Like any other beautiful day it was a bright sunny day with small cloud paying a sober visit on and off. We were clicking pictures and feeding monkeys while making a not so obvious attempt to pull the drifting center to the center. Never realized joy-making could be this challenging. As an educated reader of human emotions, I could clearly read what was going in her mind and as the sun goes over the head, merging the shadow with the sole, I thought of standing as her shadow and having that candid conversation with her. My voice echoed as her voice – not sure if this day is the last day of certain things, not sure if my eyes would respond to the rising sun, to those doorbells and phone calls, in the same awaken way, not sure if this artist would again be able to paint the picture of a woman wrapped in the colors of dawn, a content village girl working in paddy fields, a potter shaping his best creation in absolute bliss. I told her in my own voice, Your sketches and brush strokes have always spelled it bright and beautifully and suddenly today you look lost in the shades of grey, I hear you saying you don’t know how to cut this messy thought off, while you have cut them a hundred times to give that classy curve to the fabulous dresses you designed.Your finest art has been your identity and you want to give it up to a shady illness the longevity of which I want to dispute badly, I heard myself screaming.
Conflicting within and reflecting as calm as the sea around, she walked to a shop and I followed her. There were prolific displays of antique and countrified ornaments that I felt were just the right things for the moment as I knew they have been her favorite fantasies under the sun for ages, however I noticed the sun taking a directional shift, changing the color of the world its been shining upon. While the shopkeeper kept asking me if we liked their collection, I continued to count on her eyes and so wished if she picks up something and I proclaim yes! We like this. I took a necklace in hand and thought how jewelries for me have always meant her. When it comes to me making a selection, I create in my mind her first likely reaction - a charming yes, a critical no or a pesky well…lets see more.
While I was still on with my one on one with her shadow, she claims the control of the shadow back and declares “I don’t think I’d ever be seeing such pieces of beauty again because I am no more entitled for them.” It clinched all the patience out from me as I said in speechlessness “Beauty means you to me and all the jewelries I have ever been able to appreciate have deserved being so because it’s you who define their beauty” As she walked away I was left behind with the scattering beads of necklace in hand.