I drive to home tonight like everyday. It's quite cold and there have been spells of snowfall during the day. It's snowing still as I see the flakes silently settling down on my windshield. The road looks awash with fresh melted water, as the sides are still guarded by white fences. There are a few souls, carrying umbrellas, scurrying down to their homes, as there's a forecast of more in store. The town is covered with a white all over - the sloping roofs of the houses, the trees and almost everything that's not moving. A perfect foil to a night that's pretty dark and silent.The contrast evinced by the silver streetlights, with their rays laden with mist.
I'm mostly home-bound at this time, and the empty roads look inviting for my mind to delve into the secrets they whisper in my ears.My gaze rarely shifts from my cherished friend, whose company I long for, whenever I seek some solace. There's music playing in the stereo - and some familiar tunes do register as my heart pulsates in a rhythm with them. It being cold, my breath is deep and calm. But I can see those eyes again. Like I have been seeing, for so many days now..
The eyes of my subject.
My subject met with an accident. She damaged her right hand some months ago. My internship at the hospital has been entirely based on the clinical procedures to cure her hand. It had been an awful accident, which had almost left her hand useless. After much effort, the doctors could get it in a shape after multiple operations. When I saw her reports the first time, it looked beyond repair. The pain that she went through was heart-rending. In my most secret and sacred moments I prayed that it be amputated - a selfishness of not being able to withstand the misery or maybe the only way that I saw her deliverance..
These had been very difficult prayers, as over a period of time, she was not merely my subject. She was a woman whom I had come know very closely. She had been an individual strong, headstrong and vulnerable.Very attractive in her purity and pristine in her innocence. So full of imagination and freedom, despite her impediments.
I took upon myself to draw her into the criminal idea to go limb-less. She could hate me for life for that. Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind. But despite the pain, it was a horrendous thought to entertain - she was a well- known painter...
Since childhood she had captured some of the most exquisite frames of life, through her subtle sense of discrimination. To not paint, would render into the death of someone who defined her all this while. An identity-crisis, that would confront her with a stranger she hadn't known.
I hated myself for being so convinced. I spent days looking in her eyes, as she spoke, discovering the uncertainty, the despair, hope and confusion. A deep sense of disbelief as to why she was 'chosen'..We would talk for hours as I would emphasize that there's more she could look at, her beautiful voice to begin with.. etc. etc. With every conversation I would feel a little hopeful, and a little stupid.. and it went on till today..
Her report says, that her nerves are not getting revived. The blood circulation cannot be restored after all the endeavors. That amputation is as close as reality and this at the fag end of my internship, has left me as blank as her own eyes..we have not spoken much for a few days now - like two tired souls, who've given into the insurmountable fact.
My life has not been a dream-run by any stretch of imagination, but this was proving to be a nightmare. For a long time when you know that you're losing something/someone precious by trickles, it hurts and hurts immensely..
I've reached home, the snowfall is a little heavy..I hope I can catch some sleep and a sweet dream too, for a respite !
