Thursday, May 14, 2015

A Leaf-Shaped Hole


The ground was matted with dried rubber-tree leaves. As she neared the gates, Navomi picked up one; she was always amazed by the intricate pattern on a single dry  leaf – a gauzy map of infinitesimal roads, bifurcating, multiplying – a delicate trellis of carefully-woven exasperation.  She wondered if it was the ghost of a poem insculptured by a forgotten poet centuries ago. 

When a rubber tree leaf is completely dry, the skin flakes away to reveal its pellucid skeleton, a convoluted configuration of veins. She marveled at that fragile equilibrium which was holding the whole structure intact instead of crumbling to dust.  It was like that part of her which distilled, then smoldered and years later decomposed into an embittered abstraction.  She sighed un-selfconsciously letting the leaf float down from her fingers. There was no one watching - no Fr. Mulligan with his compassionate, slightly supercilious grin or a simpering Kochu Maria with a smirk pleated under her sycophantic smile - Navomi was free to be her own shattered self.
Her lower lip trembled, her jaws hurt. Uncomprehendingly, she had broken the love laws that dictated "who should be loved, and how. And how much." 

A filigreed elegy, a sublimated fossil of a damaged soul sailed down - earth-smelling, eye-like and so startlingly weightless.

 A leaf-shaped hole in the universe brimmed silently with bitterness.

Image: Google Images



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 {An extract from a fan fiction I’d written based on the characters created by one of my favourite living authors - Arundathi Roy}


 











Image: Google Images