Its a cold windy night and she was looking at the grey sky from her little glass window. This window has been a witness of her million nonsense chats, bubbled dreams and nocturnal buffs. It is the only 'thing' in this world who has seen her emotions first hand, dead at night when the darkness envelops the city-scapers. Today is no exception. She looked at the empty by-lane and saw few dogs who are looking desperately for a warm space to end their night long saved up woof's and woo's.
She plays with the bubbles in her mind and tries to fathom the importance of this life-less companion. Yes, she is indeed indebted to this large, transparent rectangular block.Often, the Dreamer used to ask her why can't she write something about her long standing supporter. She always used to say, " yeah, some day. May be!"
...and today is the day when she decides to write. Write about those silly incidents, write about those heart warming moments, write about those sleepless nights when she knew how to cry. The time, when she wasn't a Mortician after all.
One by one, the shelved memories of her long life starts to flash in front of her eyes. Pale, mundane, dazzling, happy, gloomy and wet - just like this cold January rain. The window transforms her once again as a teen age brat with needled hair and red Converse. The Mortician shivers once again with the touch of His first kiss and starts humming "Another Day in Paradise" - their favorite song, once upon a time in the misty hills of the majestic Himalayas. A brand new day, the first nasty little dark corner, the new spring afternoon, smoke ringlets of an amateur joint - half baked and wasted, tender touch of the opposite sex, introduction to Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and THE Nirvana. Their late music classes, silly window shopping and cheap liquor, their first possession of a Nirvana cassette as lovers et.al. - Life was known as Serendipity then!
The Mortician wipes that tear which rolled down from her desiccated eyes. She forgot those tiny pleasures and pains as if they have vanished into the thin air! That little glass window again, became the witness of her puzzled fleeting memories. The young love, painful vacations, silly notes filled with love quotes and lyrics, Kurt Cobain posters along with the Backstreet Boys. This window has seen her grow.
Snap! and there she is, standing amidst a crowd wearing black. Occasion : funeral, Venue: the cemetery. The pain of lost love, the Paradise Lost, eyes filled with dreams and now turned blurred, the first seed of the notorious Mortician. A deep sigh... she looks at the window, it was changing color then.
The mobile blinks, the Dreamer calling. She wanted to tell him everything that was happening in her weak heart. A cocktail of emotions started burbling from her though the Dreamer could hear nothing. He was too busy in his own tattooed dreams, fluttering like that moth which suddenly turned into a butterfly. He starts singing:
"Memory. All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then."
The Mortician smiles and hangs up! Yes, she WAS beautiful then just the way the Dreamer IS!
She plays with the bubbles in her mind and tries to fathom the importance of this life-less companion. Yes, she is indeed indebted to this large, transparent rectangular block.Often, the Dreamer used to ask her why can't she write something about her long standing supporter. She always used to say, " yeah, some day. May be!"
...and today is the day when she decides to write. Write about those silly incidents, write about those heart warming moments, write about those sleepless nights when she knew how to cry. The time, when she wasn't a Mortician after all.
One by one, the shelved memories of her long life starts to flash in front of her eyes. Pale, mundane, dazzling, happy, gloomy and wet - just like this cold January rain. The window transforms her once again as a teen age brat with needled hair and red Converse. The Mortician shivers once again with the touch of His first kiss and starts humming "Another Day in Paradise" - their favorite song, once upon a time in the misty hills of the majestic Himalayas. A brand new day, the first nasty little dark corner, the new spring afternoon, smoke ringlets of an amateur joint - half baked and wasted, tender touch of the opposite sex, introduction to Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and THE Nirvana. Their late music classes, silly window shopping and cheap liquor, their first possession of a Nirvana cassette as lovers et.al. - Life was known as Serendipity then!
The Mortician wipes that tear which rolled down from her desiccated eyes. She forgot those tiny pleasures and pains as if they have vanished into the thin air! That little glass window again, became the witness of her puzzled fleeting memories. The young love, painful vacations, silly notes filled with love quotes and lyrics, Kurt Cobain posters along with the Backstreet Boys. This window has seen her grow.
Snap! and there she is, standing amidst a crowd wearing black. Occasion : funeral, Venue: the cemetery. The pain of lost love, the Paradise Lost, eyes filled with dreams and now turned blurred, the first seed of the notorious Mortician. A deep sigh... she looks at the window, it was changing color then.
The mobile blinks, the Dreamer calling. She wanted to tell him everything that was happening in her weak heart. A cocktail of emotions started burbling from her though the Dreamer could hear nothing. He was too busy in his own tattooed dreams, fluttering like that moth which suddenly turned into a butterfly. He starts singing:
"Memory. All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then."
The Mortician smiles and hangs up! Yes, she WAS beautiful then just the way the Dreamer IS!
3 comments:
well described!!,,,,,beautifull!
Don't have enough words to express....it's Beautiful! :)
:)
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