Svaha

**
O u "R"

The death ceremony was a grand opera, the rituals a big sham. Nevertheless, I lived through of all that. The mob has left now, after the due sympathetic condolences.

Left to myself in the seemingly big apartment, I finally heave a sigh of relief. I decide to savor the quiescent dusk, listen to the somber breeze; live in ‘here and now’. But melancholy returns, as my mind cruises into the past. I try to pull it back into the ‘now’, I clench my teeth and dig into the pillow covers. But in vain. I crave for some semblance, only a noisy void lasts.

Just a few days back, I lay here on the bed stark naked entwined with him adorned by a virgin blush.We had together cherished the incredible beauty of our togetherness, as the shadows of the evening deepened.

The garden is now deserted; the saplings starved, trees barren.. Yesterday’s blooming bud is now a withered rose.

It’s a different story outside my house. The dust storms of the day have left behind a palatial azure sky decorated with a tinge of lavish pink and sophisticated orange at a distant horizon. There is a delicious fragrance in the air, a mellifluous rhythm to the chirping and a kaleidoscope over the clouds.

As my eye-lids widen at awe, twilight noiselessly seeps into the world and my being like the spark of the moon that spreads across the oceanic waters, I feel light and calm.

Or so I want to believe!

Such awe is short-lived, as the cognizance of my loss chokes the feeling of beauty and laughter within. Work is therapeutic; I think and start cleaning up the house after what seems like eons.

I start with his wardrobe; pile up all his trousers, shirts, shorts, jogging pants and throw them on to the floor. Before I fritter away his favorite Hilfiger jeans and crimson red sweater i savor their smell for one last time. I clear out the jockeys from the draw. He seems to have saved up many of the laundry bills; old letters and photographs, ties, CDs and other junk; stack them all up and hurl them all onto the corner of the room inside the vacation bag.

The bathroom, that’s another place I had to cleanse; the stories they tell and re-tell are too much to handle. His toothbrush, after-shave, razor, greenish hand towel (yes, greenish it is!), the fragrant liquid soap all of them went into the large sized black polythene.

His shoes; all of them. These little things that I never gave any importance to, nudge my memory now; Like these dangling wind chimes, the way they jive to the wind irritates me to no end. I scream "What the hell are you celebrating for now?". And then the jacket that he wore on misty mornings and rainy evenings. I hated it, it took ages before I could take them off and rest onto his chest.

There wasn’t much of "his" stuff in the drawing room, but for the remote control which was for all practical purposes his. I switched on the idiot box and squatting on the multi-colored cushions watched the football match for half-an hour before I got up again to ‘clear up’.

The library, supposedly common. Sports, world politics, welfare-economics.; these will have to go. Poetry, fiction, philosophy; they could stay. His "100 years of solitude" taunted the tear glands all over again. I hated the sight of those wafer thin sheets. They invaded our privacy; allured him with their voluptuous glitz. He was wrong; relationships were not pivotal in my life. He was! He is!

And I vehemently resent being enslaved by the harrowing pain these memories bring, so all that which belonged to him will feed the hungry flames of the bonfire tonight. "That" book too will go; I never read it only because I abhorred its title. It will go, it has to; aflame!

Kitchen wouldn’t have a thing, I presumed. Nevertheless, decided to tidy up. There was a time when I practically lived on coffee, he detested it. The habit and my coffee. A piping hot drink would do wonders to my health now; I decided.

And it is beneath the sugar box he bought home last week I found that slip. It was a grocery bill, behind the slip he had written in a hurried manner,

Here you go: Sugar,

For the sugar and spice of my life. ;)

Love,
R

I stood there benumbed.

**
Finally, managed to pull myself unto the garden. It took about quite sometime and energy to get all the things out of the house and stack them on. Infact quite a lot of time, as I looked at, felt and touched each of ‘his’ belongings once before they would be gone forever. From my life, far away from the insides of my mind and heart.

I tore the ‘note’ too into pieces and finally put a match to it all. There were a few sparks, a loud wail, a contended frown, wildfire, and a bright glow.

A maddening blaze of fume arose and waltzed across the corners of the garden. The withered rose was burnt. And I was laughing, with such malicious frenzy. I have killed it.

Few seconds later just with one last whimper, it was all over and darkness returned.

So did his memory.

********

(PS: Svaha literally means "wife of fire god",but I'm sure the readers will "see" more meanings to it.

My best friend listened patiently to this piece and suggested the English title and I couldn’t resist but give 2 titles to this one )