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'She' in the picture (part 3)
One facet of their nature that early childhood successfully establishes in men is their attitude towards rules, which is seldom subject to change later in life. For Swayam too, his judgment of whether rules should to be broken or not was something that had formed within him, once and for all, when he was eight. Spurred by a babysitter's bedtime story about deceased parents making an appearance to save their offspring from calamity, Swayam had tried to put himself in calamity's way for months at a stretch. But he had only ended up with bruises, sprains and finally, a broken ankle. His adventures had also resulted in numerous threats from his harried class-teacher, which hadn't mattered to him, and phone calls to his grandmother, which had. Even though such calls had ruthlessly ended his attempts to force his dead mother into making an appearance, the remaining of his school years had seen him breach rules like a pro and earn a somewhat exaggerated reputation of a daredevil.
He carried the pride of this reputation in his veins when he sneaked out from the party holding Sharon's hand. Moreover, initiating a private interaction with Sharon meant breaking his own rule, a self- imposed one, and this realization was somewhat comforting. It meant that his action could only harm him and no one else.This convenient comfort was occasionally threatened by the wordless tingling of her anklets as she kept up with him. It awakened him to her tender presence, to her hand that was clasped in his. Wasn't he leading her on? Could his actions really only harm him and spare her the consequences?
It was a relief to him when they finally reached their destination and her laughter that smote the air as she roamed about the terrace was just as welcoming. Her obvious joy at the little escapade of theirs was so much more direct and worldly than the guilt-probing sounds of her anklets that Swayam could feel those unanswered questions leave his mind and hang in the air like a disappearing mist leaving him to concentrate on the note of liveliness that trailed her laughter filling every pause she took to catch her breath. The mist vanished in totality when she spoke. Her attractive voice was back and it was, at present, enquiring whether the terrace was the day's location for bursting of crackers and if their experiment was about to spoil the festive plans.
"No not at all!" Swayam told her that since most of the guests were his grandparents' contemporaries and well over sixty, he had insisted on celebrating a soundless Diwali, one without the bursting of crackers.
"How did you get away without offending anyone?" Her questions were simple and yet they took him by surprise each time.
"I told them that it was for the greater cause of environmental protection and not to protect their hearts, which by God's grace works just as fine as it did fifty years ago." This time he joined her in her laughter and this brief unplanned moment fit none of his various imaginings about their first meeting.
"So what are we going to do?", asked Swayam reminding her of the purpose of their visit to the terrace. Much to his dislike, her voice put on a tone of professional formality as she quipped about the exercise.
"It's very simple" she explained "I will lead the dance and you will follow. Concentrate on the rhythm and pace of our movements and open your mind to fragments of recollection. Let your mind imagine its own music to suit our dance. Remember you don't lead the dance, you just follow my lead. Go with the flow and try to feel your movements in your head"
"You know you make much more sense when you aren't talking about your work!" laughed Swayam.
He reached out to Sharon who was failing miserably in her attempt to look stern. He got the idea that she was not used to suppressing that smile of hers, not even when situations demanded so.
He took her in his arms with decipherable awkwardness and started swaying, clueless of how the rest of the evening would unfold. He realized at once that she wasn't much of a dancer but she did not seem apologetic about it. After all she had never boasted of being one.
"Concentrate if you want this to work. Close your eyes if you think it might help."
He did as he was told and tried to feel the rhythm his body twisted to. It was soft and jerky in the beginning and every step hurried to the next. Her steps were not perfect but they were diversified. He could see a glimpse of himself dancing in front of the television as a child, trying too many steps at once and struggling to finish each.
In the wake of that memory, many more swept in, tugging him towards happier childhood moments... Sitting on his grandfather's lap as he told him why volcanoes erupt... Helping the servants pick flowers from the garden for the morning pujas... the pride he felt when he beat his cousins in chess for the first time... How much clearer they seemed than his present life. He opened his eyes to look at Sharon wanting to convey that he was getting it, how the mind could be alerted to one's past by its innate sense of music, but he could only concentrate on the lock of hair that had fallen on her cheek. It reminded him of his mother from the photograph he had of hers, her long hair that had framed her face. Temptation swept through him like a monsoon storm. He became adamant not to let go of this image. He found himself imagining her presence in those scattered glimpses of his childhood, trying to fit her in those frames, in those memories that she should have been a part of. As he and Sharon toured the terrace in circles he could even see his mother light few of those candles that lined its railing.
Then like a shock everything started changing as Sharon took on a faster pace. Without warning and before he could fade out the previous vision, a new image of his mother shot up in his mind; not the way she looked in that photograph or in any other from old family albums but an image of her tracing notes in bold slashes of ink on the back of that picture he had. It scattered all the happy images his mind had woven to fit his virtual past and instilled in him the familiar rage that he had avoided for four long years. How many more of such letters had she penned? Had any of them ever been answered? The long suppressed fury made him forget his promise of not leading the dance. Unaware of his own advances he pulled Sharon closer in an edgy embrace and twirled her around guided by the temporary madness that had captured his mind. The shock on her face moved him enough to feel the weight of his action but it was too late to stop. He had already bridged the distance between them and the only defense he had in the light of what he had done was to continue dancing. He was scared of the stillness that would befall them if they stopped.
To his surprise Sharon kept up with the dance, the only difference being that she now guided herself with a professional restraint that kept her from colliding into his chest as their movements became intimate. Her fingernails dug deep into his shoulders as she gradually and expertly reinforced the distance between them. He welcomed the pain like a desirable visitor and was grateful that it could counter the unwanted intrusion his haunting past had made to their otherwise innocent and harmless dancing. How much had it wrecked things for them? It was difficult to say as it was impossible to deduce from her expression if she was offended or not. How was it possible for her not to judge him? If she had screamed at him or pushed him away to drown in guilt and shame of his action he could have argued and justified himself but it was the politeness with which she had accepted his emotional outburst that defeated him. Was she giving him the same wide margin she was so used to giving her patients, people she thought she was healing? Women were used to doing that weren't they, doing things and making compromises for men who had wronged them and all for their mistaken notions of love and kindness. Here she was, still dancing with him in companionable silence, trying to ease the tension between them.. like a friend.. like a confidant..
He was startled by his own thoughts. Had he already found a friend in her? He weighed the heft of this question in his mind, its truth. He could not think of marrying her but yes he craved for her company. He examined his statement in his mind and realized that it had nothing to do with the kind of person she was. It had nothing to do with her passion for her work or her enthusiasm for life, though these were very good reasons to want someone. For him there was no logical reason for wanting her friendship and so he would offer her none when he asks for it and when he makes it clear that it was all she could ever expect in return. How was he to explain all this to her?
They had already slowed down and it was only a while before their untimely and unexpected dance would come to an end. She was looking over his head at the fireworks in the sky. Any moment she would turn her gaze to him and he would have to offer the explanation that he owed her since the very beginning. He realized with a sudden and strange aching in his heart how much he wanted this moment to continue forever.
p.s. This turned out to be longer than i intended to make it but i would have messed the flow if i had broken it in two parts so i let it beđ! thanks for reading!đ¤ n i request those who want to stick with this ss till the end to add me on their list! so dat its easier for me to send pms!đł
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