Editorial»
Writer at twenty-two
JAN 23 - It only drizzles. It doesn’t rain. She
is walking with him. Not hand in hand. But they are together and happy. Seems like a perfect setting for a young girl to fall in love. And she does! Only she doesn’t tell him.
“Hey! Isn’t that a brilliant start for my story?” I spring up and pass the paper around on which I just scribbled a fanciful thought. My friends each take turn to read and then give strange smiles. “Who’s the bloke?” they shout in unison. Oh! I am just trying to write a story, I dismiss their silly inquiries. But then you know what friends are like-the ultimate leg-pullers. “Oh I met him at the ball, I was Cinderella and he was the Prince.” I make a big face and we all burst into laughter.
He is a prince. But not the one who comes riding on a stallion. That happens only in fairytales. He is a loving young man who is not aware of his secret love. But the untold love like gentle wind moves silently and enters into his heart.
There is so much to look forward to in life. Wonderful people, to meet and make friends with. And there are also so many dreams to meet. Like, writer at twenty-two! I chuckle out at my whimsical wish.
He talks to her about the roads they are walking on, the temples they pass by and the rain that she feared would pour. She is listening intently. Her eyes widen and she nods her head pretending to understand. But words jumble up as her eyes fix on his face. She is so lost in him. So lost in dreams.
While getting ready for the office in the morning I hurriedly outline my eyes with kajal. Mommy detects the change immediately. Thank god that I did not blush, otherwise she would have been as eager as my friends to bug me with ‘smells fishy’ syndrome.
Your eyes are the most beautiful that I have seen, he tells her. Liar, she chides him. Her kohled eyes shine with a merry twinkle. Okay then you tell me if you have seen eyes more beautiful than yours, he jests cleverly.
At work invariably every one is looking forward to what happens next. In the story, that is. I haven’t written anything more, I tell them. “So, the prince is dumb huh? He hasn’t kissed Cinderella yet!” they tease me.
He quietly looks at her with his dumb confession. And gently his lips touch hers. The full moon tiptoes out of the dark clouds to witness the tender pledge that the young lovers make. The lips linger and the humid affection seals the sacred love.
Through the car’s window ~ ~ I look up at the moon. “Any romantic inklings?” my friends query innocently like inquisitive readers. Here I am dead worried about how I am going to confront dad’s, “Late again” hollering. “Romantic inklings, what rubbish” I sigh before finally passing on a soiled piece of paper to the excited readers. “Bravo!” my friends cheer and add a, ‘happily ever after’, lest I take on my writing fervor intact into my twenty-third birthday.Posted on: 2004-01-23 02:51
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