"Sunsets cannot be draped, silly" and he walked out, wearing his most effective lop-sided smile. That was it, a compound one-liner guaranteeing a lot of interest. And there I was, like a sad-ending, left stranded by the window, neither finding a shadow to his step, nor a shade to the sunset. That night while deaths would have been most welcome, I, Tasneem, embraced births.
A bunch of wildflowers, the dip of a paintbrush in clean water, getting into ironed clothes -- strangely these dreamy-eyed deals offer more satisfaction than his promises ever did. Do not get me wrong, I was always the one who drooled over the secrets of a full moon, but I gave it up for the shiny nights of successful buildings. I was the type who could easily spend the rest of her life crying in luxury. It did not quite turn out likewise. I too was taken by surprise. Instead of shutting out the sunset, I had drawn open the curtains and broken couple of window panes. I faintly remember having dropped fine crockery too. It was when I turned towards the vase that something happened. The flowers were not at fault I had thought. I pulled the vase close and placed them beside my bed. I went in for a shower and quickly finished with the ritual of tears. Then I cooked myself a dinner. I did not drink. I gave up smoking.
The next morning I chose to wear my same clothes a different way -- there was a novelty in my stride -- it demanded attention. I knew it, but I knew not how. Overnight I became a topper, a star. He left behind a me I knew not lived in me. Over the years I have harmed him with my various accomplishments, and it will be wrong of me to say that I have not been happier that way.
Fatima sat over her colouring book, diligently shading the river after the tree with her newly sharpened pencil. "Why are you not using the crayons, Fatima?" I asked.
"They will finish, silly!"
And that was all that was left of him as I embraced births, two shining lives, for sunsets could never be draped honey.
A bunch of wildflowers, the dip of a paintbrush in clean water, getting into ironed clothes -- strangely these dreamy-eyed deals offer more satisfaction than his promises ever did. Do not get me wrong, I was always the one who drooled over the secrets of a full moon, but I gave it up for the shiny nights of successful buildings. I was the type who could easily spend the rest of her life crying in luxury. It did not quite turn out likewise. I too was taken by surprise. Instead of shutting out the sunset, I had drawn open the curtains and broken couple of window panes. I faintly remember having dropped fine crockery too. It was when I turned towards the vase that something happened. The flowers were not at fault I had thought. I pulled the vase close and placed them beside my bed. I went in for a shower and quickly finished with the ritual of tears. Then I cooked myself a dinner. I did not drink. I gave up smoking.
The next morning I chose to wear my same clothes a different way -- there was a novelty in my stride -- it demanded attention. I knew it, but I knew not how. Overnight I became a topper, a star. He left behind a me I knew not lived in me. Over the years I have harmed him with my various accomplishments, and it will be wrong of me to say that I have not been happier that way.
Fatima sat over her colouring book, diligently shading the river after the tree with her newly sharpened pencil. "Why are you not using the crayons, Fatima?" I asked.
"They will finish, silly!"
And that was all that was left of him as I embraced births, two shining lives, for sunsets could never be draped honey.
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