Father Figure
All that I want is that after a hard days toil, after all the success and failure of the day has sunk in, glamorized me, tarnished me, after the sun has sunk beyond the horizons, into another world, I can trace my steps to your door. All this while I believe that you are waiting for me. And when I knock at your door, you know your anticipation has come to an end. I am there, with all the woes and joys of the day to share. You open the door and I am standing there -timid, scared, and yet steadfast for I have a tale to tell.
You look at me blankly. Is it a surprised look on your face? I wish I knew how your heart aches and throbs in anticipation of my visit. How happy you are to see me there, how your anticipation has come to an end, while my anticipation has just begun!
I cross the threshold of your house with a fear, with words in my eyes and silence on my lips. I am trying to read your face; trying to find if I am welcome. I don’t know, your face is so cold, but your living room is so warm and welcoming.
I think - should I, should I not, stay back? I am about to say, “I just called to say Hello, to see how you are doing, I have to go”, when your husky voice breaks the silence, “I thought you would come.” My contemplating eyelids are raised in surprise, my heart skips a beat, my lips quiver and I hear myself say, “Yes, I just wanted to spend a quiet evening. I thought I would drop by.” And all this while my heart is drumming wildly, my silent look has spoken a thousand words, my body language is provocative. At least that is how I feel.
You beckon. I take my place. Yes that is what I call it, my place; the corner that I always occupy on the soft, plush blue sofa. You have taken your place, standing behind the rocking chair that faces the sofa. “What did you do today?” I hear my voice break the silence. I can see myself, slightly awkward, still wondering if I am wanted, if I am welcome … the blood still rushing in my ears.
“It’s the same … I have been writing, thinking .. talking to myself,” a smile crosses your face and for a moment I think you heart is aching… the way my heart is aching. And I shift my gaze from you … your voice …. Maybe your pain is electrifying, or am I just imagining. I can feel a lump in my throat. I don’t have words, or there are just too many words, pushed back by the lump in my throat.
I have to say something… the silence is stupefying … I look stupid, sitting there without quoting a logical reason for my visit. And the way you look at me …are you complaining that I intruded your solitude, or are you just looking at pathetic me. “So what have you been writing and thinking about …. Of course if you want to share.” I just heard myself speak and I can see myself smile, artificially.
“What would you like to have?”
“A vodka in juice, any fruit juice that you have.” I hear my voice. And as you move towards the bottles neatly stacked in the bar in the corner of your living room, I try to relax and pull out a cigarette from my purse.” I know I am wanted. At least as a company for a drink or two.
And as I see you pour our drinks, I hear you say, “And how has it been for you today?”
“Just the same … lots of work.” I wanted to say, “ … A lot of loneliness.” But I hear myself telling you of my new assignment, new timelines, demand of my work … and all this while I wonder if you are listening.
You place my drink in front of me. We both smile and I pick up my glass. The first sip nearly chokes me. I swallow the lump in my throat, but my eyes are welling up. I am not supposed to cry and neither am I supposed to get drunk. You sit in your chair and rock slowly while your presence fills the room. The room burns orange as you switch on the lamp by your side. Night is setting in …. Outside and within my heart.
The sound of silence hits us with its wild echo in my ears. We start a conversation and it all makes sense to me and yet I know I am not my self. I have yet to feel calm. As we finish our drink, I get up and move to the bar to make another drink. I am thinking that I should leave now but something within me tells me to stay. Maybe the first drink has gone into my head and I don’t want to make a fool of myself. But I tell myself, “Let it be, just let it be.” And suddenly I feel my back burn. You are looking at me. I wonder what your look is all about … Amused, surprised, know-it-all, painful, yearning, or just a fleeting glance! I don’t know.
I make the drinks, give you your glass and take my seat. You are still looking at me and I meet your glance. I can feel my muscles tense, but my heart feels at ease for once. And across the center table our silence seems to speak a thousand words. I wish we could read each other’s thoughts, and then my ear resounds with your voice. You are telling me about your day and I make a few comments. While I finish my second drink, I am thinking what you think of my comments … intelligent, touching, thoughtful, or just the fleeting opinion of a moron. But do I care… I can feel the vodka flowing in my veins. I feel hot, I feel as I have been overtaken by the “spirit” within. And I can also feel a tear flow down my cheek. “God! I have let it flow?”
And with my tear I let go of all my inhibitions. I get up and sit on the rug, by your feet and look up at you, knowing you would see my wet cheek. I close my eyes. I am at peace, yet so much in turmoil and I want to let your peace flow into me. But do you have the peace to share with me? I don’t know; I don’t care. I want to lay my head on your lap but when I open my eyes and look at you, you are just looking at me. Your gaze saps me of my liquor-induced strength and my courage fails me and I don’t want you to see me breaking up. But you have already sensed it. My vulnerability is screaming out. You reach out and place a hand on my head, your fingers move in my hair. And I move forward and finally place my head on your lap. I find the courage again… I want to let go…. I want to cry into your lap. I can hear my heart beat or is it your heartbeat…. I wish our hearts would beat as one!
I suddenly feel cold, goose pimples breaking through my skin. I want you to make me feel warm. I want to snuggle close but suddenly, you move your hand away from my head and your fingers clasp my fingers. You get up and you pull my hand in a gesture that is asking me to follow you. You lead me out of the door into the garden.
The sun has gone into another world. The dusk has changed its shades and adorned the hues of the night. As the night sets in, the goddess of love is shining bright in the horizon. I am lead by you, hand in hand, into the garden. The sweet smell of the night bloom engulfs me and makes me weaker. The silence is shattering or are the voices in my head shattering the silence! You slip your hand out of my hand and slowly clasp me at the waist. I move closer. I have let go. Have you too?
I wish I could read your mind. We walk down the rows of sweet smelling flowers … we walk down the aisle! “What am I thinking”, I admonish myself. But I feel safe, I feel cherished, I feel, as we have known each other through the ages. I wonder what you are thinking. Are you thinking of me, are you thinking of us, or are you thinking of a love lost. My stomach tightens up in knots, my heart skips a beat, and I feel sick. I don’t want you to be thinking of someone else. Once again, I begin to care and I stiffen up and I move away from you.
I let go of your hand and look up at you, a question in my watery eyes. You look at me, into my questioning eyes, read it all and say, “Its only you and me.”
I find my voice. It doesn’t sound like me. “I don’t think so. It must be someone else.”
“It is you, only you that I have been thinking of. You bring my aching heart to rest. Your sorrow becomes one with me, your turmoil is mine. You are my pain and my joy, you are what I put in verse and you are the color of the ink of my pen, you are my inspiration. You are the one.”
I am dumbfounded, but my mind forms the words, “You have let the liquor overpower you. Tonight is a fleeting fantasy, tomorrow is yet another dream.”
You pull me closer. My head is on your heart. Your lips touch my forehead. You mumble, “Let your heart speak for you. Let go, for I have let go!”
And then I let the turmoil within me ease, I let the voices in my head die out and as the sounds of the night fill the air and the red Gulmohar petals fall around us, I know that Time has stopped, our hearts beat as one…
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