Frozen

The woolly sheep's tail broke as it fell down with the exceptionally strong jerk of the closing of the door. Four years thought Paridhi, as she picked up one portion of the ceramic-woolen tail on the way to put the packet of sausage to thaw. It was quite sometime that they were shuffled, the various tales stuck on the fridge. When one broke its silence, the rest stirred up, as if part of a secret community -- initially in disjointed whispers and finally in a hushed unison.

Swiftly, Paridhi chopped the sausages, sliced the mushrooms and arranged the arrangement platter, with the same passion if one were to create a new flag of individual identity. Little coloured circles bordered the white plate, rings of pleasure -- green capsicum followed by an excited army of yellow and red bell peppers. Next stood the bright orange carrot cuts and following suit was a light pink onion concentrate and a tiny jeweled white garlic institution. They seemed to protect the not-so-sturdy constitution of the wily brown mushrooms, together, even in slices.

Once it was set to her content, she took it and placed it and out on the table -- partly out of her decision to not cook now and partly to appreciate her own efforts. The day had longingly begun to play around her puppeteer's fingers, as there were no deadlines today. In her mental list of holiday, today was one, and generally she devoted it to lavishly while away time, minute by minute. She took a sip of her strong vodka shot swimming softly in tender coconut water and looked at the woolly sheep's tail. It was not even ten in the morning, and she was ready to set sail on a trip by herself.

The room seemed to cater to her comfort and music swayed out of flowing curtains and distant cycle bells. It was a perfect morning to lament as Paridhi clicked on an instrumental playlist from her phone. As the flute began to mingle with the tabla, she took another sip and picked up the basket on which she had put together all the magnets and mementos which were stuck on the fridge door. She missed not having a cigarette around, and pulled out the green bar-man from Prague. How much did you cost, fat man? Nine euros? It is remarkable how I do not remember, but I do remember how much I had to haggle to get a dozen of your lot. Where are they? Do you remember them, or you too, have merely moved on with your ensemble company? With this, she put it back and took her time to decide between the Alpine rope-way and the Vienna Secession magnets. 'How many burgers did I give up to have you instead?' she asked aloud to the breathtaking design on the Secession souvenir. How badly I had wanted to kiss the red-head boy, with drooping eyelids who smiled as he understood how much I wanted you! She held it tight, but could not remember his face. She took her third, long sip quickly and fast forwarded the track to one on drums. How do I have a memory without a face? 

It was a rusty round badge-like magnet, cheap and devoid of its original Goan colour. We had finished that entire Absolut bottle. She got up and returned with a lit cigarette. Paridhi picked up the magnet once more. We finished one entire Absolut bottle, just as simply as our marriage. Were we merely drunk? She poured herself another peg and disturbed the anatomy of the little circles as she broke into the carrot cuts. Little chess magnets of a King, Queen and Pawns held up carefully selected quotes from TS Eliot. Oh yes, once I understood poetry. She looked deep into Klimt's 'The Kiss.' And art. As Paridhi looked out of the window and down into the lane she thought of the many refrigerators which had held such memories like a cold cellar which enriched their taste. Cellar, not coffin. 

The vodka had ignited her fingertips and the end of her hair. She felt alive with the ownership of many pasts. And as she curled up in her couch, she saw the plate of colours drifting away and becoming one with the magnets. Cellar, not coffin. Memories, not souvenirs. Frozen on the fridge. She slept with a smile, things around her diffusing their shapes and smell as she closed her eyes.

On the opposite couch, Paridhi sat, watching her reclined self. And how silly of you to have frozen over memories! She wore an aura of one who lived her life very well. Can you hear me, Paridhi? I can hear myself! And she laughed. Do not wait for dreams any more! Wake up. We have to construct a new future now. Away from our known past. She was about to lament when she seemed to laugh at her own joke. Get up, Paridhi! Time to get thawed!