Her mischief is in her eyes. She keeps batting her eyelids
to shield that epicenter of attraction from her long time suitor. As if that
was not enough, she maintains what many would call a respectable distance,
probably as far as two ends of a cricket pitch. I prostrate before her, my
forehead almost touching the ground, as if to provide a conduit for her
electric magnificence to course the separation between us and travel through my
body ; light me up with the potent concoction she was the custodian of. That
dark formless elixir known to tame humans , ensconce them in its hypnotic
allure. I ask her to come close. I beg her. All that she has for me in return
is a smile; a smile that would implant in the otherwise calm and serene surface
of her cheeks two beautiful dimples. That sort of smile that would make mortals
of the highest intellectual order yearn and pine for her with an intensity most
extreme. I hear her soft saccharine voice; it tickles my eardrum and makes me
sway this way and that. She laughs again. But this time it’s not just laughter.
Her voice has taken the shape of words. They seep into my consciousness, and I
can hear her saying something. “I am not
playing hard to get, you are just too weak in spirit and desire!” I am stung by
her accusation.
At this moment, all that I want is you. All that I want to
embrace is you. Embrace such that where I end and where you begin, no one knows.
Every microscopic particle of my being is attuned to this need. And there you
stand, sticking a dagger through my resolve. What have I done to merit this
misery? Why would you not satiate me, as you have innumerable others? Is this
not cruel? Do you not have a conscience?
Let’s play a game, she says. Close your eyes. Or don’t. But
lie still. Absolutely still. Let the
stillness of your body overwhelm you, let the numbness of your limbs permeate to
every cell of your body. Let all activity in your brain cease. Lie thoughtless
and motionless, with just your heartbeat reminding you of your existence. For
every minute that you do my bidding, I shall come closer to you, until you and
I become one.
OK that’s easy. No problem. I do as I am told. I just lie
there. And suddenly, thoughts about the absence of thoughts start sprouting. About
decay. About the futility of existence. About
perversion and decadence. About the absence
of an exit route. This cocktail of negativity constricts me. I feel short of
breath. I wait for her disapproval. Even a clicking of the tongue would be like
a drop of water in a parched mouth. But she is not there. She is gone. Her absence
feels like a dead-weight tied to my legs, dragging me to the depths of a
bottomless abyss. She won’t come back. She is too haughty to be affected by
compassion and sympathy. She won’t give a second thought to the plight of this
tormented soul, for she has many others to tend to. And I lie there in the deafening
silence, twisting and squirming, praying that she blesses me tomorrow; hoping
that she takes my hand and leads me through this treacherous night, to a morning
of sunshine and possibility.
