The Mirage

# I speak

My memory fails me as I try to recollect the last time I observed myself in a mirror. I have loathed and detached myself from the reflection that surfaces. I learnt about its depressing features, through various comments made by the society that revolves my life. Rather, revolved my life, as it is now obsolete. The only bright spot of being a victim of nature’s wicked games is that you end up being a philosopher. Combine it with some authoring skills, and you become me. A man at war with himself, who cant face the world, except through his writings.

# Asha speaks

I was a dreamer. I was optimistic to the extent of amusing destiny. I embraced marriage two years back, with soaring hopes and unfulfilled dreams. It has been cruel to me, just to the extent of changing my perceptions about life. Gone were the fantasies of a prince charming, and entered a person whose idea of romance is sweating it out on the bed, and the most intimate talk we ever had was about his work life. I have lost my right to emote naturally, and am expected to supply love, sex and respect, all on demand. My monotonous existence was a disgrace to my dreams.

When we first moved into this flat, many cautioned me about my lone neighbour. He was a mystery man, hardly seen, hardly known, hardly cared. Fear supersedes curiosity in knowing few things in life, and he was one of those things. Best left alone, undisturbed. People get hushed up, crowds get disbursed and silence rules in his presence. However everyone seems to unanimously agree on one aspect. That he is ugly.

It was one of those late noons, when I get to be myself, and believe to be living life on my own terms. I indulge in activities that remind me about the person within me. Excitement superseded fear, and I found myself ringing the doorbell of the forbidden house. Three rings later, the door creaks open, and I face the figure of the dreaded man. Excitement vanished, and fear came fore to make me tongue-tied. Thoughts came crashing, and I found myself dashing back into my home and banging the door shut.

# I speak

I was not sickened as much by people considering me ugly, as by their decision to reduce a person to mere physical form. The rest of his personality, attitude, and aptitude follow only when he falls into the tolerance range of visual appeal that which he never had an option of. After a lot of freelance contribution, I finally gave in to the temptation of a novel. Me being the protagonist. My life being the content. The protagonist lives in this world of insensitivity and ignorance, and banishes the presence of society in his life. He hopes of freedom one day, when someone doesn’t get swayed by society and looks beyond into him. Respects and plays with the person in him. He observes that beauty lies in every nature’s creation, from the rose to the cactus, from the swan to the crow. Thus believes beauty lies in him as well, but not acknowledged, and hence sustains life in the hope of freedom.

One day, in the mid of his blissful somber, he hears the bell ring. Thrice. Genuinely surprised, he opens the door to find a strange woman. He immediately recognizes the familiar sight of disgust, which fills her eyes the minute they rest on him. It was a blow that left her speechless. The blow was he. Two days later, she is sitting across him in his living room, all set to apologize she dare not.

# Asha speaks

The impregnable wall around him was dented by my resilience. The first time, I was wise to not bring up my earlier display or attribute any fake excuses to it. He dealt the situation with grace, and I realized that I did not as much as hurt him through my behaviour. I understood that he has shielded himself from the perceptions of mere mortals. After a long time, I found myself talking to someone without the fear of being judged. Interactions became a little regular, and there was a sudden surge in me to impress him and make a difference in his life, prove a point that not all people are alike.

He spoke about the book he was writing, and my role in it. Though I was initially perturbed, the fact that I decide the fate of the novel gave me a sense of identity. I started to look forward to the afternoons when I get to spend time with him, and become myself. It was the time when the spirit in me got pampered, wanted, respected and let free. Occasional morality objections that arise within me were weighed against contention and squashed.

Within a short time, he knew more about me than my own husband. I don’t know if it was because I wanted him to hear or because I wanted him to know. I could never get him into talking about himself, and my discussions either revolved around his book or me. After many such afternoons, his laugh, grins, frowns, smiles all seemed to appreciate in beauty, and I found myself wanting him to derive pleasure from my body. Passion raged, Instincts ruled and it culminated in ecstatic sex that drove me to the cliff of contention.

# I speak

Over time, He encouraged her intrusion into his life, though uncertainty was looming at large. The glint in her eyes, the warmth of her body, the joy in her voice were all signs of unspoken love. He now knew why he persisted on earth all these years despite such humiliation. His relation with her has been that of taking. He had never given her anything. Now, he wished to. He dreamt of giving her a lifetime of freedom and happiness.

It so happened that her close friend who was visiting the town happened to drop in to meet her, and eventually met him. Terming the meet as a disaster is putting it mildly. The familiar shock factor, and concern over asha’s taste of companionship was all written on her face. They excused themselves crisply and with no regret. That was the last time he saw her for a week.

I couldn’t continue to write my book for dislike of the sudden twists. Does the opinion of the society override everything that has been shared between two people? Having decided on the fate of my novel, I went out to buy myself a mirror.

# Asha speaks

The disgust on her face refused to fade even until the next day. I was suddenly thrown into self-doubts about myself and made to feel stupid about my actions. Made to feel, is probably used for convenience, as I cannot not take responsibility for my actions. I was groping in the dark for answers, I already knew. Did I ever love him? Was I trying to escape from my own life or was I trying to truly get close to him? Was I always aware of the consequences of my actions?

I couldn’t face myself for a few days and by the time I could, there was no trace of him. Days passed into weeks, and weeks passed into months and regret planted itself in my heart. It was during one of my bookshop visits that my eyes fell on a familiar cover. The book has finally seen the daylight. My pulse raced as I lifted it with trembling hands. As I sifted the pages, I grew up, I laughed, I panicked, I befriended, I made love and I disappeared. I turned to the last page of the book to know the destiny of the unfortunate lover. As my lips read the words, tears welled as the beautiful soul departed its ugly body.

Ranjith Boyanapalli, is a fan of indian fiction, and has a keen interest in the format of short stories. An alumni of Anna Univ (02) and IIM Indore (06), he is the founder of www.buytheprice.com, an online shopping portal that introduces ecommerce 2.0 . He can be contacted at ranjithboyan@gmail.com