A Bird incapable of flying...

A Bird incapable of flying...


 A Bird here is a Woman. She met me yesterday in metro walk Delhi. Her sadness caught my eyes. My feet compelled me to move towards her aroma of sadness and asked the story behind it. I can’t disobey my body; at last I have to live in it. Being obedient to my feet I went near her. Her age was more than years she spent on this earth. Her looks was older than her age. For the first time I was witnessing beauty with sadness. Now I can believe that beauty doesn’t exists only with happiness, it exists with sadness also. That sadness become beautiful because she had accepted her sadness completely. She was not fighting with the sadness. She was not sad with sadness. Acceptance of yourself makes you beautiful.
“I want to listen what you want to say.” It is me; manner less and direct to the point. This was not my first time I always strive to listen stories. Some just walked over me and some shared their story with me.
She looked at me once then moved herself on the bench to make space for me to sit without saying anything. I sat in her silence on her side; trying to see her from side. I need to look at people to listen them. She was looking straight at the water in the lake in front of us.
 “Why?” Her single word was complete sentence for me.
“I am a Writer, it’s my work.” I smiled trying to see the reflection of my smile on her face but she was still expressionless.
“I don’t know where to start.”  Now she was talking to me, she was in discussion. I felt proud of my feet to compel me for this.
“Start it from where it began.” She didn’t notice, I was happy sitting beside her sadness.
“It began with my birth, even before my birth. My father wanted my mother to abort me. It would have been easy for my mother and me if she wouldn’t have fight for my birth. My mother tried to make a little heaven for me in her hell. But her fight were not enough to send me to School. Then day came when I entered in my hell from my mother’s hell. I got married. Of courses an arrange marriage. I could not afford love marriage. It would need lot of courage and I was a coward. I had seen lot of fight and didn’t want to see anymore.” She was having a static gaze. Her thoughts and words were clear. There was pain but it was not painful for her now. Time emptied the pain.
My eyes were loving her old sad beautiful face. My ears were loving her soft, slow controlled narration. My eyes, ears, my presence didn’t disturb her with any question so she continued. “My husband was a drunkard, he drunk on my first night. It was my first encounter with sex and it was disgusting.  There was no way I would like sex after that, I hated it even in my dreams. I hated my husband from my first night. I supposed to worship that man but it was hard even to see him. Days started passing then months and then years and his behaviour gone on getting worse. There was not even a single night when he came home sober. In morning when he used to be sober he never had eye contact, I don’t know out of guilt or what. I don’t know; I don’t know anything about him. We never talked about anything. He never even looked at my face. My face my beauty used to strive for his gaze. I was striving for love, care and damn it! I was striving for food…” her lips stopped speaking and started trembling. Now that pain was painful. Revising the memories filled it again with pain. I placed my palm on her shoulder to share her pain. I knew I just met here few minutes ago and I didn’t know her well to touch her. But it is not the matter of time for me, I feel connected to everything in this universe. I born in the womb of this universe. I am its child. We all are its child. We all are a family.
She continued to cry between her words or she continued to speak words between her cry. “I decided to relinquish this pain. There were two ways I get can away from this pain. One was suicide hahhhhhhh” she took a long breath. Her sobs ended in this long breath. “But there was something which didn’t even let me die. I still don’t know what was that. My cowardliness not to die led me into astray. Only one option was left. I had to leave that house. I started planning where to go and what to do. Of course I couldn’t go to my mother. That hell was worse than mine. Not only mine, my mother’s life would be at stake if I would left home like that. Society and my father would have made her life more difficult. It was about and year of my marriage and I never stepped out of that house and never stepped out of miseries. Time and those miseries faded care for my mother comfort. I again decided to leave that house but I was standing on the end point of my destiny. There was no way further. I don’t have any one in this world who can help me. What can a completely illiterate girl can do in this world, I was afraid of the world outside of this house also.  I again failed to take responsibility of myself. I was never been independent. My dependency leads me to fail again and again. That day I got first lesson of my life. It was not my mother or my father or my husband who were responsible for my miseries. It was me. You will be fucked up by others if you will depend on them. Then it doesn’t matter who they are family friend or enemy. People around us was parsing me for my tolerance power. They were parsing me for being with that bastard, for being beaten by daily. For the simple reason because I am no their daughter or sister. When I started getting losses off them then I met with the ultimate dependency of women. I was pregnant. After that I understood why my mother didn’t leave her hell. For the same reasons I accepted my hell as my home. I raised three kids in that hell. And worked hard to make them independent of every bastards and bitches. And first time I passed in my life. They all are free now.” First time in last fifteen minutes she looked at me with smile.
“Then you should be happy, why are you sad?” I think it was a genuine question. Don’t you?
“My life Kid! My life! It can’t be repaired by raising child. Living your life is more important than giving more lives. You are always you, even your children can’t reach at that place. Writing poems is not enough for a poet. By writing poem they try to reach where they always wanted to be. It is the way not the destiny. Living your life is the destiny. You can be happy in the happiness of others but you can’t live in the life of others. If I were have a second chance I may have first chose my life.” Her grandson came and she had to go. She placed her hand on my head and left. I kept sitting there for more half an hour. I didn’t even ask her name. how stupid am I…!!!                                                                                                 

2 comments:

  1. huhh, ur words melt somthing inside me....n a cute little smile comes on my face when i read it, when i try 2 feel it...huh...anuj..!

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  2. this is your best short story i read till date....

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