Deceptive Mirrors
They had parted ways years ago. She thought that she was getting older and wanted to settle down as soon as possible. He, still feeling young at heart, was not ready to take up the responsibilities. Knowing that when it came to giving up their priorities no compromise would ever work out, they parted as friends. However he had felt a bit of pain or was it more of jealousy when she announced her marriage just about three months after they broke up. Being the social animal that he was, he had picked up a congratulatory card, posted it.
Was he happier or not was never the question he asked himself. Instead he'd try to be contended with the short-term affairs that he engaged himself. He always thought himself as a boat without a sailor drifting from this island to another but nowhere would he lay down his anchor. Sometimes when he'd bored at meetings and tried to entertain himself by scribbling portraits. The women he drew always ended up having her shadows in some part of their facial anatomy or the others. And he gave up drawing women.
He would again go on drifting from another woman to yet another. But every time he’d be defeated when he thought about how she’d pulled his legs when he cracked his lame joke and this girl he was going out had simply laughed. Then he’d again remember how she’d be shouting at him whenever he missed the obvious exits on the highways. All that his ever-patient present girl-friend said in a similar situation was “It’s alright darling…I don’t mind getting late at the theatre. We’ll miss only the trailers”. And he fritted onto another girl.
He was getting tired of drifting and even thought of calling her back. Maybe this time he’d not let her go. But will she come back…did she miss him the same way he did? Maybe that all that aspects of her that he had kept on looking among other girls are lost in these years of her married life. If that be the case then he would certainly let himself free from the memories that had imprisoned him for so long. He desparately needed to find out whether she's still the same.
He pulled out all the old correspondences to dig for her contact details. As he was scanning through the mementos, faded letters, photographs that were loosing colors, he remembered the exact moments, the exact feelings of the past. With these vivid memories he had created his own prison where he had taken exile to all these years. Then only he realized that what he had missed was not her, but the reflection of him in her eyes.
Only she had been the truest connoisseur of that reflection. Being in love with that reflection he had missed her, but truly he didn’t miss her. He never felt happier when he started a bon-fire and shoved in the memorabilia. As the photos were crumpling in the wrapping flames, he felt a desire to pull out the remaining un-burnt stuffs but then decided against it. He had to bid adieu to his beloved reflection and learn to love the truer himself.
"Or would even that love be another reflection in another pair of beloved eyes?", he pondered as he gazed across the flames.
Was he happier or not was never the question he asked himself. Instead he'd try to be contended with the short-term affairs that he engaged himself. He always thought himself as a boat without a sailor drifting from this island to another but nowhere would he lay down his anchor. Sometimes when he'd bored at meetings and tried to entertain himself by scribbling portraits. The women he drew always ended up having her shadows in some part of their facial anatomy or the others. And he gave up drawing women.
He would again go on drifting from another woman to yet another. But every time he’d be defeated when he thought about how she’d pulled his legs when he cracked his lame joke and this girl he was going out had simply laughed. Then he’d again remember how she’d be shouting at him whenever he missed the obvious exits on the highways. All that his ever-patient present girl-friend said in a similar situation was “It’s alright darling…I don’t mind getting late at the theatre. We’ll miss only the trailers”. And he fritted onto another girl.
He was getting tired of drifting and even thought of calling her back. Maybe this time he’d not let her go. But will she come back…did she miss him the same way he did? Maybe that all that aspects of her that he had kept on looking among other girls are lost in these years of her married life. If that be the case then he would certainly let himself free from the memories that had imprisoned him for so long. He desparately needed to find out whether she's still the same.
He pulled out all the old correspondences to dig for her contact details. As he was scanning through the mementos, faded letters, photographs that were loosing colors, he remembered the exact moments, the exact feelings of the past. With these vivid memories he had created his own prison where he had taken exile to all these years. Then only he realized that what he had missed was not her, but the reflection of him in her eyes.
Only she had been the truest connoisseur of that reflection. Being in love with that reflection he had missed her, but truly he didn’t miss her. He never felt happier when he started a bon-fire and shoved in the memorabilia. As the photos were crumpling in the wrapping flames, he felt a desire to pull out the remaining un-burnt stuffs but then decided against it. He had to bid adieu to his beloved reflection and learn to love the truer himself.
"Or would even that love be another reflection in another pair of beloved eyes?", he pondered as he gazed across the flames.
matters of the heart, as always freaking confusing.
Posted by
jhantu |
October 07, 2006 1:24 AM
Your post reminds me of what the great intellectual J.Krshnamurthy said about image. He said that to drop conditioning, one had to assume that he was meeting the other person for the first time whenever they met again. This tends to improve relationships.
Posted by
Anonymous |
October 07, 2006 1:41 PM
@Jhantu: Couldn't have said that better myself.Infact it took me to spin a whole story what you've summarized in 8 words ;-)
Posted by
Chilla-Bong |
October 09, 2006 5:40 PM
@Hiren: Great advice. I think I'll try on the de-conditioning thing everytime I meet my snobby, impractical and demanding customers.But then again easier said than done.
Posted by
Chilla-Bong |
October 09, 2006 5:43 PM
You are getting on Chilla...shifting genres efficiently :)
And seconding jhantu...
Posted by
Aparna |
October 11, 2006 2:23 PM
Aparna,thanku,thanku...welcome back...was missing your comment.
Posted by
Chilla-Bong |
October 12, 2006 12:59 AM
Like they say the heart wants to cling on to memories and what ifs. And may be we are more in love with the concept of being in love than actual love itself. it is hard to fathom.
BTW didn't want to come on too strong on you for the comment in my blog. Hope you weren't totally pissed off.
Posted by
M (tread softly upon) |
October 13, 2006 9:55 PM
@M, No problemo on that comment and counter-comment thingy. Could be that the hard bound Austin book I laid my hands on was the large lettered ones for the visually challenged. Definitely will try to read it next time. And don't get me started on Ayn Rand. The moment John Galt starts his 25 pages long dialogue I start snoring.The fat books do serve as good pillows in case you fall asleep in places other than your bed.But I must say I'm really bowled over by this line "may be we are more in love with the concept of being in love than actual love itself". That would be my next philo talk to the lady I'm trying to impress these days.
Posted by
Chilla-Bong |
October 14, 2006 5:28 AM
thanks and good luck with your lady :)
Posted by
M (tread softly upon) |
October 18, 2006 9:50 PM
@M,Good luck charm didn't work.But I realised that when discussing philosophy to the beloved, I should always stick to narration in third person. Otherwise the listener in question takes things too personally.Ouch...keu dekhe sekhe,keu theke sekhe.
Posted by
Chilla-Bong |
October 19, 2006 9:34 PM