(Reading the journal of a storyteller)
Standing in front of the thick and tall, swinging and swaying eucalyptus trees, she constantly stares at those eucalyptus leaves the whole day- This is what she dreamed the whole night when the storyteller realized that her story was worth writing- While she awoke in the morning from the bed and hang her leg down to reach the floor, she feels like she was jumping from 7th floor. To be awake, for her, is to die and to sleep is to be born, she lived in between, in dreams. Even Though she wakes up so uneasily she never complained nor show anger on anyone or anything. In silence she gets up,in silence she cooks, in silence she eats, in silence she scream, in short in silence she lived. Solitude is her only friend she talks with. Her feelings are muted. She is a Melancholy, sad yet relieving, She is always in a state of despair, seems like she is carrying the sorrow of the earth on her head – Storyteller has scribbled and cancelled other adjectives,he might have thought it’s heavy.
The incident that framed her peculiar behaviour happened at a very tender age when she was 12 – Now she might not know which incident has framed her life but the storyteller, he knows everything about her- One day when she sat on the floor reading, no not reading but seeing ‘The Plateaus’ lesson in social studies book, looking at those types of plateaus’ pictures she imagined her life at those places, she does this often,even in school when she finds a nice landscape or grasslands she stops listening to the teacher and starts imagining that she was cooking,playing, sleeping at that place.This overwhelms her, she even does that at home on sundays leisurely opening the book and ‘living’ at those different places. she doesn’t understand why all the people are wandering here and there working hard everywhere.she says to her friends “why don’t everyone look at the landscapes and paintings in our books and why don’t they imagine those happy lives.” On that day when she was subconciously living in plateaus her father asked to ride the bicycle. she resisted but her father insisted.
“Rama, you are riding the bicycle now and making your father happy now, aren’t you?”
“But pappa I am riding bicycle perfectly, no practice is required now.”
“I love to see my baby riding perfectly, it makes your pappa feel proud you know”
‘ I don’t understand why my dad always urges me to ride bicycle on Sundays’, she thought while sitting on the bicycle and after going to some distance she looked back and glanced at her father, he was excited, smiling and clapping but this gesture did not affect her. She took a right turn and after moving far from her father’s sight she fell off from the bicycle and the place was surrounded with full of green trees. She tried to get up. She sat on the ground by with her elbow on the cycle stand, sitting as comfortably as she sat on a sofa and watched those picturesque trees though. It was not far from her home but she never visited this place. While she was looking at the leaf of a tree, suddenly the particular leaf, by itself, got cut down from tree and as the leaf was rolling and swinging in air while falling onto ground, she felt very insecure and her heart slowly started to melt, and right then another leaf got cut down and she further felt sad and worried. Her heart was no longer in a solid state now. it’s extremely hard for the storyteller to comprehend what she felt or why she felt because it seems to many as unnatural but these things happen in our lives- though she had plucked off many leaves with her own hands, she never saw a leaf cutting down by itself. Rama couldn’t stay there for long time. Immediately after the second leaf has fallen she turned back and came to home, crying, for the reason unknown to her, explained to her mother what she has witnessed. Mother held her in the arms, by applying ointment on her leg she explained the ‘laws of nature’ :“you see my love, leaf falling down from tree is very natural. At this very instant some millions of leaves must be falling off from the trees.It is not important to anyone not even to the tree. One leaf has to die in order to give a chance for new leaf to grow “
“Die? What does that mean?”
“Die means being dead, you can no longer see the dead, death will make them invisible “
“But mother I can still see the leaf after it’s death”
“You can see but it doesn’t have l…
Suddenly a pigeon fell in front of them, someone has shot it. Both were shocked and Mother took the child inside.
On that day she asked her last question “why should a bird has to die to give wings for other bird? There is anyway much place on the sky for other birds to fly “
These series of events had altered her life. They made her a different person. She remained silent from that day on. She never asked any questions. She observes, she thinks, she dreams and thus she lives. – storyteller has striked off two pages and directly moved to the next decade-
And just like that a decade has passed and she got married. She chose her husband in a disinterested manner because she knew that none can understand her world or her sorrow since she herself doesn’t understood her delirious and miserable life. Her husband is a wealthy person who feels that it is unfair for a wealthy women to go out to get things, vegetables or to walk or talk with people- He thinks that a wealthy woman should sit at the home like a queen and should order the things. But Rama isn’t that type. She always wants to go out, to walk in the streets, to talk with people to know their difficulties and to empathize.
Her husband is a person who only understands things when one explains but not by observing people’s moods or facial expressions. And, she never wants to explain anything she feels, explanation only makes the things worse is her opinion. So, whatever her husband has tells she just either agrees or disagrees. Disagrees those statements which were already disagreed by the husband. For instance if her husband say “I don’t like this program, do you? “, she replies “No, not at all” this was her definition for disagreement and tomorrow by seeing the same program if her husband says “I love this program “ then she replies “ yes, me too”, nothing matters for her.
Her husband goes to office early in the morning and comes back home at night, she doesn’t even have neighbors, her home is a duplex at the outskirts, to see human beings she has to climb to top floor – storyteller has not only made her life miserable but also pathetic –
Her life has become totally dull and boring. She used to sit in the hall and looks at a tree on the road, she moves her eyeballs as a response to the swaying leaves, slowly she donates her eyes to the leaves and swings eyeballs in correspondence to the leaves. By looking so she thinks herself as a leaf, a leaf that can only be controlled by the wind and only be supported with the branches,roots..she starts to feel depressed and go to the bedroom by dripping tear stains on the floor
And the other day, again she sat in the hall and looking at the trees she saw a sparrow nest on one branch in which there were two sparrows. The mother flew away to search for food or for lost child or maybe for some other thing. Then started the rain, there was a chick in the nest, the unfeathered sparrow. The rain was slowly filling the nest, chick was twittering, shivering, shaking. Rain water is filling the nest Chick was only half visible now. Rama stood up suddenly- storyteller thought she gonna save the bird- she hurriedly paced to her bedroom, again by leaving the tear stains on floor.
And the days are more or less same for her, she looks at something constantly for hours and starts feeling worried, depressed and goes to bedroom and washes the pillows with tears.
One day her husband brought a toy- it was a gift. Someone gave it to him in the office. She placed the toy in a shelf right next to where she always sits. The toy was a miniature of an young man wearing suit and stood as he was stopped suddenly in the midst of dancing, with one leg folded backwards and the other thrown forward. He was holding a rose in one hand and stretched out the other hand as if offering it to someone to hold. With a pleasant smile on his lips, this toy man looked like a gentle human being. From that day on whenever she felt delirious she just looked at the toy and for some strange reason that toy comforted her and injected positive energy to her. She felt very happy and overwhelmed that this toy has found her, she thought that the toy was made for her. After a few days, when she went out with her husband she bought several toys and a few flower pots and plants. The next day was the best day in her life she started to unwrap each toy from the covers with utmost respect and arranged them so appropriately in the shelves, watered the plants which she planted in her balcony. She was never so busy in her whole life.
From the next day onwards she started to sit in the hall and stare at those toys, quiet a relaxing look, she smiles at them and also talks with them, nurtured and witnessed the growth of those plants. When the toys wear covered with dust she hurriedly brings a cloth and cleans smoothly and delicately as she was cleaning some jelly or gelatin. Cleaning the toys gives great fun for her.
She felt so excited on the next day and started writing a letter to the young man (toy) “How are you?, Apart from some dust on your rose, everything is fine I think. You are my first happiness, man, you brought some light into my soul, how on earth I can thank you?, Please don’t look at me like that, the mixed ooks of happiness, love, anger and sorrow…Oh! I can’t endure your looks. Look at the harshness of this world, how cruel it is to make you a toy or to make me a human- why not you a human or why not me a toy both toymaker and god are to be punished for this brutal act. Your smile, your rose, your stretched hand…Oh! I love you man. I wish we both could become a Valentine toy in our next life, will you be having another life?…Ah, it’s ok don’t be sad, darling, we would live this life itself. I want to write more and more about you but words don’t hold that much meaning. I am awaiting for your reply!, Yours loving human.” She laughed while writing the last sentence for the sad truth that you can’t write a letter to a toy.
Also she had written a letter to the plant Myra, ‘Myra’ that is how she calls the plant :
Oh my Myra!
Long roots Lyra!
Narrow branches Nyra!
Short leaves Syra!
No flowers Nora!
Hahaha…How is my poem Myra. This Meaningless poem is the reflection of our Meaningless lives. haha…My dear myra, please blossom me a rose my young man (toy) is waiting for my rose since many years by stretching his hand, hoping the early reply from you”
Storyteller had a stroke after writing the above line, he died, so the story has to end abruptly. Look at the uncertainty of the story or the storyteller. Forgot to say, I am his wife and this is my story, he might have written it when I was in asylum. To continue the story perhaps I would only add a ‘full stop’ (.).