Images

It is almost 8 evening in Mississauga.I am walking outside. There is an urge to get out the house and walk on the pavements. I can not see the rain I can only hear it.
I look at the side walks. The whole paraphernalia is shouting of change.
The rain has baptized the land and has taken away the signs hate wave had left few days back.
I think about her. I do not know any thing except the tit bits I have heard.
I have seen her. If not in reality but yes I have seen her elaborate pictures.
The one in which she has posed, the one in she was happy.
I have seen her laughing captured on the lens.
The thoughts get mingled up in one way or another.
There is a sense of solace about the rain. It is appeasing and yet haunting me at the same time.
Last few months had been a torture. There was a ghost of a real person in my home.
I never realized that, the presence of his wife will be painful. Wife of some one I loved years back with fervor and some one I hated more than I had loved some one whose name was partially attached with mine.
There were comparisons, introvert ones. We are civil people. We kill indirectly with words . The innuendoes.
The gossips.
I look at my aunty gee few days back.She stared at my frame. I know I am tall for a brown girl and vigorous exercise has transformed me into a tall, huge female.
You know what you are very pretty .You should dress up, men do not love brains.
I know she has skipped the fact that “his wife is an iv leaguer” and that she is ugly according to their standards if not his.
I am taking pleasure in both facts.
A woman with a glossier credentials.
He had actually out witted me. I try to remember our last conversation. But we never had conversation we always exchanged nods.He hated my words, I abhorred his presence.
I think about all the men in my life again. The real men who fall for the women on podium. The men who were bewitched by some thing I can not fathom myself.
The un real virtual men I met.
The men I fall for.
But then nothing was real in my life in any way.If I was too sweet in one world I was too bitter and hostile in other.
I do not trust men. I am a prisoner of my own experience.
Was she a perfectionist?
The pangs of jealousy and anger are back.
I was never a possessive woman.
I see a picture again. It is probably taken on some family gathering. The only picture which had erupted in raw hatred for a sheer stranger. My amman is sitting on one end.
The sofa is blue. Same one we had in the living area.The one I used in countless exams, sitting and studying all night. I remember the time I helped amman choose the color.How the heck this has landed here?
On one side is my amman on other she,with a distance and a braod smile resting her hand on his shoulders.
Are they lovers?
A perverted thought crossed my head.
But why do I hate her?
The fact that she was sitting, people assumed years back was my place. Or am I jealous of the love?
I felt redundant at the moment with a quotidian existence.
The steps have taken a pace. I am almost running on the side walks with a heavy heart beat.
It feels like some thing is burning inside me.
I can not understand it.
I move towards the track. There are some high school kids playing soccer. It is still drizzling.
Why should I hate her?
She was no one?
She is no one?
It is just a ghost story.
I am feeling like a ghost rider. Soul less, moving in the time tunnel.
I think about the life ahead.
I can not think.
Every thing feels like oblivion. Dead, as if the sentence of life is finished with exclamation mark.
The pain is now picking pace with my steps. I wish I had a cigarette.
There is urging to sit down and smoke. I have stopped smoking months back.
The only addiction I carry is of mere caffeine.
Apotheosis.
Perfection.
Love.
Success.
Ambivalence.
All the words are shouting on me.
Does she has a copy of green?
A funny thought.
She is a social science student, might have never heard the word econometrics let alone the book.
I feel elevated on the silly thought.
There is another thought. A wish ,to stab her.
I am shocked on my thinking process. I feel soul less.
I can feel the heaviness in my jeans.It is the only pair of designer jeans I own.
I laugh on the fact that I seek the perverted pleasure of wearing expensive stuff once in a while.
I should have changed in some thing more comfortable.
I do ‘nt care.
I am moving on the track again.
I think about”T” again.
I feel I have lost the battle of life in a way.
The player tries to kick the ball.
My red shirt has lost the color in a way.I feel as if I am drenched in sweet not water.
I feel as if I am burning.
There is a blunt realization. I know I have a raw sensuality.
I might meet him again for a cup of coffee. I like his wit, his humor his shark like corporate manner. His wit is acquired, probably from court room.
I can not comprehend any life with him.
I hate down towns.
I hate the corporate life.
I think about my sister’s analogy.
Railway tracks.
The ball in the ground is now on side track.The sky is black.
There is a urge. I want him to be here at this moment.
In some raw act I pull my hands out and touch my lips.
I am astonished at the act.
How will it feel if he touches?
Perversion..
More perversion.
There is a desire.
Naked ,blunt and open.
It is raining now.
I wish I could touch the lips across his.
I smile on the fact that I am inept in all the matters of flesh.
I will tremble probably or run away.
The rain has stopped.
I am all wet.
I have been walking for 2 hours in circles.
I feel as if my life is moving in circles as well!