She sat there, by the river. The pleasant memories of her Violet Indian
Ringneck lingered through the years of student life. The little bird, her best
friend, would rejoice at the sound of her schoolbus as it stopped at the
doorstep to drop her home. The parakeet would watch her as she playfully tucked
at its toys through the gaps of its cage. The fun persisted as a part of their
daily routine, and the friendship remained a spectator to her journey from
little Neha Gupta to Mrs. Neha Sharma. Together they learnt about the struggles
of Indigo farmers of Champaran, and over the years, they
shared the displeasure in Monday morning Blues.A tiny droplet of tear struggled it's way into her mildly smiling lips as the reminisced the amusement in maintaining the same diet of salads and lettuce as her vegan pet in her determination to shed calories. Their laughter echoed through the greener days of their lives, until the day they left for their new homes- Neha for her husband's realm, and the parakeet for it's heavenly abode. Perhaps, the sight of Neha smeared in turmeric and draped in yellow was pleasing, the separation that followed was menacing.
***************
The season of oranges had
come to an end. She barely heard him speak in a month; a rare disease had
robbed his brain of its capabilities, and the couple, of their marital bliss.
The winters faded, the blizzard of her life concluded, leaving her heart, and
his body cold and lifeless. Reality and stress would deprive her of springs for
the rest of her life.
***************
The flames had devoured his body in no time. The ashes were immersed. A tinge of red remained on her forehead even as the society stripped her of her identity. And there she sat, by the river, the memories of her pet, and her husband seeking to paint her flawless white sari…
She left late that evening, as life stirred in her womb. Dreams, after all are forever as bright as Vermillion.
