Meeta is in her seventies. She is full of zest for life and seeks every opportunity to be in the company of her friends. Her salt and pepper short hair goes well with her plump fat body. Her style of dressing accentuates her care- free demeanour . Her age doesn't hamper her in anyway. She often cracks jokes which generally veer to obscenity, to make her friends laugh , which for a moment unsettles them ,but then they go with the flow. The instinct to deride looks meaningless at such an age. Meeta had lost her husband lately and her only son lived in the U.S . She cultivated a large number of friends and revived the distant family relations. She was awash with money and threw lavish parties. Generally all her friends are retired house wives facing the same empty nest syndrome. They had now ample time to indulge their fancies which they missed out in their younger days. Meeta too diverted herself in this mirage of glamour and merriment. It filled her empty house with the remnants of human presence.
In the stillness of her dark nights Meeta stayed awake, staring at the bare wall in front of her. On the side of her bed stood the small table which was full with some medicines and a few books which she hardly opened. on one side of this table was the picture frame of her late husband. Slowly and with the passage of time it became a part of the objects lying there and was as inanimate as the rest of them. And now in the eerie darkness of the house when the day time friends turned into mere dancing shadows, her stark loneliness haunted her.
Meeta wants to connect to her son but freezes in the moment, he too might be fighting his own demons she ponders or may be she hardly matters to him now ,like that picture frame on her side table.
Comments
Post a Comment