drops.
I dont know why, but my feet couldn't move any further and so I chose not to...
"I never trusted them, and always feared if they also included him"

The proud possession!

She was standing in the shade, with her back leaning against the wall. I saw her new scarf; bright red with the traditional bandhini patterns, a perfect match for her blue denim. She could carry any accessory with such grace... I was flattered. She seemed too conscious of it too; making sure that it was tied properly, ensuring that it held no crease and flaunting it at every possible opportunity.

I suddenly realized that she had noticed me admiring her scarf, even from a distance. She looked at me with a smile and I could see that twinkle in her eye. I was convinced that deep inside, she was filled with child-like innocence. There she stood wearing that scarf , confident that people would notice and admire her proud possession.

For too young she was to realize that "Though the scarf be red, green or blue; there are many people out there, who have it too....."

The better reflection..

Who said reflections were identical?
It was always her mood that defined my day.If she were in her right mood, even the most mundane would magically turn into something rather more interesting and exciting.Her attitude towards life surprised me. She had the ability to cherish every moment with her child-like innocence, uninhibited by how inappropriate people thought it sometimes could be.
It seemed so dangerous to me, thinking about how independantly and "on her terms" she lived her life; as though practicality had lost its worth. I was beginning to grow jealous of her, of her unconventional wisdom and that smile, a smile that came straight from her heart, uncalculated and divine!
She was everything that freedom brought; and her advice, so sensible and her energy, so unbounded..

    She probably sensed how I felt and whispered her comforting words into my ear,"Dear Oh Dear! If I am free, so are you; images are misconceptions but reflections are always true!