22 Crossroads

She, of the hair most unruly Trapped once, and you'd need a year to break free. She, of the eyes of a deity Trapped once, and forever hers you shall be. I had known her for eight months. And sometimes I wondered.

Preface: This is a sequel / prequel to " Stupid Roses ". Do read that as well, if you haven't already. He glanced around the room. He did not want to be late. There was something missing but he could not figure out what. A dozen or so items lay on the table, neat and tidy. He ran through the list once again. Chopped onions, mashed garlic cloves, tomatoes, capsicum, coriander leaves, butter, salt, pepper and of course eggs. Ah, chilies, he had forgotten green chilies. He rushed to the refrigerator. He did not want to be late. Not tonight. She could handle this on her own, she told herself. Vials of various sizes were spread around. The pills, at last. She gulped down two at a time. This should ease things down, for a few minutes at least, though she could never be sure. They came in waves – these attacks, in ebbs and flows – and they were becoming far more frequent; and punctual. For now, though, she was calm. In the distance, the second hand of the wall clock was loud as ...

She was not sure what had happened to her. She did not want to cry – not this time. She was not sure how long she could hold it. Although she hated herself for these moments, sometimes the urge and the fear were too strong to control. This certainly wasn’t the first of those moments. She felt like shouting, shrieking, crying, making a scene – something – anything to make her feel better – about herself. But she knew there would be none of it – not this time. She had resolved there would be no pleading and cajoling either. This time she had to be strong. Not knowing how long this resolve would last, she stared at the roses. He wasn’t sure why he was there – like that. Had he done something wrong? Again? He did not dislike answering these oft-repeated questions periodically. But he did not like them either. He was fighting the urge to wisecrack. This was not an appropriate time. Off late, there never seemed to be an appropriate time. He was not angry, he was not displeased, he was not di...

As I was about to seat myself on the sand, she called in a rather loud voice, "Hey You!" I looked at her and pointed at myself inquisitively, wondering what a pretty lady had to do with someone like me. "Yeah you", she answered my unworded question; "Can you tell me the time?" "It?s about five-thirty." "What do you mean ?about??" "Well, I don?t have a digital watch and mine doesn?t even the minutes marked. It?s the blank face typed, just the dials. So if you want me to be precise, I will have to put it at five-twenty seven or twenty-eight, but I won?t bet my life on it." She smiled one of those half-smiles that people generally do to strangers, unless they are habitually half-smilers. I, too, winked at her, shrugged my shoulders and looked at the sea. I had already given her enough for the evening. It was one those picture postcard scenes everyone talks and writes about. The crimson sky, velvet sea, setting...