Large room, French windows, faded yellow and scarlet curtains, light pooling in from the moon, shadows, the intimidating lake, and her all alone on a queen-sized bed.
A girl, younger than her age, slim, on the way to being a woman, but uncertain of and intimidated by the boulevard, curled up in a corner. Twisting and turning, tired and restless, unable to breathe in her tight clothes, a white set of earphones plugged in, but no music playing. The tracks have all been well-memorized, and she refuses to let music split her already pounding head.
Why isn't he calling, she wonders, as she browses through her iPhone, looking for something to keep herself occupied. The earphones are hurting her ears, and she wrenches them off, feeling the world rush into her ears, and scores of sounds all muffled by the ceiling fan's energetic spin.
Her eyes are getting heavier by the minute, but she knows she won't sleep peacefully until he calls and tells her that he is home.She lays her phone down and spreads her arms and legs, and closes her eyes.Immediately, she feels slumber take over her body and mind, and she jerks awake - she will not sleep until he calls.
Then her phone buzzes.
I will be late, you go to sleep. Love you. Read the message. It wasn't satisfactory, but it would have to do. She was asleep by the time the phone locked.
*********************************************************************************
She sits on the steps in front of her house, the rumble of the city and the flow of nature on either side of her. Leaves from the mango tree fall on the tiled porch in front of her, stained with dust. The tiles are splattered here and there with brown sap dripping from the tree, giving the stones a rusted look. She knew she'd have to wash it off later.
She remembers the Avengers movie she watched the day before, thinking of how handsome Robert Downey Jr is. Then she thinks of him, and smiles. He was more boyish than handsome, and Robert Downey Jr wouldn't reach a hundred feet within her favorite kind of beauty. She looks around in her trance, and sees only leaves all around her. The city thunders around her, but all is cool and peaceful near the mango tree. It was younger than her in years, but knew so much more than her. It is home for a variety of weeds and stray mushrooms, and the evil-looking crows that she despised so much. She exhales, the hot climate making her kurta stick to her like a colorful layer of skin.
*********************************************************************************
Noon. Her least favorite time of the day. Sure, one could curl up and take a nap if they wished to, but she wouldn't. She lies, belly down, on the single cot bed, her red laptop open to Facebook. It is the same routine every day, and she has grown tired of it, but she runs her eyes through everything anyway - she might find something that she liked, something that might be breaking news the next day. She now wants to sleep, but decides against it, as he comes with a new bunch of e-mails for her to work on. Sighing again, she gets to work.
*********************************************************************************
Once again, she lies in the queen-sized bed, waiting for him to call. She had gotten tired of the Internet and the iPhone a few minutes ago, as both failed to connect her to him. It is too early for her to sleep, but the lights are off and the mosquito repellent on. She waits for him to call, so that she could tell him that the big brands failed them again.
Her throat feels strange, and she suspects a fever in the making, and decides to stay away from the refrigerator. She then remembers the movie that she watched that day - Dorian Gray. The man couldn't act, she thinks, but he was definitely beautiful. His painting, too, was exquisite. Too bad he became what he became, she decides. But upon remembering some intimate scenes from the movie, she blushes a little and wonders how they could do it with a hundred people watching.
Coincidentally, he calls at that time when she was thinking about the actor and his naked female companions. He talks snugly to her, just the way she liked and which made her feel like the mother of a very talkative toddler. She sends him a million kisses, wishing her lips were really upon his, and her fingers tangled in his hair. She starts drifting slowly after he cuts the call with a million hugs, and, for some reason, thinks of a cup of strong, hot coffee with not much sugar. His habits must be rubbing off on me, she thinks, as her throat makes her choke. Cursing Steve Jobs and whoever the hell owned her network carrier, she drifts off to sleep.
A girl, younger than her age, slim, on the way to being a woman, but uncertain of and intimidated by the boulevard, curled up in a corner. Twisting and turning, tired and restless, unable to breathe in her tight clothes, a white set of earphones plugged in, but no music playing. The tracks have all been well-memorized, and she refuses to let music split her already pounding head.
Why isn't he calling, she wonders, as she browses through her iPhone, looking for something to keep herself occupied. The earphones are hurting her ears, and she wrenches them off, feeling the world rush into her ears, and scores of sounds all muffled by the ceiling fan's energetic spin.
Her eyes are getting heavier by the minute, but she knows she won't sleep peacefully until he calls and tells her that he is home.She lays her phone down and spreads her arms and legs, and closes her eyes.Immediately, she feels slumber take over her body and mind, and she jerks awake - she will not sleep until he calls.
Then her phone buzzes.
I will be late, you go to sleep. Love you. Read the message. It wasn't satisfactory, but it would have to do. She was asleep by the time the phone locked.
*********************************************************************************
She sits on the steps in front of her house, the rumble of the city and the flow of nature on either side of her. Leaves from the mango tree fall on the tiled porch in front of her, stained with dust. The tiles are splattered here and there with brown sap dripping from the tree, giving the stones a rusted look. She knew she'd have to wash it off later.
She remembers the Avengers movie she watched the day before, thinking of how handsome Robert Downey Jr is. Then she thinks of him, and smiles. He was more boyish than handsome, and Robert Downey Jr wouldn't reach a hundred feet within her favorite kind of beauty. She looks around in her trance, and sees only leaves all around her. The city thunders around her, but all is cool and peaceful near the mango tree. It was younger than her in years, but knew so much more than her. It is home for a variety of weeds and stray mushrooms, and the evil-looking crows that she despised so much. She exhales, the hot climate making her kurta stick to her like a colorful layer of skin.
*********************************************************************************
Noon. Her least favorite time of the day. Sure, one could curl up and take a nap if they wished to, but she wouldn't. She lies, belly down, on the single cot bed, her red laptop open to Facebook. It is the same routine every day, and she has grown tired of it, but she runs her eyes through everything anyway - she might find something that she liked, something that might be breaking news the next day. She now wants to sleep, but decides against it, as he comes with a new bunch of e-mails for her to work on. Sighing again, she gets to work.
*********************************************************************************
Once again, she lies in the queen-sized bed, waiting for him to call. She had gotten tired of the Internet and the iPhone a few minutes ago, as both failed to connect her to him. It is too early for her to sleep, but the lights are off and the mosquito repellent on. She waits for him to call, so that she could tell him that the big brands failed them again.
Her throat feels strange, and she suspects a fever in the making, and decides to stay away from the refrigerator. She then remembers the movie that she watched that day - Dorian Gray. The man couldn't act, she thinks, but he was definitely beautiful. His painting, too, was exquisite. Too bad he became what he became, she decides. But upon remembering some intimate scenes from the movie, she blushes a little and wonders how they could do it with a hundred people watching.
Coincidentally, he calls at that time when she was thinking about the actor and his naked female companions. He talks snugly to her, just the way she liked and which made her feel like the mother of a very talkative toddler. She sends him a million kisses, wishing her lips were really upon his, and her fingers tangled in his hair. She starts drifting slowly after he cuts the call with a million hugs, and, for some reason, thinks of a cup of strong, hot coffee with not much sugar. His habits must be rubbing off on me, she thinks, as her throat makes her choke. Cursing Steve Jobs and whoever the hell owned her network carrier, she drifts off to sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment