Resuscitation

Kuch nahi samjha o buddhu
Kuch nahi socha
Reng ke (rail se) jaane kahan pahucha
- Ringa Ringa, Slumdog Millionaire

It was one of the few times there was a real sign of things being right. For sieved through gathering fog, the dying light of dusk showed her then and there for all she was – the single most beautiful girl in the world.

He was almost grateful for the hint of mud on her sneakers. It made her believable. Otherwise, the way her gloved hands tucked in her pockets, how some of her wispy hair peeked out from under the cap, that her lips, bodily curtains to the most spectacular smile ever up on show half-smiled, and her lively gear-shifting eyes were for now placidly parked in neutral, it all came together and made everything as it had always been. Perfect.

But a vague decoct of the past four months held him back from just plain grabbing her and making her disappear in his arms the way he used to. To fill the void in his core wholly and exactly with her being. It was perhaps the only perfect fit he knew of. He couldn’t do it. And there was this cacophony in his head. So many voices in so many tenses speaking together so loudly in such resonance, that they all cancelled each other out and came to nothing. He could not speak.

“Hi”. She stuck out a right hand.
It half crushed him that this was for now the fitting form of greeting.

But as he took it and held it, even through the wool, every fiber of him knew. The mime had fallen for the maiden all over again.

(Contd)