She was a lot more than I expected her to me. The day- motionless, quiet, arcane. It was a bit dim, though. The lights flickered. Flickered, clasping me, spreading themselves on velvety bedlinen- spruced up. The backwaters of my mind were ignited. The curtains ruffled. The sound.

It was winding down my throat, settling itself in my stomach. Yes, stomach. Stomach- the rumbling chamber. The sound caused nasty borborygmus. The sound- amplified in my head, indomitable.

There was she, sitting on the couch. I was a beast- hanging about, howling. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She was squealing. A squealing voice. A voice which quivered. Quivered feebly. Feebly. So feebly that I feared. I feared it might die. Death might make it go lost. Losing was what I was afraid of. I wanted to hold her voice. Lock it in a clench of my fist. I wish I could touch it. “Close the windows! Close them! Right now,” I soliloquised. Not really.

It didn’t help. The voice ran away. Every entity in that room was a charlatan. I had been bamboozled. She was amidst the wind embellished with her voice. A gust of wind would flow from the window, amalgamate and corrupt. The voice would pierce. It would stay like a wound. Not that I wanted it to be like that.

She walked to the garden. Her steps- tireless and relentlessly motioned. I tried to stop her. She’d walk around- amble on the staircase, look around. “Go. Snap. Drive.” She glanced at me. That was some news. My eyes twitched. They were burning, melting. A farrago of emotions crept onto me. The window was breaking, the door was clanging- colliding with the walls. I looked at her moving around. Followed her. Noting helped. I couldn’t stop.

I was a demon. Looking at her, I hung my head in shame. She was wandering joyfully and I was a demon. I was trying to stop her, intervene in her pleasures. I wanted to let her go. I feared fear. No! “What if? What if? What if? What if!” the only words I learnt to speak, or so it seemed. She might be lost, drowned , be killed. I just couldn’t let myself do it. Do it? Don’t do it? I couldn’t see myself doing it. I could not even clearly see myself not doing it.

“You’re a demon. Do it.”

“You’re a demon. Don’t do it.”

“Do it!”

“Don’t!”

“Do.”

“Don’t!”



“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does.”

“Do it”

“I’ll do it.”



Yes.

That’s right. I decided. I’ll do it. I’ll let her go.

I wanted to see her. Again. Always. She went around everywhere. She peeped through all the creaks in the door. She had. She’d meet a character with every footstep. She wouldn’t stop walking. Her footsteps paced. I was running behind her. Where was she taking me? Does she know?

Where?

Why?

She stopped. It was the garden. She sat on her favourite bench- placed under the tree. A mosaic of sunlight glued to her face. Her hair- wavering with the sun’s shafts. Shimmering contours with golden dew drops pinned delicately at the ends of long flowing strands. Her skin- a bunch of rose petals. Irresistible. Poetry-like.

“Go. Snap. Drive,” the phrase. It was her voice. I advanced my hand, clenched my fists. Got a fraction. Didn’t binge. Didn’t pounce. I did. I was lying. Sorry, reader.

My appetite walked a mile. I was asking for more. Promiscuous me. Ejaculate the words, girl. I want it. I want to kiss your words. So, that’s that- the sad truth. “Govern me. Go to hell if you can’t. Desires- they increase. By the second.” I want more. I need more. I know it. Knew it just like it is. I tried to grab the wind amidst her. But it’s the wind. It escapes. Everything does. She will. I will. You will.

That was the past. This will be the past too. It’s passing. Look, it’s past. The past is past us.

Book- she was holding it- Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. She kissed the pages, running her hand down the spine. A blob of ink had kissed her lips. I wanted to run my hand across its spine. Touch. Kiss. We might end up exchanging one. If I had, we would’ve exchanged it. A kiss. A touch. Not really. But I was dreaming. After so long. We had kissed, touched.

No. Not really.

Yes, we had. They’re dreams.

She was sitting on a patch of grass. The bench was crying. She was put. The tear drops tasted of chocolate. They were descending down her throat. Her eyelids were closed. But she saw the world in The Black. She disentangled her hair. The convoluted laces were unbinding, swimming. The air- sweet. It was melting in her mouth. Her skin was burning. The rose petals turned to ashes. Leaves were dancing. They loved her. She loved them too. She plucked the grass blades. Painful love, that is. The grass blades were strangulated. They didn’t mind. Leaves didn’t stop. I didn’t stop.

“Go. Snap. Drive.” I grabbed her voice. It was in my palm. The sky. She shouted- “Blue! Blue! Blue!” The clouds, mighty. They are wrappings, blinds. They unfolded with her voice. I looked at her- squealing and jumping. The voice escaped. It was a trap. Nasty brute, the sky is- trapping young wings in its false symphonies. But it’s a meadow. It’s like the countryside. One can cry. Cry. Cry- so it would rain. And the drudgery would ensue. Sky? She didn’t know. Blue package- placed high? She pleaded the sky everyday. Shine. Shine. Shine. I promised. She glanced at me. “Kill the sky and make it cry if it fails to shine,” the words raced from her mouth. I pretended being a saviour- a person who promises too much. The sky never darkened. It did. I tried to make the stars dazzle while the sun was awake. Just to make it up to her. And I failed. Badly. Like I always do. Everyone does.

She utters nothing. She knows what I’ve done. No echoes. Noiseless. Standing there, in that corner, I got a glimpse of her. My eyes, unblinking. Tossed the curtains. I wanted them to ruffle like before. “Break the monotony, you scoundrels!”

Two steps forward.

Go!

I held her in my arms.

Snap!

Our eyes conjoined.

Drive!

Flickering candles. Candles flickered.

Quivering voices. Voices quivered.

I despised the silence. It was horrible. Nothing had happened. I was still there, making my way to the kitchen. Clenched my fists, she was in the garden. Voices don’t travel far. I went back to The Spot. She had drowned into reverie. She was swimming in the air. She was somnambulating in an alley of fantasies. Yes! Yes! Hurray! The curtains began to ruffle again. The silence wasn’t housing in anymore. The floor, pushing itself against me, holding me like a puppet, was sending me to the kitchen.

Coffee? Yes, coffee.

Couldn’t get it right, somehow. She was still there. She wasn’t running away. What if she did? The coffee- acrid. A beetle. A goddamn beetle. That’s what I am. The coffee beans had amalgamated with milk and water, foam rising at the top. Bitter. I like it that way. I always have. It didn’t seem right. I was still looking at her. Luscious lips! I had drowned. Embrace. Kiss. Coffee sets right. Sip. The enamel cup is tearing away. Skin leaning against it, couldn’t help. Slide the palm. That’ll do. Another sip.

Couldn’t stop looking at her!

Coffee!

No, her!

Coffee!

Boom! It had burst. Into ashes. The coffee was in fragments. It was held by broken pieces of glass. I was in fragments. The fragments of grass blades. Trio. Is that a crowd? I was crowding around the fragments. That’s okay. The floor was bleeding. Anyway, I didn’t like the flooring. But the carpet? My favourite Persian carpet had become ugly. Stained. That’s sad. I loved it. But loved ones go. She will go. I will go. We’ll disappear in a thin film of air. My dear Persian carpet, I love you.

Things will be good. Good. Good, yes, they are. But in the end. This was the start.

The wind rustled. I was on my to the garden.

What about the curtains? They ruffled beautifully. I loved ruffling sounds- skirts, dresses, sheets, curtains, winds, breezes. I love her. Does she know? She does. She doesn’t.

The curtains had torn themselves into shreds. They were kept on the mantelpiece. The wind was making them flow. No! Not the fire. Don’t go near it. I can sew you- your shreds, I mean.

No!

Please!

No!

They did. Everybody is a charlatan. That’s asphyxiating. Cataclysmic. My hands were wearing out. A tablespoon of pain dribbled inside. I was trapped. Like always. That’s drudgery.

“Fire- burn me.” Burn me, you son of a brute!

Gone!

I am obsessed. Today was different. I was drawn into everything. Every. Possible. Thing.

Garden. To her. That’s where I belong.

Amidst the grass, shackles of sunlight here and there. Her countenance was intense, unusual. Obsessed like me. She was.

Something had died. It had depleted. Maybe it never survived. Was it even born?

Perhaps not.

Trio. Remember? The trio? Remember the trio? Well, I don’t think that’s quite a crowd.

Grass blades. More and more. A stack of grass, as thick as a dictionary. The callipygian grass blades tearing themselves into bits. Bits of that. Bits of this. Broken sentences, unfinished words- what are they? Blades of grass? Burnt. Dead. Yes, that’s what’s happening to me. I am melting under the sun. My corpse will lie near her. That’s my wish. Wishes. Dreams. They don’t come true. Mine hadn’t. I was dying. She was killing me. Love always does. It’s a killer, a stalker, a dacoit. It’s everything. Everything. Simply everything. It’s every everything.

I had lost myself. I presume it is the patch of grass.

“Go. Snap. Drive,” pretty obvious who said it. Not me, not I.

Pluck! It was piercing through me.

Trio. It’s a crowd. Grass blades piercing through me. Dew drops of soil leaping, plummeting to the ground. Sparkling. Displaced. Pity.

“Go. Snap. Drive.”

Her voice had gained strength. It wasn’t quivering. It was firm.

“Go. Snap. Drive.”

Repetition. That’s battology. Logomachy.

“Go. Snap. Drive.”

She was looking at me, angrily.

I know. She was saying this to me. I tried to break the words. Go…Snap…Drive…

Gosh! Was she?

Not so fast. Please! Okay, darling. Just a kiss. A hug. Bid me farewell. My sweetheart. The love of my life.

Please! Don’t make me go.

I was whisking away. She was sitting on the patch of grass, looking at me. She was staring right into my eyes. Why? Broken promises? Precarious road? Tell me…Tell me…

I’m leaving. My footsteps are taking me. The look you are giving me is just not acceptable.

Don’t send me away. I love you. I always have.

You’re a part of me.

Dear, please! I beg you.

Don’t.

Go.

Don’t.

Go. Go, if you love her.

Don’t.

Go. Go. Go.

Don’t.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Don’t.

Drive. Drive. Drive.

What is life?

A series of go’s, snaps, drives.

But she sent me away.

Demon me!

I’m her mother.

She is…my…my…daughter. She spells it as ‘duther’.

Reader, leave this page.

Go. Snap. Drive.

The day is…No, life is…Motionless…Quiet…Arcane…