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 were older than her age. For the first time, I was witnessing beauty with sadness. Now I can believe that beauty doesn’t exist only in happiness, it exists with sadness also. That sadness becomes 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 to stories. Some just walk over me and some shared their story with me.
She looked at me once then moved on the bench to make space for me to sit without saying anything. I sat in silence by her side; trying to see her from the side. I need to look at people to listen to them. She was looking straight at the water in the lake in front of us.
“Why?” Her single word was a 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 to fight for my birth. My mother tried to make a little heaven for me in her hell. But her fight was not enough to send me to School. Then the day came when I entered in my hell from my mother’s hell. I got married. Of courses an arranged marriage. I could not afford love marriage. It would need a lot of courage and I was a coward. I had seen a lot of fight and didn’t want to see anymore.”
She was having a static gaze. Her thoughts and words were clear. There was a 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 am supposed to worship that man but it was hard to even to see him.
Days started passing then months and then years and his behavior went on getting worse. There was not even a single night when he came home sober. In the 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.