Two – way Street

A somber feeling – that’s what he called the streets around her apartment. He was never the articulate kind. But he often described inanimate objects through emotions. This was how he saw her world. It always reminded him of the Indian habitat at Britain. He called it Britain. The history books never left him alone.

They had spoken for months on end. She often painted a picture for him. Of her walls. Her ceilings. Her doors. Others windows. Of her world. A lot was said and much more was heard. This was the first picture she had shared with him. All his associations, presumptions, images that she painted, had come true. It all looked pretty. The maple trees, the benches by the promenade, the winters. But deep down, one could sense the hollow nature of the place. How it sucked out the daylight from the sky. How the open spaces encroached the freedom. It was all there. There was no soul. How could she find her own?

She was not liking the pattern in his writing off-late. The same old ironies, the same old broken sentences. She was not liking patterns anywhere. Routine had trapped her in its assembly line. And she was simply ticking along. The urge to break free was long suppressed. Finding a way around it was keeping her busy. A more western approach seemed gratifying now. With grounded coffees, exotic food and evenings often found in books, she was turning the tide. She had taken to literature and architecture. Photography and music. And within this concoction, she also found a way to fit in Psychology. Life had turned on its head, and she was juggling it rather well.

They had spoken for months on end. She tried to make him a part of her world. Her bookshelf against the wall, the yellow lights adoring the ceiling, her doors leading to new rooms, the stories at the neighbouring windows, everything that was making her world. She never spoke of the past or the old world, but always of tomorrows and a life more richer. She clicked for him, trying to give him a peek into her world. The beautiful promenade, the autumn of maple trees, the serenity of the benches and a pleasant life.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He wanted her to hold on to her past. She wanted him to take a walk in her future.

 

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