Some things money can’t buy...

One moment. Could be one second, could be 60 seconds, could be more. But sometimes, that one moment is enough for us to count our blessings.

We fight, we argue. There are heated arguments, accusations are hurled freely; dirty linen is washed, wrung, dried and rewashed. We hurt each other and keep scores. The ‘We’ gets slaughtered into ‘you’ and ‘I’. Then, we wait for the opportunity to settle scores, the chance to give it right back. Tit for tat, we claim proudly as soon as we sniff a victory around the corner. And then, like tired animals, we retreat into our own dens, licking our wounds, feeding our egos.

Sometimes, our relationships get elbowed out and pushed aside and our egos emerge as two angry wrestlers, shoved into a ring, to punch and kick each other for the sake of the entertainment of the thousands of fans watching every move with awestruck eyes. Once the duel is over, one ego wears the crown of victory, while the other gets sidelined. And most of the times, it is the relationship that gets beaten to pulp in the ring.

I’m sure every couple can picture itself in what has been described above. It’s natural.

***She emerged out of her bedroom, her fingers intertwined with those of the man, the world called her husband. Her face was grim, the lips pursed together tightly. There was hatred inexplicable, a coldness and indifference she couldn’t fathom. She looked at his face and to her horror, realised he isn’t the man she loved…

She looked for her love desperately, sniffing around for clues of his whereabouts. She ran around, aimlessly. She could do anything to see his beautiful face; only the melody of his voice could soothe her bustling nerves…There were no traces, she was dragged back to the confines of the four walls, where she would have to be with the man; the man, the world called her husband...

She woke up, her eyes popping open. Slid her fingers on her bed to discover her treasure…Oh there he was, snoring away, and even in the dim-lit room, his silhouette looked like the one of a Greek God. It was just a bad dream; the man she loved, was indeed the one the world called her husband, and the one in the dream was just a God-sent messenger, who was there to remind her, that the man sleeping next to her was precious; that some of God’s gifts don’t come gift-wrapped…***

It could be a dream; it could be a moment from reality. Whatever be it, realising the value of relationships and guarding them fiercely is what matters most. And sometimes, even unconsciously, what we do sets the tone. Sometimes, even after a fight, when the husband leaves for work, he waits down on the road, looking towards the balcony, to wave at his wife, and she waves back. The husband’s confidence that the wife would be there, and the wife’s blind faith that the husband would be waiting for her – is enough to prove that no matter what, ego can never ever come anywhere close to love.

A moment. Sometimes, a moment is all we need to understand…

Done and dusted

The crossroads were beckoning yet again; it was stormy, dust clouded her vision, the ‘what next’ seemed to hang in uncertainty. The air was pregnant with greyness, the soles of her feet were bruised and bleeding after their tryst with the rough, stony, cracked paths. They had given up; they had refused to undergo the onslaught, but drag them on, she had to. Every muscle in her body was shrieking in protest, but the plot had a mind of its own.

***LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats***

Echoing in the air, these lines seemed to have an uncanny aptness.

She walked alone; the ‘me’ and ‘I’ lived in parallel worlds. The dichotomy of human existence could not have been more apparent. She stood there, where the road ahead forked into two; in a way like her split self, thus making perplexity within more intense than ever before. She felt immobile, limp and feeble. It seemed some power had taken possession of her body; as if she was in the clutches of a demon sapping every bit of positivity out of her and enjoying it with sadistic pleasure.

She could hear someone chuckling. It seemed to inch closer, that dark, devilish scary laughter. She felt bile rise in her throat; the noise was coming towards her. She tried to scream for help, but her own voice seemed to have ditched her. She tried to run, gathering every ion of energy she had. The storm blew with all might, the dust rising in whirlpools.

She took the path that curved towards the right. Her feet desperately wanted to feel some ground beneath, but fate had the last laugh. She fell, for what seemed to be an eternity, through nothingness, fear gripping her from everywhere. She nosedived, falling flat on her face, breathing into the very dust that had deceived her into making the fatal choice. Her face was covered in dust that rose and settled mirroring her frail breathing.

She could feel the blazes consuming her skin. Her flesh stung. The vultures up there were waiting for their moment to strike. And the moment had come. They feasted, pecking at every little bit they could lay their beaks on, till there was nothing left.

The wind blew with pride, consuming the remains of what she was. Done and dusted, she was, indeed.