The sun shafts in through a break in the curtains. I unwillingly open my eyes. Its really appealing to lie-in. That way I dont have to pretend that I do have something to do. There doesnt seem to be anything significant filling up my life anymore.
The mirror seems to mock me. I see my youthful face, hair flopping about. I close my eyes for a second as I remember the happiness on that face. When I open my eyes, I reel back from the face that I see. A receding hairline, tired eyes, and a wrinkled face. I close my eyes with my hand, trying hard to remember the transition from one face to the other. It is a blur.
I was so busy with everything else, I didnt realise that age was catching up on me. And then suddenly a year ago that realisation came. When my lovely wife died in her sleep. At fifty, death is something we never thought much about. Of course we planned for it, but never actually paid much attention to what a wrench that would be.
Every night when I go to bed after an unfulfilling day, I pray fervently for death. I imagine it will be like a beam of sunlight enveloping me, caressing me with its warmth, and cocooning me in it. But then I wake up, into the reality that is my life.
The doorbell peals. I wonder who would be visiting so early in the morning. My granddaughters had visited just a few days ago. Their visits are too few and too far in between. I understand. I didnt pay constant attention to my grandparents when I was young either.
I walk to the door and open it. A beam of sunlight envelops me and caresses my face. There is a lady standing at the door. Cats whiskers around her eyes, and prominent laugh lines. She seems ageless. And then her face breaks into a radiant smile, 'Hi there'. Is this a new beginning or is it the end?
About Me
- Rush
- I realized early on that depth of feeling appeals more than sesquipedalian loquaciousness. Turns out, Phil Collins agrees. To quote him "...it's actually the simplest thing that reaches people". I started with fictional comic pieces on people I knew, and slowly branched out into short stories, reviews, travelogues, random musings and poetry. Hopefully my writing keeps evolving and gets better. Do feel free to share your comments. Thank you for reading. I have added tons of links to charities, blogs and other interesting must-reads. I hope you enjoy them!
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9 comments:
hehe...This guy...This guy seems to be an awesome flirt!
Talks about grand-daughters one second and the next...the next hes flirting with a lady at the door. MaN!
ok,on a serious note, very nicely written yet again.
You got a regular reader here.
THIS is epiphany !! :D I mean, what the guy is experiencing :P
Bravo, Rush... Well done!
This one's got an almost poetic feel to it.
Will look forward to many more like these...
Cheers!
:D thanks!!
@ the exuberant,
i didn mean him to be a flirt ;) nice perspective there.. just wanted to show d loneliness an old person mite feel..actually,that is not an affliction of the old alone!
@vasanth,
finally d name matches d post huh :P
@sandeep,
thanks.. i wanted that sun beam part to be poetic :) hope i do write more like that :D
@Rush
Yikes....didn't know you wud become a les years down the lane!
@ vatti,
eugh!! u moron! that was abt an old MAN!! didn know u cudn tel d difference !
Are you getting paid for the ad banner running on ur blog ?
santosh - thanks a lot! and i disagree with ur 'rajyotsava' comment.. altho i wish wat u said wre true, we seriously have a lack of any rajyotsava kind of feeling out here
It was, beautiful. I really hope you don't mind me taking this liberty.
I close my eyes and feel the warmth. I ask her in but she declines, not wanting to miss the sunlight. I pause at the door, scared to cross the boundary. The boundary that had held me in ever since I came back in, alone.
She took my hand, it seemed so natural. As if we had known each other forever. I stood there thinking, what did she want? I knew her from somewhere but why couldn't I remember? Why did it seem so natural and unintrusive when she touched me, took my hand? Why was she here?
These questions would not leave my mind but my heart was aching for the sunlight. It had been months since I had stepped out of that door. I could smell a fragrance now. My granddaughters were cooking. How long had I been standing here, thinking? She was still here with me, patiently waiting, smiling. Her eyes were filled with kindness and comfort but sorrow danced about her look. My heart now screamed for release, to be let out, to feel the sunlight. My mind wouldn't let go. I had very little to risk, very little to live for and she seemed to offer so much beyond what I had.
I took a deep breath, turned around and looked inside my house. I saw my granddaughters cheerfully running about. I could smell the garlic and spices fill up the air, yet I had no desire to eat. I could feel my life, my heart, my body, yet, I had no desire to live. There was nothing to loose, nothing to look forward to, nothing holding me back.
I stepped through the door.
Relatives and friends gathered around my bed. My children, my children? My children were even there, with soft tears in their eyes. Some were whispering, "he died in his sleep..". My granddaughter, with a single drop in her eyes, said, "No. He left us. He left us, for a dream".
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