enigma

There is something about mystery. The knowledge that there is something out there undiscovered and unexplored, can lead you to unexpected places. The beauty of somethings is best when unexplained and unknown. Enigma is sensuous.

Each time she went to the station to bid him goodbye, she thought it could be the last time for a long long time to come. It could very well be the last time. But she hoped, against all odds that they would meet again, and that she would never have to say goodbye at the Railway station. She cried each time she saw him waving out to her from the window. This time too, there were tears in her eyes. She sent him a message but he didn't reply. Did he feel the way she did? Everything ended. And her worst fears came true. She knew, this time was the strongest she felt. She would never have to see him off again, because he would never come to meet her again. In that moment of pain she thought- he never did feel for me the way I did. And wiped a tear flowing down her cheek. There is no love anymore.

Box

The quaint little dark wooden box had been lying in her closet for years. It had begun to smell like the bark of an old tree preparing for a dry winter, still damp from the spell of the first rains. But Shivani often took it out, wiped it with a clean cloth and placed it amidst her pile of clothes. After her mother’s death, Shivani had sorted out all her belongings. She gave away everything except for her wedding sari, and the little box.

Her mom spoke fondly about how her father, a small time mechanic back then, had gifted this sari from his first salary. And when they eloped and got married, she had nothing else to wear but this brown sari with golden zari work. It was a small Brahmin wedding, conducted in a temple on the outskirts of Pune. They began their wedded life in a friend’s house and her father did odd mechanical jobs to keep the kitchen fires burning.

Her mother often spoke about how the sari was a symbol of the courage that her father’s love had given her. Her father had soon managed to build his own garage. And after Shivani was born, they shifted into a small one-bedroom apartment. Money came but in small spurts. When Shivani had to go to school, her father sold his Bajaj scooter to provide for her fees. But by the time Shivani was 6 years old, he had managed to own a car show room, and slowly but surely the show rooms multiplied in number, making life easier.

Shivani thought of the days when she watched her mother count the money her father gave her. But her most vivid memory of her mother was of her hiding away the wooden box in one of the cabinets atop the ledge, above the cupboard in her bedroom. Shivani often wondered what her mother put in that box. She wondered if the box contains the money that she often counted. But Shivani never got to see what was in it. Somehow her mom always managed to put her things in it when Shivani was away or sleeping. She kept it locked and Shivani could never find the key. Even after her mother’s death, Shivani searched every possible place in the house but the key wasn’t there.

She did not want to break it open. She thought that it would not to be fair to break open this beautiful box of secrets. Then she decided not to open it at all. She was scared that she would find something very disturbing in it. She also thought that her mother never wanted anyone to see what’s in it, so it would not be the right thing to do. She knew that her father never got to see what’s in it either. He died when Shivani was 16. His was a silent death much like her mother’s. Both of them died in their sleep. Her father was asleep when his car crashed into a truck on the Pune-Nasik Highway. And her mother, at the age 37, never woke up after a lovely dinner with Shivani at home.

She smiled whenever she thought about the fact that her parents didn’t have to suffer to death. Now, 24-years-old, Shivani lived alone, worked with a corporate house as a public relations officer.

Tonight, she stared at the beautiful patterns on the box. There were curved lines around the edge and flowers at the centre. There was a golden line running around the end of the lid. It was rectangular in shape and had a tiny little brass lock hanging from it. She suddenly began to feel the urge to burst it open. “I want to know what secrets it holds within,” she thought to herself. Shivani was disturbed. Siddharth had refused to go against his parents. He didn’t have the courage to fight for their relationship. She hadn’t slept the whole night and ended up not going to work in the morning. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was dry. The five-year-old fairy tale was over. She felt like she had come crashing down to the ground after she tried to fly with broken wings. Today she needed to open this box. She felt that all her questions will be answered once this box is opened.

She brought a knife from the kitchen, and prepared to go for it. Then stopped again, took a deep breath and slowly began to dig into the lock. She struggled for five minutes before the lock split open. “Will I find my answers in this box? Does this box contain a secret that I need to know at this point in life?” she thought in the fleeting second before she slowly raised the lid.

And her eyes gleamed in the low light of her bedroom as she glared at what was inside this little wooden box. Her tensed look was replaced by a grin as a mirror shone back at her from inside. And she saw herself more clearly than ever before.

Sometimes the darkest secrets are the simple truths of life.

The smiling moon

“Who took Mamma away?” Reena asked her father. It was the hundredth time she had asked the question. “When Mama was a baby she often saw the crescent moon from her crèche. Her crèche was kept right in front of the window. At night time the moon appeared outside the window and made mamma smile,” said her father.

Reena smiled as she tossed in her bed. It was 10pm and she was sleepy but she wouldn’t sleep without listening to the whole story. “Whenever the moon would get full and disappear mamma wouldn’t sleep. She would keep waiting for the moon to smile. Her parents would then take her out of the crèche and put her to sleep.”

“And then what happened Pappa?” asked Reena. She knew the whole story by heart but she had got used to asking this question exactly at this point of the story. “Then mamma grew up. But she never forgot the smiling moon. Each time she saw the crescent moon she smiled. She wanted to sit on the smile and ride the sky. It had been her childhood dream,” continued her father.

“And then one day the moon came by the window and asked mamma. ‘You want to sit on my back? I’ll take you into the sky’,” said Reena excitedly. “Yes, and mamma couldn't believe her eyes. She touched the moon repeatedly to make sure it was real. The moon said, ‘Come ride me’ and mamma went into the sky with the moon,” said her father.

“And now there she stays on the moon. And I smile everytime I see her on the crescent moon. Am I right dad?”

“Right!” said her father. “Now go off to sleep. You have to go to school tomorrow.”

“Good night papa,” said Reena and covered her face with her favourite quilt. Her father looked at her adoringly and smiled. “Good night dear,” he said and left the room. Reena often heard the story at bed time. She had been hearing the story since she was two, and she continued asking her dad to narrate the story till she was 12.

Now, Reena was a teenager. She still believed that her mamma lived on the moon. She would smile each time she saw the crescent moon because she knew that her mamma was happy wherever she was.