Wild Horses

I was there this week because it often feels like the only glimse of the outside world.

Beside me sat a forlorn woman, seemingly spurned. She looked, my friend commented, like a typical Bengali film star of yesteryears. I wondered how many women I know could sit alone like that in a room of curious wandering eyes. When her phone rang, though elated, she picked it up in a composed and dignified fashion but put it down, disappointed. It wasn't Uttam Kumar, I gathered.

Some time ago someone said to someone else, "Wild horses couldn't drag me away..." And the reply, in the spontaneous tone of a lover underestimated came, "I wouldn't let wild horses comes near you!".

The Seeker

She sauntered into the room. Her sly eyes did a survey of the scene. The Who's The Seeker served as the musical backdrop this time.

I've looked under chairs

I've looked under tables

I've tried to find the key

To fifty million fables

The Creature grinned. It was the seed of a mango. She watched it with the precision of an entire pedicure tool set. It sat on a plain white plate, its fibres holding in place delectable pulp, un-smushed. Her plan was one slick maneouvre called Gulp.

Focusing on nowhere

Investigating miles

I'm a seeker

I'm a really desperate man

***

Three days later. The seed lay on the floor, tragically. The Creature looked at it condescendingly.

I won't get to get what I'm after

Till the day I die.

Mortals Immortal

The Creature lies curled up on the regal burnt orange leather armchair and sighs at the trivial world around. Her eye lashes flutter ever so slightly as her eyes shut magnetically. A mild quiver as she transits. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise. And. Fall. Rise.. And.. Fall.. Her arm falls over the side the chair, limp.

A clumsy shuffle elsewhere. Papers fly around as the elctricity returns.

One eyelash flutters. A live marble appears. Glint.