Manjari- A Work of Art
Manjari- Resting my finger over the dried up and beautifully painted signature, the M drawn so exquisitely once belonged to me. A string of emotions run through my veins, the longing makes me tired and raw enough to need to sit. Deep pangs of lost youth rage upon me with regret now.
The wooden floor creaks under me as I sit giving me some strength. A touch of support, even though a false one, it helps nevertheless.
Memory flashes by. Her smile. Even before you caught it on her lips, you could see it in her eyes.
I'd just asked her out. Got her number from a friend who had a string of numbers. Her name caught my eye in his address book. Thought I'd try my luck. She grew on me. Not the most beautiful creature or the kind of girl you could date. She had brains and used them well.
I found out that she loved ice cream, I called her out for some and promised to drop her home. Didn't give her time to think and hung up.
That's how it began. My addiction and soon my best friend. She jabber, jabbered all the way to my heart. We got married. Time passed. One year. Two years. Her parents never agreed to the alliance and promptly threw her out.Years passed by with her waiting for them but they never called. I think a part of her heart she left with them. She came to me with the other.
She struggled with work. She was young, wanted to continue college but by then I'd lost my job. We were struggling. Everything cost money.
Through the mundane and hardship, the sadness eventually got to her eyes. I figure she got lonely. Exhaustion didn't allow her time. She was immensely talented, I urged her to paint and do exhibits. She didn't want to. We'd fight and make up but she got tired of my prodding. She felt I'd made her a mule. I had my friends over one night when they broached on the topic of her painting. It always enraged her. She said she didn't care if she made any money and had to meet another's expectation. There was more to life than a painting that needed to sell. We laughed. It must have hurt but she laughed too. I noticed a glint in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, we'd finally convinced her.
Next day, she didn't return from work. I waited that night and several nights after. It was hard to think she'd just up and left. It finally sunk in that she was not coming back. The whole world turned black.
Years passed. I'm moving homes. I've made something of myself with a job that keeps my sanity. While clearing the attic today I stumbled over mouldy cardboard that wrapped tattered tissues covering really exquisite charcoal works and oil paintings that came to life as my pupils dilated. So neatly stacked and hidden, quietly resting all these years. I'm never selling them as they are all I have of her with me. My sweet Manjari. Sigh, as beautiful as your work.
The wooden floor creaks under me as I sit giving me some strength. A touch of support, even though a false one, it helps nevertheless.
Memory flashes by. Her smile. Even before you caught it on her lips, you could see it in her eyes.
I'd just asked her out. Got her number from a friend who had a string of numbers. Her name caught my eye in his address book. Thought I'd try my luck. She grew on me. Not the most beautiful creature or the kind of girl you could date. She had brains and used them well.
I found out that she loved ice cream, I called her out for some and promised to drop her home. Didn't give her time to think and hung up.
That's how it began. My addiction and soon my best friend. She jabber, jabbered all the way to my heart. We got married. Time passed. One year. Two years. Her parents never agreed to the alliance and promptly threw her out.Years passed by with her waiting for them but they never called. I think a part of her heart she left with them. She came to me with the other.
She struggled with work. She was young, wanted to continue college but by then I'd lost my job. We were struggling. Everything cost money.
Through the mundane and hardship, the sadness eventually got to her eyes. I figure she got lonely. Exhaustion didn't allow her time. She was immensely talented, I urged her to paint and do exhibits. She didn't want to. We'd fight and make up but she got tired of my prodding. She felt I'd made her a mule. I had my friends over one night when they broached on the topic of her painting. It always enraged her. She said she didn't care if she made any money and had to meet another's expectation. There was more to life than a painting that needed to sell. We laughed. It must have hurt but she laughed too. I noticed a glint in her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, we'd finally convinced her.
Next day, she didn't return from work. I waited that night and several nights after. It was hard to think she'd just up and left. It finally sunk in that she was not coming back. The whole world turned black.
Years passed. I'm moving homes. I've made something of myself with a job that keeps my sanity. While clearing the attic today I stumbled over mouldy cardboard that wrapped tattered tissues covering really exquisite charcoal works and oil paintings that came to life as my pupils dilated. So neatly stacked and hidden, quietly resting all these years. I'm never selling them as they are all I have of her with me. My sweet Manjari. Sigh, as beautiful as your work.
This post is a part of As Beautiful As Your Work contest via Mia Tanishq
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10 comments
Oh my!... Nice story but I really would have liked to know what happened to Manjari.... Some of the emotions are beautifully expressed..
ReplyDeleteawww thank you so much, Naz :)
Delete^
ReplyDeleteYea.. I Too Would Have Like To Knew What Hpnd To Manjari.. Lovely Expressions Though!:)
thank you for your precious comment, Heena :)
DeleteWell written...nice post :)
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot, Lavanya :)
DeleteYou left me longing for more on Manjari. Very beautifully written.
ReplyDeletehttp://neoimaginations.blogspot.in/
Thanks a lot, Neo. So kind of you.
Deletenice post coral :)
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Teju :)
Delete