By: Syed Nahida Anjum

REALIZATIONS AND FRUSTATIONS

The faint rainbow dyed beams revealed a geometrically precise face supporting tiny black brushstrokes created by unsteady, wavering artistic lashes. The fragile brittle glass quivered with every touch with the turquoise sink. Clink, clink, clink … She could still hear the ghosts of the dancing feet that the tired, apparently satisfied souls left behind, dancing away in her graveyard of tiredness and recreation. Teasing, taunting restless feet that found no comfort near the burning grates of their own nests. A news reporter in an ill-fitting tweed suit hid behind the grated musky screen of a radio and out blared out the analysis of the prevailing culture. A disciplined set of five days and a gate crashing, unruly goodbye , lasting for a ritualistic two days.

         You could hear the quivering of the glass a tad bit louder now. The brushstrokes lost the ability to be sparse. It was a canvas of confusion now. Clink, clink, clink…. Drip, drip, drip…..

         COMMUNICATION BREAKDOWN

   Down that lonely concrete road with a single tree dotting it, a number of figures were detected trotting away. A theatre of comedy that tore hearts into shreds.

        The fingers drummed on the marble in a precise synchronized manner but with faint frequencies. She pictured the whiffs coming out of the oven to be the perfect curls tangling into each other in mid- air. The ignorant meat, the innocent potatoes, inside it the indifferent drizzled oil couldn’t care less. But in this moment they had a role to play. A huge role indeed. Did the dirty nailed, grizzly haired old gardener have a clue about the magnetizing power of his vegetables. Did the crooked nosed, toothpick sucking poultry owner know about the great deeds his birds did after they were murdered in cold-blood.

             A head popped in, the rest of the body following hesitantly. They exchanged smiles. Awkward and nervous. She fumbled with the chipped knob, remembering the line from her favorite band ….“Honey! Who said it would be easy, but, but yeah we are trying “She had it in big block letters over her bed_ “BUT WE ARE TRYING”. The conjured awkwardness toned down a great deal. “This suit, you might think that it is too expensive just cost me a few bucks!” He flashed a smile, the light from the dim bulb reflected from his gold tooth. The price of that he saved for the dinner table.

      They dragged their chairs on the floor that knew not much about commotions. It knew the long drag of a lonely chair. Of the steps of two feet pacing about, alone. Now was a shower of many pairs of shuffling feet.

      His long fingers wrapped the glass as he sipped fast and his eyes looked beady as he scanned the room at a blurring bizarre speed . He ran his long spider legs like fingers through his freshly harvested hair. The field of remaining stumps. And then he opened his mouth only to close it back instantly.

      “ I brought the finest carpet last month”

 “ Did I mention I am working on a new project ” It was the long haired fellow sitting at the far end of the table.

      “Oh! That is great “

“About the carpet don’t you think these bare floorboards could do with one too “   

  “How is the food?”

   “Did you make it?”    “Yeah, who else did you think?”

    “No it tastes delicious …. Like Mom’s”

Silence fell on the table. “Mom!” He let out a shallow sigh. The mention travelled around the table like a magical invisible thread trying the participants of the night in a tighter knot.

  They smiled at their food.

“Hey, I think you used my towel that I had hung upstairs”

       “Oh! That was yours?”

  “Yeah, not an issue but I get this weird allergy sometimes”

            The wreathed low hanging bulb witnessed him checking his well-maintained hands for any red marks.

         CRUMBS AND COTTAGES

The tired eyes were rubbed yet another time. She looked up to see the two halves of her face staring back at her from the broken sea-shell outlined spotted mirror. Brushing her limp black hair back, she tried to stretch her lips into a smile but the mirror reflected a lopsided stretch of lips, a broken smile.

    Turning her back to the mirror in one hurried yet swift motion she headed for the stove. The sea had promised a livelihood but with that promise had secretly crept in a lot many things that needed no promises to guarantee their happening.

       The unceasing stretch of water looked murky and the scents of the sea upheld an invisible sign that warned every mortal to stay away. Funnily the invisibility of these sighs made them stand out even more vividly and though as murky as it was the rough infinite waters claimed the spotlight. She stared at the crusty stove and it stared back boldly. An exchange of looks that fell short of false assurances. She leaned against the marble and let the cold spread throughout her body in a slowed down speed. The pots and the pans hung from the hooks with a heavy silence awaiting to be used again. Her feet had dragged her for no reason. It was a tug of war between the mind and the heart and now apparently neither emerged victorious.

           Soaked corners of the damp mattress hung limp at the end of the bed. The drenched traces of the nest signified no good omens. The duo had never been repellent. The endurance of the bad as well as the good was what made them an equal opponent of the sea.

         These were no blaring boxes to announce the coming storms. The spark and the energy of a revival had to be cradled always within their salty air beaten bodies. The aftermaths of the storms provided no readymade hope. Strength was something you chose.

         The food on the table made them forget all the troubles they had to go through to attain it. It was there, roasted to perfection, encrusted with all the few fragrant herbs she could lay her hands on. The essence of the meal that enveloped the duo serving as a shield from all the sad smells of the past storm, made the long walks to distant fields and the creek worth it all.

      In the dark cottage with not any chandeliers to light up things, the spark in their eyes synchronizing with the faint light from the hanging lantern did the job just fine.  

       BEYOND MORTALS

   The .T.V. placed on the wobbly table decades ago was playing the same old show. It felt like an existence frozen in some specific time. The hanging bulbs, the frames facing the .T.V, the curtains that were too tired to sway anymore, all seemed to watch the .T.V. with their lazy eyes following nothing but the set in routine. The man in the chair shared not much of the aura that surrounded him. He had a beneficial, a joyous detachment from it all.

      The gnarly feet wiggled on the threadbare carpet toasting in front of the fire. He thought about the lined up chairs in the basement. About the delicate intense carvings along their margins. And in the midst of the intense winter a beam of warm sunshine seemed to carve its way through the frosty winter air. The old fellow smiled his lopsided smile . The comforting thought of a loved one.

        The feet were tucked away in fur laden boots and the heavy boots were dragged to the workshop at the extreme corner of the garden hidden under the overflowing flora.

         The extended flimsy branches brushed the white coated brown shingled rooftop. And occasionally the delicate brushing turned to impatient knocking but the artist inside was too absorbed to notice anything. His eyes narrowed in utmost concentration he moved the brush along the margins of a meticulously made flower. With every delicate stroke he seemed to feel the quivering of the petals underneath.  The perception of life in the designs made the artist’s relationship with his work all the more justifiable. When he had first moved to the little escape, there had been treats at the door-step every now and then. With the prying eyes failing to detect any improvement, the treats reduced in volume, then number and then only thin air greeted him.

         The horsehair brush teased the margins of the bouquet of flowers engraved in the delicate walnut wood. Teased them into a colorful state, an array of colors that made invisible wraps of comfort around the artistic existence of the being bent over the work at hand. Here lay his gifts. Scattered, piled, apparent , hidden all in the brown shingled roofed shed. And they accepted him in all his being. They stayed at the door even when he hid in the shadows. And the next morning he religiously unlatched the door and in the bright daylight coming through the slanting glasses, he reunited with his awaiting love.

         SO AFTERALL ….

     The lantern hung too low from the too high ceiling, illuminating all the papers scattered on the table. Around the table sat men with long beards serving as the testimony for their experience and expertise. They had talked for too long. The papers seemed reluctant to be disturbed now and the men didn’t do it. The cause being partially that of tiredness and partially that of just granting the wish. The air around hung heavy with doubt, tiredness, edging towards hopelessness.

         Was there a single way to determine it? A single way to portray it?

                       The quills dried up and the parchment never lost its initial rustle as the wise men failed to capture the many shades of love in one compiled hardcover.