Completeness

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Guys you remember my blog friend Rusty from “Two A Day” right?, so she had written this short story a few days back, which I was really impressed with. She called it “The Beginning“. I asked her if she could do a part 2 of it, from the view of the women, and she asked me back, if I could do it. This was way back and I have been wanting to do it for long. Finally I got myself to do it, so here it goes..

It had been months since she started talking to herself, first she found it amusing, because back in her days she hardly liked to speak, she was one of those who preferred few words, and uttered them only if necessary, but now, she found herself being more expressive. She would surprise herself with the physicality of her emotions; she had caught herself smiling at things from a book, or with a lump in her throat, or even for that matter humming her favorite songs loudly. May be it was her unconscious mind trying to fill in the void.

She had never been particular about her ensemble, and her mother always had a problem with that, she was always being told things like how a dupatta completes her salwar, or when she wore western dresses, she was always reminded to throw in a nice pair of high heels along with it. Basically she didn’t care, a feeling of “completion” did not matter to her much, she always believed that she had better things in her life to drive to completion, rather then something as trivial as her look. Like the elusive degree in art she wanted to earn in the city of Paris, or things as simple as a perfect evening in her lawn with a good book, and a cup of tea, with nothing to worry about.

On that day, as she ran down her steps to catch her shawl, which was forced off her, by the wind, she began to introspect what she had become, and what she was. Red shawl completed her attire for the cold evenings she spent on her balcony, and she did not want to lose the comfort of what she had, especially after all other things which were completely beyond her reach right now.

She had all the freedom she wanted, no one to answer to, she had complete independence. she always had wanted this, ability to not depend on anyone, even if it were for deeds which required physical strength, like moving things in her house, or something as trivial as deciding what she would eat that day. At home she had always felt controlled, being told what to do, what to eat, and being taken care of. One could catch her on days moving stuff into her balcony and out of it. She felt idiotic and stupid, because she kind of yearned for that control now, the bondage which she hated so much, she kind of missed it. Without that pull, the freedom felt incomplete, less attractive and less appealing.

Balcony was one place she had gotten absolutely fond of. You could catch her there most of her free time. Reading, cutting vegetables, watching people, living her life. One day as she gazed around the area, she caught a pair of binoculars aimed at her, for a second she got creeped out, immediately rushed back into her kitchen. She did not know how to react, should she be calling police, or call her husband at work. She decided to ignore it, and if it becomes more intrusive she thought about taking some action. One thing she realized was that, she did not want this to ruin one thing she loved the most in her life, her balcony, her window into the blue skies.

Every time she came into the balcony, she kind of glanced to see if she could spot the guy, she would find him on some days and not on others. Slowly she began to feel comfortable with being watched, more importantly she liked it amidst her loneliness, gave her a sense of being looked after and looked at, even though it meant a loss of privacy, at times. Slowly she began to treat the person as being there with her, in her balcony, imagined him responding to her, talking to her, providing her a virtual company, he had become a part of her evenings remotely, ‘his’ presence completed her evenings. Its one of those feelings which she could not categorize as romantic or sexual, it gave her a sense of companionship, and she began to like it.

On that day as her husband piled boxes on top of each other, she stood there with a confused mind, it was going a new place and a new city, and the same old herself, in a way stepping a step back, from being accompanied back to herself. The sense of completeness those unknown eyes brought to her, was something beyond comprehension”

P.S. This will be my last post wrt to my writing experiments and I am going to take a break from all the prompts and attempts. I want to get back to how the blog started more ME, since I am blogging so less these days I want to take this blog to where I started from my life and opinions.

7 responses »

  1. That is really sad in a way.. I loved your poems for prompts.. but what you say makes sense…

    @abt this story… I liked rusty’s story better.. Umm in this story… somehow there seemed a brk in flow in the end.. I loved how it started and how you have described her state of mind!

  2. I try to do a bit of both. It helps to have a blog purely for “writing” & one for prompts & news from my little world. Just make sure to keep blogging. We’d miss you if you stopped! :)

  3. Winnie..rusty is too good..I cannot dream of reaching even close to her..regarding break of flow..I thing I saw it that way, suddenly the bond she seems to develop, lost in a jiffy..a spurt of a feeling

    BM..I sort of expected that from you

    Nida..not stopping to blog, just not going to do prompts for a while

    BOC..I will keep blogging but not writeups for a while

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