Her being present was like his being absent. It was almost regular, whenever a slightest kind of pain would occur. Talking loudly or in feeble voice was a kind of marking her attendance of not much interested. She was living in a void and would continue to work and smile. Closing of door doesn’t mean much except the agreed limited movements for her. Feeding the birds visiting her veranda was hers religious practice. Bird would fly to search. She doesn’t but search is there. Bird would drop in. No such hope of his coming. Bird would stay for a while. To eat, to rest. He is with her in each moment but she has no rest. Restless she is. Birds fly high to embrace the faith. She, everyday, is picking the pieces of her doubts. She had a sharp eyes to pierce his heart, but, her sharpness failed to notice him. She is a story in hide. Stolen by wants. He is a story present. Narrated by absence !
#anilnakhasi
