Monday, November 3, 2008

floral pants


She reached... home.... or so to say so.... slowly climbing those spick and span steps.... counting on each step.... gasping for strength... it was one of those days of year when she wish the air has more oxygen so a little of it can take her long.... on such days when she is short breath and pollen in air shows its strength... strange she feels how full grown human like her can be made to bow before the small particle like pollen... nature has strange ways to show every small or large object its place....

The final tread and she is there.... she saw A approaching.... smiling.... she smilled back.... hey what have you got.... this very moment.... she regained everything that was lost.... the vigour was back the spright was back and shining on her face.... (wonder how weakest of women jump on the very mention of shopping).
The show started.... a floral pants... big flowers printed on.... the maron top to go wid it.... and a burst of laughter from A.... she is puzzled whats wrong.... she has always worn these big flowers.... and these pants look beautiful.... but A has different ideas... “ my dear lady” A continues... “ you are short and its time you realise that big flowers dont suit you... besides that dont go wid you image and age... you look younger and funnier in those “ .... “oh i dont care” she replies...”i like those and thats it....” both smile in unison... know that they cannot change each other....

She climbs the bus with difficulties... the weather and pollen had been at their worst and she had to travel so suddenly.... no reservation anywhere... so the bus....
“Let’s take it.... this is also a challenge”... she tells herself and starts...
All eyes on her as she boards with difficulty... slowly .... try to hide her weak state and short breathes.... some 52 pairs of eyes scrutinize her as she make her way to the seat... first seat... reserved for ladies... and soon she sat she realised she is the only female on board.... and so she realised all on board are looking at every small part of her body as if they havent seen a female before... and also that she becomes a lesser human the moment she is recognised as woman... she become suddenly very conscious of what she wore....
And what she wore.... her floral pants... (They are so comfortable... she had to wear them)...

She covered herself with another layer of shawl to be sure her curves are fully covered and rescued from the winds that are making her wheeze.... she breathes with great difficulties... and soon forgets about.... the sea of eyes looking at her .... the alcohol soaked air.... the smell of gutakha, which works less as mouth freshner and more as intoxicator to the person having it and which irritates her with its strong smell... she draws in herself the wheater, the rattle of the bus, the chill in the air, all make her draw in herself and be away from the journey the destination and the surround....

She caugh now and then to reassure that she lives.... the bus keeps running on the ghats of this Gondwana terrain sometimes she seem to run fine and some other time she seem to digress....
The buswalas.... keep yelling... Jagadalpur.... Jagadalpur.... Jagadalpur.... she keeps reminding them it is kondagaon she wish to go so tell her when it comes.... they dont even seem to hear her... or simply pretend that they dont.... she gives up... her breathing gets heavier.... she cant talk more... not a word... she sinks in to the shawl again... deep.... “am i sleeping or ... i am awake... half asleep she.... knows she cant sleep.... she pulls out a pill from her bag... and with this pull a sweet aroma fills the environment.... she realises that the essential oil that her father blended for her to cure her Asthama.... she takes a whiff... sniffs it in... the oil in the form of vapor gets in to the lung covers a part of it.... reduces the swell and she is relieved for a second....temporary relief....

She puts the pill in to her ... and look for a greater comfort... nothing comes easy.... she starts to shake.... Ahh! The side effect.... nothing comes without a pricetag.... she smiles at herself and the situation she had put herself in... Trembling she sits on her seat trying not to show anyone the situation she was in.... no one should know... this night shall pass and i will be alive to face the great responsibility i took .... There are so many who wait for me... i shall live...

The bus sways suddenly and stops .... the naxalite naka they say.... everyone is asked to get out.... she slowly rose... covered herself again.... tighten the shawl around and gets down.... now everyone can see her.... even those who didn’t realize earlier that there is a lady traveling with them one such person was sitting just behind her... the naxal asks her to stand aloof... as he doesn’t wish to bother her.... he says aloud naxals have respect for women... he smiles she is too weak to smile at this moment.... the full moon night so beautiful goes hazy in her eyes... she shakes more visibly and the asthelene is at work... the chill in the air is at its best.... and she stood aloof of the mob of men.... they all do what the naxal says... the guy in his early twenties is commanding a big mob of around 50 men.... Men she laughs in her mind....

After the procedure is complete they were ask to board the bus again and the bus rattles again to the winding path that shines in this beautiful full moon night.... she despairs how she isn’t able to appreciate or react on anything that’s happening around her... Ahh! This isn’t me... I don’t wish to be this... she cries... but cries cant fight with the shivers that she is experiencing... she sits still and try to harmonies her breath.... slow ... and deep.... soon the medicine puts her to a state of half sleep state and she becomes unconscious of her state... at least for sometime....

In her dreams she feels something crawling on her body.... no not on the entire body... but something like trying to start crawling.... what is it.... she tries to identify.... (even in her dream she is inquisitive and aware) the creature that crawls feels familiar... how she isn’t able to see the creature.... only can feel it on her body .... oh it is on one of my side and it is starting to crawl from behind.... its long with many legs... her breath becomes shorter and shorter as she tries to look .... almost out of breath she is awakes suddenly.... and figure there is actually something which has crawled from behind to her breast and now is trying to locate her nipple.... she jumps... that which crawled was a hand of the person sitting on the seat just behind hers.... as she jumps and stands looking at the person behind..... she sees everyone on board in deep sleep.... including the person whose hand she found crawling over her body....

Filled with disgust.... she knew half of them are pretending it and at least 10-15 were witnessing the crime .... she has no evidence of.... something moves in her she feels like crying at high pitch .... but no she isn’t so feeble... she cant be... this isn’t her to step back at the time of action she stand on her seat and bends backwards to reach the guy on seat behind hers.... pulls him with his hair..... looks for his hand and twists his wrists with whatever force she could.... the guys starts yelling .... shouting.... for help.... some other also shout at her.... she pays no attention keeps beating him till she could and sits calmly after she is done .... as if nothing happens...
The mob follows her ... all shut their eyes to what happened.... she smiles in her mind.... now the guy on the seat behind hers sits shivering for the rest of the night....
A night which becomes a bright and shiny day as the bus approaches Kondagaon....
.... and she feels herself again in her floral print pants....

3 comments:

sorcerer said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
sorcerer said...

to interpret love with such passion and then present it in such a sheer way could only be done by ..well..who else..but a loving soul..

(PS - i deleted the earlier comment coz it was crudely written :D)

loving soul said...

thanks dear...interpretation is always a follower of experience... love is such... simple yet passionate...