Friday, December 13, 2013


As she appeared across the lawn out of nowhere, I stood there transfixed. She was a picture of beauty. A shadow fell on her face, making it impossible to decipher her expression. I kept wondering if she saw me. I was enraptured. What was it about her that made her so enchanting to everyone she met? She was like a magic spell - surreal, but potent. I could never completely understand her. She was an enigma to me.

How Ananya made inroads into my life and my heart in so less a time, I could never fathom. I would tell her everything I ever had on my mind; she would listen patiently to my talks. She was the eyes into my soul; she knew more of me than I knew myself. My earnest observation of her was a major source of my understanding of her thoughts and personality, as she'd never give out much on her own. I observed everything she did or said, for every action of hers had a reason behind it, every word of hers well-founded. We would talk endlessly on almost everything under the sun. We would agree on some points, argue on some other. But I would ultimately quit arguing, because one could almost never win over her. She always had the last word. Not that I ever complained. She broke into an innocent giggle every time I put in my guns. To beget even that little smile meant the world to me, and more.

She was a ray of morning sunshine on the horizon; a real delight to be with. There was an aura of happiness, wholesomeness and contentment about her that lured everybody into its grasp. She could turn all my worries into nothing, and amplify the joys manifold. There was an inexplicable look of satisfaction on her face – to me it seemed like that of knowing everything yet revealing little. She could always tell what I had on my mind, but would never make me uncomfortable with unnecessary prying and prodding. But surprisingly, more often than not, I'd find myself bound to tell her all my travails, as if she had a magnetic grip on my mind. She would understand everything I told her, and would follow it up with such careful and sound advice, as would make me feel like my problems never really were of any consequence. Such was her effect on me that it sometimes baffled me into believing she practiced black magic. But like I said, I never really understood her. I just revered her for all that she was.

Her eyes constantly lived in a dream. Her words went far deeper than they would appear to the listener’s mind. Her exquisite face was a brilliant cover for her true thoughts and feelings. But her clear hazel eyes revealed what her words never did. She always hid her pain and sorrows behind her perpetual smile and joyful demeanour. To anyone else, she would seem not to have a single unhappy bone in her body. But I saw through her layers. On normal days, she'd have a splendid countenance. There was a ring to her voice, a shine to her smile and a rhyme to her actions. She would sing and dance her way through work, and recount the day’s events to me with full spirit at the end of the day. On such days, I felt such a rush of happiness and contentment through my veins that I could die of it and still not mind. But she had her dark days too, and it took every last drop of patience in my body to get through those. She’d brood over every single thing, take offense on anything even remotely untoward, and in general present a picture of utter dissatisfaction with life, very unlike her true self. It was of such days that I was dead scared. She formed the very thread of my existence; I could never bear to see her out of sorts. I would try my best to pacify her, mellow down her moods, try to figure out her wishes and fulfil them as best as I could. Yet I feel I managed to do a very poor job of it in the end. It was a gargantuan task to assimilate her, yet totally unthinkable not having her as a part of my life. What would I ever do without her? I'd always shudder at the thought.


Sunrays seep in through the partially open window, falling in a slant on the little one sprawled on the floor, busy playing with her crayons. The sight reminds me of her mother's childlike love for new stationery. She walks up purposefully and thrusts her sketch book into my face, her hazel eyes revealing that 'look' she knows all too well I can never refuse to. Her earnest exuberance is infectious. I smile through moist eyes.

Ananya's absence is a void in my heart that time can only attempt to fill. She lit up every day of my life for as long as she breathed; twilight or dawn, she never left my side. She did not let me be alone even in her wake, leaving behind a tiny little bundle of joy to light up my days and warm my cold heart. The little one is a splitting image of her beautiful mother, and equally full of life and energy; I cannot look at her lovely face without pangs of nostalgia tugging at my heart. All of a sudden I'm back in that moment when I first saw her across the lawn. That was when I first felt love. And the feeling still survives.

I envelop our little angel in my arms and rock her to sleep.


[As some of my readers may have noticed, this is an edited, refurbished version of my earlier fiction piece Eyes to My Soul, the first in a series of five, but with a different plot and context. I submitted this version as my entry for a fiction story contest some months back, with the theme 'Nostalgia'. Thought of posting it here as well now!]


Shobhit said...

Hello Mahimaa. :-) How have you been doing ?

I've been on and off (mostly off) the blog world lately but trying to claw my way back in. :D

This post was really beautifully done. The last paragraph really shakes up the emotions. You should write more often.

By the way, did you happen to review other food joints at Hauz Khas village ?

manik sharma said...

Beep..!! Good space..."agony aunt" caught my eye..I would love to hear an elaboration upon that...Maybe some shit should hit the fan every now and then ?..keep this going..

Amul said...

Good to see you back here, girl :)