An Idiot's Tale

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An Idiot's Tale

Cacography of a madcap story teller, JAYEETA GHORAI

You are a wretched being.

Happiness doesn’t last with you; you cannot be content beyond a moment. You smile, indulgent of her wily-ness. But your tongue cannot rest from criticism for long and will soon pick up the new bone of contention.

You are forever chasing bones.

The fleshy, juicy delicious fabrics of Life never captivate you.

Who taught you – so much cribbing?

To latch on to the negative in every new landscape?

To eye first all the minute shadows when a thousand suns outdid each other to dazzle you in their brilliance?

She, on the other hand, is happy-go-lucky.

She built walls of cheerfulness around her, staked her territory with smiles, wrung drops of transient sunshine from the surrounding darkness, carefully balancing each bubble, one by one in the growing mounds. Thus, her castle rose, out of thin air, a gossamer being. This, her defence against the world. Thus, she vouched herself undying.

She was alive. So much alive.

Life do its damn-est.

You are dead. A living fossil of suspicion and mistrust.

Life do its best to please you, you refuse to meet it halfway.

You and she never understood each other.

No matter how much she tried to drag you into the light, you tried to drag her into the shade.

She’s glad the tug-of-war is finished. Three years you both battled over her Me-ness, dissected, labeled and bell-jarred each truant part of her. Walking alone the commercial streets of a foreign city, she recognized for the first time how easy she was to be alone of you.

To celebrate, she walked into a bakery and ordered a fresh baked quiche. A spinach, corn and cheese mash salivating her tongue, relaxed her. Freedom tasted that simple. She sat on a wooden bench surrounded by trees, a quiet courtyard rung by shrill high-pitched laughter from a trekking group. Sparrows flew to her feet, unafraid, pecking up crumbs but fluttered away as she focused her lens.

Three tables away a handsome rugged face looked at her with amused intent. She looked away. Her thoughts and the crusty bake on her plate kept her occupied. Her startled glance from time to time made her aware, yes he was looking at her still. Yes, still.

She smiled to herself.

She walked back inside the shop, picked dessert for her host, made small talk with the counter boy, flashed him her best smile. Through the glass windows another face was gazing at her still.

She walked out, still laughing.

Why, this was your fear, this uncontrollable realm outside the boundary of your possessiveness?!

Relief, like a long pent up breath, escaped her.

An open door, with its gentle draught has pulled her out. She is no longer content to reside in your stuffy vault, your prized trophy bereft of oxygen.




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