Dear Aam (admi),
Let me breathe. Let me take in the essence of this life. You are crowding up my little dungeon. Your roots are digging deeper with every passing day. They are sucking away everything close to my heart. Do not get me wrong here. It is a sweet pain that you render. I lose myself momentarily, every time I feel the impact of your root(s). I curl inwards and feel the life within me flow.
It’s not the moment that bothers me. It’s the aftermath of it. Your roots are programmed to move closer to the soil during the day, aren’t they now? To tap in the sunlight. I know it. The whole world knows it. I have heard the man and the woman, who live in the house to which this yard is an extension, talk about it. Many a times. I swallowed the irony. What do I do with predestined facts? With knowledge comes gratuity and the downsides, don’t you forget them. I would feel vacuum descend within me as soon as you start pulling out. The gaps in which your roots rested lie open for a good long time, waiting for you to come back. But you do not. I haven’t told you for this long, but you should know this. I feel exposed to the entire world, when this happens. It makes me feel ashamed. I wake up every morning with my head descended in shame and my cheeks, crimson red.
But I don’t have a choice, do I? I have to deal with this truth. That you have to go away. It is important for your living. That without you going away, I wouldn’t have you alive. Let me tell you, I have stood here for as long as I could. Now, I do not want both the choices. I want to be delivered from this pain, this suffering, this ache, this growing poison. Desire keeps my soul alive, but I have fed on too much of it off late. Now before it turns to poison, I’d like to wither away. I am used to taking in the carcasses of dead animals and many other things. It’s time for me to decay the memories and shed my bodily comfort along with them.
You would be fine dude, trust me! You’d get some new soil. You’d nourish off it. The gardener would not let you die. He needs you mangoes in the summer.
Loved the beginning and the first two paragraphs. Almost bordering on poetry, I love your language. Something seemed to be not too right in the third paragraph and the last one was a spoiler. I was wondering if it would not be better to leave a piece without a closure, specially a didactic closure. It's so much like what photographers do these days. They crop out the best piece and put it forward. I think this piece is beautiful but would have been better if you freed yourself of the shackles of having to close.
ReplyDelete:). I started out with the word "mangoes" ringing in my head. I somehow wanted to get that at the end. So, I see what you mean by "being confined".
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