That mirror.
I had it made of Belgian glass and had it fitted in our sprawling rehearsal room...soon after our marriage.
We used to practice in front of it---everyday. All our lives. All our work...all our choreographies were framed in front of it.
It reflected both of us...our life of dance---and the dance of life.
We would pause to catch our breaths... and he would push me up playfully against that and fence me in with his arms. And i would feel his lips branding me with love...and we would find our breaths in each other's nearness.
So many memories. So many reflections. So many shadows. Images of us. Swayam and me.
Our love---our life----our togetherness.
I remember-the day i shyly came in, while he was practicing here...and whispered in his ears-that he was going to be a daddy soon. Goodness he went mad with happiness...and for about half an hour after that he refused to let me down from my heaven in his arms.of course, the next nine months under my usually so mellow hubby whom sharon shekhawat could wrap around her little finger all her life, sternly refused to let me budge from bed...saying that me and my baby needed to stay put and not prance around. It was all i could do to get permission to walk to the dinner table, and the loo. Kitchen and dance were off limits, courtesy the pregnancy police---my pati parmeshwar swaym shekhawat and the army of gynaecologists he consulted for me.
I remember'how he and i celebrated our anniversaries here...doing a waltz in each others arms...and every year ended up making love right here. It got to be a custom---one even my daughter was aware of.
Teaching our baby girl to dance-here in this very room.
he and savera used to claim my lap...and laying themselves down with their heads on my lap---would often go off to sleep while i ran my fingers through their hair. both my babies...the big baby and small baby. after i transferred savera from my lap onto the mattress, he would wake up...and pull me down for a kiss.
Laughter, life, music, dance'and us. Our story.
It rings in every corner of this huge mansion. It drives me mad now. But its also the only thing which keeps me going. Although i cant wait to stop.
That grandfather clock he bought for me on our first anniversary...the vase which i kept reserved for the roses he surprised me with...the almirah with his clothes in it...oh everywhere----the very walls bear testimony to the life we lived.thge very floors still throb with his treads. Swaym's boyish laughter, his thousand naughtinesses, his sudden hugs from behind, cuddling me...the sighing nights of unbounded love,the way he twirled me in his arms when he had some good news or the other, my teasing him...his pouts...his seducing me, his compliments, my blushes our married life.our love..his mine and savera's trophies...my smile his smile, my sadness,his misery...my life his life----his death-my death.
This mirror which ones reflected a couple which had been adored by the audience for their amazing couple performances...by and by started showing our wizened faces as well...and our slowing down with age. But the love was the same.
We grew old together. And he died. But i am still alive. Alone. An old woman adored by her daughter, but ---alone without him.
Our last dance.
The day he went away from me---forever.
Swaym had had two strokes already.He had been in bed with a bad bout of cold he had caught. The doctor told me---that he probably would not make the night. And he did not.
But before going away he had regained consciousness for a while. And i think he knew that he would be leaving me and savera...and going away.
He just raised his fingers to my face---and said---"i have prepared a duet Sharon----will you dance with me"? The same words he spoke when we had our first dance...and he repeated them on our wedding as well.
And i wheeled him in his wheelchair----in this rehearsal hall and that mirror saw us again---an old old couple----dancing...well wheezing really, but----the love was the same.
I cried,in his arms unable to see my life, my everything fading away with each step he staggered holding on to me for support.
But he laughed. He just said----"sharon, swaym shekhawat loved you from the moment he set his eyes on you'and promised you a forever...and forever does not end." He could not speak much after that---an hour later he was gone.he did not suffer much. I kissed him goodbye...as the pure smile i adored spread like a dream on that beloved face---and those eyes which were the guiding light of my life for nearly sixty odd years, which gazed into mine with the steady beam of an young lover's wonder and love which adorned me queen turned glassy in death.
Yeah his heart failed him---but it was of gold and know it always was mine. And it had never failed me.
Pretty soon i guess, i'll be joining him. After all swayam promised...we would meet again.and he is a man of his words. Never have been able to stay away long from each other--'the both of us.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three years after my dad, my mom followed him. Well, they would follow each other to the end of the world, fighting and pacifying all the way...bickering and loving all through their happily- ever- after.. They must be dancing all day in heaven...i think to myself trying to smile...as i tear up when i badly wanna see my mom...and run to my daddy like a little girl...to have her hug me and my daddy hold me as i learnt to ride a bike.
And mom's favourite mirror ---it reflects an enlargement of a snapshot of one of their award winning couple dance performances on the wall facing southeast...i could not wreath them.with the garlands of death .and they just smile---and smile and smile together. Death does not matter...their love did...for each other---for me.
My dad and mom----swayam shekhawat---and Sharon raiprakash shekhawat lived, loved and died a fairytale.
writing after a long time and still not over my writers' block. so this may be rather lame.
i dont know how it was, but if you like it or not do let me know, please. i feel so inadequate when no replies come.
comment:
p_commentcount