edelweiss.

 [my readers said they wanted something with a beginning. what's in a beginning, i thought. i was bent upon a revision to my writing. it would have been easier to do it if i wasn't birthed of middles. let's be traditional for once]

once upon a time, there was a baby girl and a mother and a father. hmm seems repetitive. make changes later. 

once upon a time there was a baby girl and a mother and a father.

the mother was tired. of birthing service, of being expected to serve and most importantly, to serve.

the father was 

busy, at best.

the baby girl was a burning candle in a house that held no hope. filled with adults that were angry or sad or regretful or simply, cranky. 

cranky, defined as irritable or grumpy usually refers to a child. here, all the adults seemed to be children. therefore, the apt use of the word - cranky.

the baby girl had dark eyes and dark hair and a dark future that those around her contemplated. if not dark, definitely mediocre. 

it is sad to have mediocrity expected from you. 

no matter.

the girl grew up in her own little world. she had around her stacks of books and a lack of people, which would later feed into a social anxiety, much to her annoyance. 

the girl had a large pair of rounded glasses

a set of unevenly grown teeth.

stubby legs.

skinny arms.

and a penchant for small erasers. you know, the kind that is only nice to look at.

i look up. a pink sticky note says 'frog' on it. i remember to continue this later.

-

today has been well spent. i continue my story now.

at a very young age, the girl was taught how to dance. this dance was a cruel teacher. ironically enough, the teacher too, was often cruel. i smile at my use of a pun-intended transferred epithet. 

when she danced, her feet slapped the red floor. ones made of earth. her feet quaked with pain, but there was no rest allowed. no water. not a breath wasted. 

i like to think that this pain fostered her tolerance. one that is aging with the years.

this pain is still very stern. holding two thick sticks in its hands, hitting each other on beat.

tei tum taka dika dha ta tei tei tum

her dance did not limit itself to classical indian. she furiously danced through a pestering irritability at home. too many goddamn people. 

outside too, there were people. as she leafed through them, she realized that they were all very - pathetic. sounds harsh. reminder to think of a kinder word later.

these people talked of nothing but themselves and stories that bothered no one else but those that were the likes of them. yet she listened. absentmindedly. wondering if she indeed had read through all of the last page of the book. 

now,

there are people.

this boy,

was not people.

to her, it was as if someone had indeed written the last page over, telling her that the story in fact, is much more appealing to the mind. and to the eye, of course.

she soon realized that she wanted to listen to nobody but him. like a nice song on the broken record player. he spoke of worlds she had seen barely a glimpse of. yet, he never brought her to it. he simply showed her how she could do it on her own.

and my god was that attractive.

she had never seen anybody who spoke like him. as if he had lived a hundred times over. all her books seemed so meek. 

she was

nothing compared to him.

he showed her a whole universe she never ever thought of. and because of it, she grew.

sometimes she even thought that

it was because of him

that she grew.

i take a breath as i write this. it has started to sound like an excerpt from the reader's digest. 

more often than not, when an indie author writes a good book, and promises it a sequel much better, it is a hoax. usually it is nicely illustrated bullshit. reminder to replace profanity here. 

similarly, when something wonderful happens to you, it is not a good idea to hold high hopes for a sequel. 

this boy turned out to be

just a boy.

all his allure didn't look that nice from afar.

he soon discovered that the girl was

just a girl.

it was a sad state of affairs for both.

he cut the threads that tied her to him. at the time, perhaps he had justified it saying it would be better for him.

he took the key to his door.

that is an unkindness i do not understand.

i pause. unfortunately my consciousness does not stop my leg from shaking.

like many things he had taught her, this was another. perhaps the first of many great lessons. 

she never let her strings lay loose. her doors remained closed. 

a melancholy lurked. but it was a constant companion.

the remains of a string he cut off a long time ago, lies in a drawer. untouched. unspoken of.

except in conversations where she speaks to a girl who has read the same story.

-

i stop for a second.

i remember how my mother has always been a writer.

never written about.

i smile.

and i discontinue the gradient that blurs her into me.

let me, 

for once,

be the one to write about her.

-

it is strange the closing of doors. especially the painted wooden ones in old homes. they don't really close with the loosely held latches , so you have to put an adequately thick cloth in between so as to tightly close them. this is, more often than not, ineffective.

her door was a semi-closed one.

with a dirty white hand towel barely tucked in.

so when he entered, it was not very convenient for her to close it.

this was simply accidental.

he meant to open a different door.

she did not mean to let people in through the aforementioned door.

in summary,

it was a faulty door

and good latches should have been installed.

 one should always be aware of the door they open. it should not be out of mere curiosity, and it should be upon them to take the consequence of whatever is behind it.

a lot like buying a kinder egg.

it is upon the buyer to take responsibility of the goody. whether he likes it or not.

this boy however, claimed to neither take responsibility of whatever was behind the door, nor the kinder eggs he bought.

-

-ou es tu, google ?

-j'etais en train de vous preparer un petit cafe mais je suis de retour pour vous aider!

i take a second to translate in my head.

it comes out right this time.

it means, 

i am in the middle of making some coffee but will return when you need me

i smile remembering something else.

"i am on my way in a train to a small cafe, but will return whenever you need me."

i liked thinking of her in a train to a small cafe.

do return soon, i say. 
- vous allez me manquer. reviens bientôt :)

-

মায়ের দিকে একমনে তাকালে এক বাচ্চা মেয়ের খোঁজ পাওয়া যায় ।

মা আর মেয়েদের এই এক অদ্ভুত সম্পর্ক ।   হাওয়ায় হাওয়ায় শোনা যায়, " তোমার মতো মা আমি জীবনে হবোনা "।   

এ  অসাধারণ প্রতিজ্ঞা ফিরে আসে অনেক বছর পরে ,

আবার শুনি মেয়ের মুখে , "তোমার মতো মা আমি কখনও হবোনা। "

 আহা, সেই ছেলেবেলার কথা মনে করিয়ে দিলি যে । 

-

 

the man apologised. 

his apology however was soggy with an ugly selfishness.

a kind that requested her to scrub his conscience.

strange.

the magical boy grown up seemed pitiful.

the love she had felt for the boy,

stayed with him.

this man was a miserable deformation of him.

this man wanted release.

this man was a coward

at best.

she was unamused. 

the boy was far off somewhere.

living a life,

she put in a drawer.

she was angry

not at him,

perhaps at herself.

what is this love that does not leave ?

is it even love ?

-

on the good days, i sit with my mother and i put on a silly video about world war i. 

for a moment, we are quiet with giggles.

for a moment, we forget the things that have forged us.

we forget the transactions.

for a moment, it is you leaving me at daycare while i look up at you, thinking, "i want to be just like her when i grow up."

for a moment i sit beside a girl in black and white with two pigtails, smiling her name out.

'tuli'.

- 

ক্যানভাস ছেড়ে তুলি আর ওঠাতে পারলাম না যে ?

-

                                                               anna ancher - grief. (1902)

edelweiss.

edelweiss.

every morning you greet me

small and white

clean and bright

you look happy to meet me :)

-