WALLS

WALLS

You may keep me silent

within the four bare walls of

your conscience.

All I need is to step out,

and bake in the hot sun,

the folly behind your scruples.

But for now I stay

against the will,

like a meek lamb brought into

a slaughter-house.

Within the four walls

you have decorated with blood

I witness ghosts who whisper-

a carnival of jokers

who jester

at the ignorance

of your “wisdom”.

You see within the walls

I see beyond life,

and throw stones

as far as Lethe.

You see black and red

I see strips of white

between the red lollipop

and the scarlet beast

who sit jeopardising

the law of the world.

“How dare she!” My Uncle’s notorious temper had reached its pinnacle as he banged his fist on the table. I looked at my husband and signalled that if unbridled, he might soon turn down the table, the one which we had bought after much haggle with the shop keeper.  My husband took the cue, and cleared his throat.

He said, “We will do something about it Kunjappa. I have friends there. Any way let us turn in now. It is almost midnight. You have to catch the train early morning”.

“Yes..yes…but don’t forget Pradeep’s issue. He was one of the dearest friends you had back at home”, said Kunjappa and went into the bedroom.

Kunjappa, my father-in-law’s younger brother, had come late in the evening. He was on an official tour, and needed a place to stay over. It was a long time since somebody paid us a visit from our hometown. After supper, Kunjappa delivered the recent reports, rumours and gossips of our relatives and neighbours. A few were exaggerated expressions of his fantasy, but many were credible. Santha, our distant cousin, was married to a successful business man last month. They were in Chennai. Urmilla, her sister, cleared her Board Exam with 97%.  Our great grandfather who has to survive just a year more to score century in life, was critically admitted in the hospital last night.

“They are trying to support his life on ventilator. I do not know why they want to torture his poor soul?”, Kunjappa laid his hand on his forehead.

It was then that I noticed the scar just above his right eye. When enquired he said, “Ahh…forgot to tell you. This is the recent outcome of Rahul’s tantrums.”

Rahul was Kunjappa’s grandson, and definitely he had inherited the temper. Last time when we visited, I saw Sanal and Divya try to get him out of the kennel in which he had taken refuge for being scolded. He had broken the new dinner set before he sulked in the corner.  Kunjappa explained, “Last week, his mother thrashed him for not completing his homework. In a fit of rage, he threw a plate of samoosas which hit my forehead. Well, the boy has a temper. Don’t know from where…”

My husband winked at me, and I tried to stifle a laugh. “Aah…before I forget let me tell you what happened to Pradeep.. Eda, don’t you remember Pradeep? Kunjunni Master’s son…”

My husband nodded. “Isn’t he abroad?”, he asked.

“Yes”, Kunjappa replied, “ and so is his wife. I don’t know if I should address her so. Things have turned out pretty bad for them.” Kunjappa asked for a glass of water.

Pradeep had loved a girl called Smitha Nair. She came from an ordinary family, her father being a peon in an office. They had met on facebook. Smitha was smart and talented. Soon Pradeep convinced his parents, and the lovers were married. She was docile, and never raised her voice at her home. One day Pradeep asked Kunjunni Master for a lump sum amount of money. He said Smitha was planning to continue her studies abroad. In a few months she had flown to Australia. After two months she stopped calling Pradeep.

Kunjappa said, “They have been trying to contact her. In vain. Once she picked the phone and said “Hello”. But when she knew it was Pradeep, she hang up! She cheated on him. How dare she!”. Now they have embarked on a mission to locate her.

The next evening I googled her name. In fb, I saw her picture. She looked beautiful, smart and radiant. She was 25, but her recent post was three weeks ago. Something quite unusual for a girl of her age. Maybe she has left her account for fear of Pradeep’s relatives tracing her. Another hit on google showed that she was a poet. One of the sites showed her poem, which was quite confessional. Was she really facing a wall when she married? Or is she facing a wall at Australia? What does she mean by wall? Was it her soul? And who sits “jeopardising the world”? And what exactly is the lollipop image? There are no answers. But I believe that there is another side to the story. Another side to the walls.

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