Monday, February 11, 2013

The summoning of the re-incarnation

Originally written on: September 6, 2011

She woke up to the usual morning, with the birds playing euphonies, the enigmatic sun rays embracing the earth surface, but even the intense gracefulness of nature failed to win a smile of composure on her face.

She wandered in her abandoned house like an erratic spirit seeking for salvation. She folded the quilt in the neatest possible way, placed it at the tail of the bed and puffed the pillow.. She grabbed the hair chopstick from the side table and crafted it in her hair. The tiny chopstick performed a kind of martial art inside her tresses before resting still. Ending the daily morning chores in timely manner, she walked out of the bathroom, dripping water from her hair, on the soft snowy carpet. She looked like an ordinary girl, like any woman would, in the morning; beautiful and vulnerable. 

Fifteen minutes later there stood an entirely different individual in front of the mirror, a lean, mean, and a numb, corporate dame. She attired herself in a perfect pin-striped black business suit. She pulled out the shirt’s cuffs from the sleeves of her suit's jacket and examined herself again in the mirror. She felt like a mannequin..


She saw a bitter woman not fancied by many owing to her solid rigid lamination she wore on her true self. She saw her inner age a decade older than she really was. She knew the reason why she was loved before and why she was hated now, but she didn't understand what to make out of her, she didn't understand If she was a winner with an attitude of a loser or vice-versa. Her eyes she saw were an ocean of grief. She tried hard to find the girl she had in her some years ago and she failed miserably. She landed her eyes on her diary on her work desk, opened the usual last page and read to her, her self-written sonnet to begin her day. And that was her daily routine:

When the early venture of the dawn seemed thence blazing,
I glimpsed out of the window and entireness appeared so right
The demons in my creeds kept staring,
When the tear in my smile seemed outright,
I yearn to shed the outfit of stress; wish to own a cactus dress,
Like the shining armor of yours, my knight.
Stroke my hair before you desert my mess,
I am the warrior alone to embark my fight.
The rampant chaos is my melody I cherish,
The anguish is the moon of my dark night
When all the sufferings once will perish
My languid spirit will endure in bright.
The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,
With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war.

She felt a profound feel of boldness together with courage and she was composed to encounter the day. She adored her camouflaged cactus dress and smiled. A dress to keep everyone away with the fear of its thorns, as for the one in thorns can never be pricked.

While she walked on the streets of the foreign land, she tried to read those cold faces as they passed by. She wished she could peek deep down in to their souls and see if they were like hers, frigid from outside, but entirely distinct from inside. The unfamiliarity in their eyes pinched her and she always searched for home. She kept swaying on the street like an invisible flow of wind.

As closer as she was getting to her destination, she was feeling a sense of attachment, a sense of belonging, a sense of tranquility. She tried to seal her soul, like one would close their eyes and thought how bizarre her journey was. The guiltless, happy deacade of her childhood expired in a blink and the time from then never craved to move ahead. She thought of the separation from her loved ones, separation for education, and then the separation for career, and then the future separation for the rituals and the hypocrisy of mankind called Marriage. The bunch of orchids in her hand surfaced the irony in a more absolute way. 

When she walked more on the street, she questioned her existence, not in this world but, in the city where there existed no part of her own. She recollected the time when she ran to keep the pace with people. She recalled how she tried to await those friendly eyes but, finally ended up embracing all the coldness with a fake warm smile and with a moaning heart inside.

When she was less than a feet away from her destination, she took a deep breath closing her eyes and swallowed the silence which rode around. It was her homecoming. She entered in to the soothing serene ambience and it tempted her.  She pictured the anguish and cries the place accumulated inside it. She saw bouquets and she saw tombstones. She saw life inside each and she saw death outside them, ironically. Demise embossed in the form of names. She knew which one was calling for her. She walked swiftly and knelt down as the earth beneath magnetized her.

©mycactusdress


With the most elegant way, she blew the dust from the stone and placed the orchids in the centre. She didn’t feel the need to pray, she didn’t feel the need to have the selfish chat with a god, where she could ask for more. The gushing breeze blew her hair and she could hear it as the unsaid prayer. She swallowed all the emptiness of the place and merged it with the emptiness inside her. She was the murderer, the person behind the death of the one inside the tombstone. After spending few unspoken moments with the dead, she stood up and felt again the same sense of boldness, and this time, assembled with blackness. As she started to leave, she turned back for the final time, for the final closure, and generated the first genuine smile of the day while she read the tombstone.....


¨ME¨




The anguish is the moon of my dark night
When all the sufferings once will perish
My languid spirit will endure in bright.
The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,
With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war


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Location: Paris, France

18 comments:

  1. Wow Dhara. How awesome a writer are u, huh? .I mean really. This post is so damn beautiful.
    Your words possesses so much beauty...gosh awesome!Period...

    Oh and thanx a ton for visiting my blog.....Never stop writing woman...
    #cheers
    :)

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    Replies
    1. Thank you Aitijya for these motivating words. Never stop reading!! :)
      #Cheers

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  2. "The tiny chopstick performed a mini-martial art inside her tresses and then rested still."

    Oh my god!! I am in love with your writing! I cannot really describe my true feelings about this blog in words, though given that I write a few things every now and then, I find myself in loss of words...

    P.S. I saw your comment earlier but I was a little occupied with a few occupations and thus I hope you excuse my delay in reading your blog...

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    Replies
    1. I am flattered. Thank you Samik for the kind word. Yes, I do read your blog. You are better than me.

      P.S I hope you excuse my delay for replying your comment late. :D

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  3. It's beautiful .. i love d way you presented this post in a creative way .. Beautifully coined poems written by you .Too good ..Glad to see your blog dhara ..Keep Blogging ..
    All the best ~
    Way2express ...

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  4. Wow..this was some story. I like. :)

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  5. Replies
    1. Thank you. I was a little indecisive as I didn't want people to think, it was some fashion blog showing pretty dresses. That was the last thing I wanted!! haha!

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  6. Wow! This was amazing, first things first, your blog is lovely, it has a unique sense of just everything & quite apt with the feel that you want to display.
    Next, the story really taught me a few things about how life generally is, with a tinge of philosophy in it. Are you 16?? If yes, I guess I have a long way to go in terms of writing dear ! :) You inspired me a lot :) Take care, with loadzz of blessings from this elder girl :) ;) Keep Writing !!

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    1. Thank you for those kind words. I am glad my words reached your heart. And do I really pass for 16?? lol
      No I am 25. I am too slow for my age as far as writing is concerned so you really dont have to worry!!!
      Thank you again Tanya.

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  7. loved it Dhara .... like a visual in front of my eyes..

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  8. This is beautiful! :)
    Thanks for dropping by my blog.
    I am your newest follower.
    Looking forward to more posts from you.

    jiisha.blogspot.in

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  9. Its amazing Dhara!!
    She saw bouquets and she saw tombstones. She saw life inside each & she saw death outside them.
    No words!! Love the way u play around with words and emotions!
    And yes you said it right, I felt that way, infact I feel that even now!!

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    Replies
    1. I knew you must have felt that but, didn't know you still do :(

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