She - Part IV

While commotion raged within the house, he sat on the verandah staring into the skies’ nothingness. Why would it have to be him who had to let go, he thought, seemingly trying to evade the inevitable.

The sound of her anklets awoke him to her presence beside him. Her feet stuck out of the embroidered sari as she knelt down in front of his chair. The bangles in her hand chimed as she effortlessly turned his chin to face her twinkling eyes. He looked into her eyes with longing and she gave back an assuring smile in reply. However, he could see the sorrow that lay beyond her smile, for, there he was, right in front of her – painting her mask.

He imagined her walking away from him. Slowly. Gently. Further and further away. She seemed to take away with her, everything that he could call his. Everything but one – a heavy heart which would henceforth just hold memories – of him, of her, of each other and of their masks.

She jolted his lap, stronger this time, persuading him to halt his imagination.

“Cheer up now papa. I’ll be there for you, anytime. You know that.” She said, winking at him and drawing him close into one tight hug.

Kissing her on her forehead, and cupping his right palm on her head, he blessed her. Leaning back on his chair, he sat there watching her walk away, only to become his neighbour’s wife.

~The end~

P.S.: You can read the entire "She" post here.

She - Part III

She walked another step closer to him, bending down to whisper into his ears, her long hair falling on his shoulders like a blanket. The warm air that she breathed out along with the cold touch of her earring on his neck tickled him. He loved it when she murmured secrets into his ears – it seemed to strengthen his faith, the faith that she trusted him more than she trusted keeping the secret to herself.

He felt a protective aura cloak him as she held his hand in hers – a feeling of security as if nothing in this world could harm him – not even the sickness that was troubling him now.

Nothing.

It was a unique feeling which otherwise only his mother could have made him feel.

Like grey clouds before a rain, her face was changing colour. He saw the tears pooling in her lower eyelids - waiting impatiently to muster one more drop so that they could surrender to the gravity that the slope of her cheek bones had to offer. The tears shone in her eyes, synonymous to the glimmering silver lining of every cloud.

Finally, nature succumbed to do her part. The lightening sincerely struck before the thunder.

Her teary eyes spoke before her voice did.

To be concluded...

She - Part II

His heart pounded in sync with her swift, confident steps as he watched her climb. Her thin legs carried her up the ladder.

Higher and higher.

Further and further away from him.

He stood here, at the foot of the ladder. His neck strained at the burden of the head looking up at her. He was unaware of how tightly his fingers were clinched around the bars of the ladder, as if they might crumble under his daughter’s weight.

Reaching the top, she called out to him. Her flimsy arms waving out to him in delight. He smiled back at her - a smile that struggled to strike a balance between joy and hidden fear. Joyful of her happiness. Fearful of watching her at a distance beyond his own arm’s length.

She began her slide down. Coming closer to him.

Closer and Closer.

Landing hard on the sandy ground, she resurged onto her feet to climb back on the ladder for her next slide. His fingers just managed to skim past her slender arms as she ran away once again.

He felt out of control – out of control over his own emotions. His over protectiveness was turning into a burden on himself. It wouldn’t be long before she feels the same, he thought.

Not long.

To be continued...

She - Part I

The early morning breeze fluttered the little hair on her rather bald head. It was funny, yet cute. She looked fresh - her cheeks tender and pink, highlighting the veins that ran within them. With a fine line of dark curled hair, her eyelids enveloped her eyes, like an orange peel covering the ripe fruit beneath. Her lips – rosy and thin, further accentuated her fair complexion. God had sent her with lipstick for a lifetime, he thought. Except for the rhythmic movement of her chest and the flaring of her tiny nostrils, she didn’t move a muscle. The four fingers on either palm were locked around her thumb, showing off her already overgrown fragile nails. She was more than comfortably cuddled into the bedding. After all, it was stitched out of her mother’s old sari.

He watched her, adoring the magic that the early morning rays had on her, or rather, vice versa. He wondered what she would possibly be dreaming. Of fairies? Gods with flowers? Clowns? Or maybe, just maybe, him.

He wanted to ask her, what it was, that she was seeing with her eyes closed.

Contemplating if he wanted her to be awake or sleeping, he gently swayed the cradle. She twitched at the movement, rubbing her nose with the back of her palm and sinking back into her comfort zone. He pulled back his hand, guilty of having disturbed her. He stopped breathing for a moment, lest she should wake up again.

He didn’t know what to do. He had never been this close to a baby. Never. Ever. Now he was left with no choice. It was but his daughter. He wanted nothing to hurt her. Not even the wind. A pang of belongingness ran like a gush of adrenaline.

Sitting back on the chair, he watched her, waiting to be noticed. Silent and patient.

To be continued...