An Unwithering Love...
He
stepped into the garden for some fresh air. For the last few days, he had confined
himself to the comfortable corners of his home. The fresh air helped him lighten
his mind and realize the existence of a world around him. He looked around to
see the arid plants and the parched soil in the garden with many dried leaves
and a few dried flowers strewn all over. The chairs in the garden sat lonesome
with a heap of dust on them. He cleaned one of the chairs, and as he lowered himself into one of
them, he thought how these trees and flowers used to enliven the verandah with
their fragrance. Now all he could feel was the dry air on that hot afternoon.
He rested back and let memories engulf his mind, his thoughts…
These
memories were not so old. Just a few days back, she had spent a good two hours
of her morning nurturing this garden while he had argued on what a waste of
time it was. Actually he had got used to arguing about everything she did or
the way she did everything. He tried to scavenge a corner of his mind in
earnest search of the last time he would have appreciated her, but he could not
grope into any such near incidents. Sitting there, in a blazing afternoon sun,
he felt his throat go dry. He instinctively called for her, just to realize
that she was no longer there.
The
kitchen was empty and desolate. He saw some milk spilled on the counter and recalled
how he had reproached her for letting the milk overflow. Here it had now dried,
leaving marks behind, on the counter, and on his mind. He thought of cleaning
it and looked around, not knowing where to look for the cleaning papers. His
head felt heavy as he walked away saddened, into his bedroom. The bed was crisp
and clean, just the way he always liked it to be. He lied down to realize the
stark stillness hovering around him. He remembered how he got irritated at the
slightest noise that she made while he was sleeping, but now the silence was crippling
him from within. He had put up with this silence for quite a few days now, but
couldn’t anymore. Looking back at all those things they argued upon, seemed quite
trivial now. All those things he felt irritated and annoyed about, felt trifling
and unimportant. His home and he himself were devoid of her touch, of her
smell, of her gestures, of her warmth. His every other sentence, that used to
begin with her, seemed to be stripped of her now, leaving them incomplete,
leaving him incomplete. Scenes after scenes and conversations after
conversations passed through his mind, making him restless. Why did it get so
difficult after all for him to live with her, why did he ask her to leave him.
All he wanted at that moment was to have her back, back with him, next to him.
Inspite of the silence, he could not sleep. He felt the need for fresh air and
walked back to the garden.
As he sat
back in the garden chair, his glance moved to a withered plant, as another
memory knocked his mind. This marigold variety was the oldest plant in their
garden, the seeds of which they had sowed together many years back. For her,
this plant was a mark of their togetherness and every flower on it was a bloom
of their togetherness, which she nurtured with utmost care. Now it stood dry.
He wondered if she even remembered it now. He watered the pot to its brim, and
sat back bleakly.
That very moment, the hot air filled up with an
immensely desired fragrance. He looked around to see her, standing behind him.
He stood up startled, as she stared back at him. Many minutes passed without
any words, but a lot was said by their eyes. She finally broke the silence saying
she had come to pick up the marigold that she could not have left it behind to
dry. But he had just watered it and asked her to wait till the water stopped
dripping. They sat in the verandah, as their eyes continued their silent
conversations. The sun went down, air was filled with her fragrance, moonlight
shone in her eyes, the cool breeze brought them closer. And just as she could
not leave that marigold behind, this time, she could not leave him behind...
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