The Feeling. Surely there it was cluttered beneath that fake smile, a flash and it goes again settling in the pallu of the red dhakai sari she bought the other day, a neat red bindi on her forehead and ofcourse a tinge of sindur at the parting of her coal black hair that smelled mostly of jasmine. Dark, kohled eyes, narrow yet deep enough to let him rock and fell him into pieces. And it flashes yet again.
A flicker of memory makes her light if not a bit high for now she learns to bunk her classes as efficiently as once she used to do her homeworks, for now while resting at JU grounds she smokes quite often leaning against his shoulders, lost to the sheer joy of what she is not strangely aware of and for now she drinks beer and vodka as much as her male friends. After all she is learning to let go off things that mattered once so intensely. True that makes her bad, but she could do nothing, probably she could never return where she existed once. After all there's a life beyond being good (good daughter for instance) for all she wanted is 'more' only to get lost in the wild maze of nothingness- moments when she feels like throwing up for things come so close and then they just flunk out, run away as they were never hers, never ever in her whole damn stupid life, moments when she crumbles only to wake up to the dream of that red dhakai sari, moments when she realizes the truth, what she is – 'a widow(?)'
Tears that fall off unconsciously, for the truth that freaking hurts her. Truth which matters mostly to her conscience but a little more to all those away. How I wish there were no word called shame.
Years after there were times when she conflicted with her own self about her reckless nature, her running away towards the wilderness, her rebellious mind when she realizes there is nothing called forever, nothing could be perfect and probably none who's pure enough.
And there remains only stains. Stains of dark red, pitch black and inkish blue and this time bleaching makes no sense, no sense at all.