Gray. Melancholy. Menacing. That was the look the morning sky adorned on a Saturday morning, that was meant to be like any other weekend morn...except that it wasn't any other week...she woke up with a start, realizing that she was off schedule by at least a quarter of an hour...only to cuddle back into the warmth of her early morning dreams...after all, she was going home after nine long months..and her flight to Kolkata was less than 100 hours away...life was back on track, what with the anandamide coefficient in her system still high after previous night's crazy chocolate frenzy. About a dozen minutes later...she re-woke up. By then, the firmament was a shade of pale yellow and the mellow September sun streamed in through the diaphanous curtains by her book-shelf. She smiled to herself, stretched and humming a medley to herself, went to freshen up. Someone at the back of her head kept whispering to her, warning her that too much smiling could be injurious, sooner or later, she would be crying. She ignored and went on with life...
She shouldn't have ignored the voices in her head...well, at least, not all of them! First it was the pump that stopped working, as a result of which she had to abort the experiment that had taken more than a week till then to plan, program and execute (alas, partially). Dejection...depression...utter irritation. That was what her state of mind turned to. It was still acceptable, and after a long chat, a few tears and an omlette (happy food), she was feeling a bit more resolute and definitely happier. Time passed on...the sinking feeling had just gotten to subside when she had another bout of it. This time it was even more massive, even more abstruse to the face of logic and the once patched-up soul shattered into a hundred odd pieces thrown apart by anger, frustration and self-loathing. How else would it feel when someone she had reckoned to be a close pal not only went against her, but in one of the most publicly deprecating ways possible? Sacrilegious, that's what it was.
Why is it that she trusted people so? Cared for them to an extent when they took it as a liberty to encroach upon her private space, that petite corner that was only hers'? What sort of blasphemous audacity did some people have to make her feel so minuscule, so lost and so drowned in self-abhorrence? Or perhaps, for a change, the fault lay deep within her. At some private alcove somewhere deep down, she knew that there must have been something that instigated such profane reactions. Why her? She let the tears fall, they had a healing effect, and soon she was too tired to care...or even think! A few more showdowns...she wanted to be over it...for once and for all...life wasn't a bed of roses, but then again it wasn't meant to be an altar of thorns either! She had survived worse scenarios, and emerged triumphant. Hurt, yes, but healed. If she was a survivor, she would do it. Yet again.
She shouldn't have ignored the voices in her head...well, at least, not all of them! First it was the pump that stopped working, as a result of which she had to abort the experiment that had taken more than a week till then to plan, program and execute (alas, partially). Dejection...depression...utter irritation. That was what her state of mind turned to. It was still acceptable, and after a long chat, a few tears and an omlette (happy food), she was feeling a bit more resolute and definitely happier. Time passed on...the sinking feeling had just gotten to subside when she had another bout of it. This time it was even more massive, even more abstruse to the face of logic and the once patched-up soul shattered into a hundred odd pieces thrown apart by anger, frustration and self-loathing. How else would it feel when someone she had reckoned to be a close pal not only went against her, but in one of the most publicly deprecating ways possible? Sacrilegious, that's what it was.
Why is it that she trusted people so? Cared for them to an extent when they took it as a liberty to encroach upon her private space, that petite corner that was only hers'? What sort of blasphemous audacity did some people have to make her feel so minuscule, so lost and so drowned in self-abhorrence? Or perhaps, for a change, the fault lay deep within her. At some private alcove somewhere deep down, she knew that there must have been something that instigated such profane reactions. Why her? She let the tears fall, they had a healing effect, and soon she was too tired to care...or even think! A few more showdowns...she wanted to be over it...for once and for all...life wasn't a bed of roses, but then again it wasn't meant to be an altar of thorns either! She had survived worse scenarios, and emerged triumphant. Hurt, yes, but healed. If she was a survivor, she would do it. Yet again.
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