Inane
Her face twisted, the metallic voice coated by ages of functioning for printed papers of greed turning sour, the veins in her neck bulging. My strained eyes bored holes into her translucent mask of a face, the essence of her being shimmering in the distance. And I wondered what it took for life to diminish her aura from living to existing.
A fly grazed the chapped lips covered by wisps of peppered hair. His unusually laborious breathing amongst the cacophony of Hyderabadi traffic going unnoticed. I peeked through the window, helpless because I’d a place to go.
A little boy wandered the vacated grounds in search of a place to belong, uniformed and sectioned, he remained lost. A menacing voice and a stern glare sent him rushing to the section stamped on him. Little did he appear like he belonged?
A man with a stick turned round and round, its edges skimming their sweating bodies. Teeny and huge, they fled, fearing the wood. Animals, humans were but mere animals. And the sight turned into a harsh memory, forever etched in the deepest vaults of my brain.
The little connotation of thread turning in concentric circles, strained blood tracing it. Her bloodshot eyes, darkened lips, broken voice and forgotten mirth all woven in colors of red, brown and purple. Her aura turning from fresh to crumpled.
His hands traced her spine, leaving tendrils of unspoken promises and hopes. She turned around wondering when the hurricane would follow the calm.
Grains littered the floor like a child’s randomness. Her hands repeated the motions, again and again. The piled up utensils, the strewn garbage, the overflowing water and burning curry not knowing patience for she’d stomachs to fill.
Below flowed machines, above crashed machines. A machine whisked me away, the battered body barely a passing image. And I cringed, not stopping by for I’d places to go.
He strained for hours and more, a smoke in his hand and beer in other. Little cards of beaming faces adorning the walls of his room, he believed it made them warm up within. Oblivious was he to his very own solitary being.
They were all playing a heinous game, a step at a time or two or more. Believing themselves to be ahead of others, or at least in the loop. Unknown was the fact that trust wasn’t a beacon of hope.
Father held one hand, while mother held another. They smiled for the world that constantly looked. But the universe failed to be fooled for the only thing keeping them together was but the toddler in between.
She picked up clothes, adorning her body as he gazed upon. His eyes were on her, his mind wandering universes away. She turned the shade of crimson, holding his gaze. His eyes glassed over, missing the moment.
They waved past the machines better than a snake obeying the commands of a bansuri, because someone somewhere decided to wrench away the printed papers of greed from their lives.
And I wondered and pondered and mulled and mulled, where, where had it all gone haywire? When, when had that one little thread managed to escape the cacophony of traffic leading to the fly splashing around in a pile of unwashed utensils to ensure her eternal mistrust in this universe and the rest?
Why, why had it all gone haywire?
And I wondered and pondered and mulled and mulled…
Whilst a voice whispered, ‘They are all selfish.’
They pretend to care.
And I never stopped wondering and pondering and mulling and mulling.