Monday, September 8, 2008

Handicaps of heart

Stealing some more time under the blissful hot water shower and watching the water trickle down my nakedness had almost become a daily ritual these days.
Two threads of water join between my chest. I notice the grains of hair growing back after a merciless waxing session 2 days back. Then it flows a little lower. I pincer grasp the protrusion of my navel, wince and regret having the blueberry muffin yesterday. Then the little rivers spiral around my calves evoking depression of having the most pathetic legs of the world.

Next comes the excruciating process of selecting something appropriate to wear. Something to co-ordinate with what I am feeling today. Sometimes I feel aubergine and sometimes peachy. Then violate my hair with liberal amounts of gel to suppress their revolt. Sunblock to not only block the sun but also to block the lungs of my skin. Socks to match, shoes to match. Deo and perfume to emit another million molecules of CFCs into the atmosphere.

My mind is dysfunctional from all the travails of vanity even before my day begins. So much to make me look good and ergo, feel good. Every time I set my Prada shoes on the dirty ground, a part of me dies. I watch my gait every now and then. I don’t sit by the window lest the wind will fuck up my hair. On my way, I curse the sun for making me sweat. I curse the country for the crumbling infrastructure. I curse the people for dressing up in off-whites and eating Big Macs.

And just when I am almost reaching my limit of damnation for the day I see her walking. Not walking like most of us do. Walking with the help of crutches. Dressed in a school uniform and carrying a backpack stacked with books. Balancing on the lopsided crutches, on the lopsided road with her lopsided body. Gracefully. They passed by her scornfully. I would have too. Maybe even pushed her aside, not because she was in my way. But because she isn’t like us. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Thick glasses with magnified irises, 2 pigtails folded and ribboned, crooked nose aren't exactly the things that hold your gaze, are they?

It was the smile.
I cant tell for what or for who. What reason would she have? The mystery of it was annoying. But the sight of it equally balming.
I moved ahead into the world full of reasons to hate.

She moved the other way.

art title - pure love, mixed media
artiste - Gayle Curry
url -

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