Her

She looked for attention; she looked about herself in a vainly superior way. She was dressed to that effect as well. She wasn't beautiful; in her youth, a time behind her easily by a decade, she could have been attractive. She would have known the desire of her in people she was attracted to, the gift of the youth. It had passed now. There was no debris left of that time. Everything had left her face and body. Aging had transformed her. She had become someone else. It was this transformation that she was ending up emphasizing through this ridiculous dressing up. After some time, you took to her situation. You almost felt for her. Her glances, her longing for a stare at her body, her quick movements on the slippery floor, her constant setting up of her hair with raised hands, she was likable in her thirst for attention. But flesh had betrayed her. Bodies, bodies like hers seem to have been enslaved so many times that the scars of the passage of time cannot be hidden. It is beyond technology. Ugliness could be hidden well, unattractiveness is beyond hiding; it's pure tragedy. What would she want? Was her addition of attention swallowing her or did she feel restored to her previous self through this outrageous behaviour? I imagined her husband. 

1 Comment:

  1. Jasmine said...
    I miss your writing Srikant.
    Amongst other things.
    I feel the urgency again

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