My life, the roses

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Roses are often thouhgt of just as the flowers of love and romance but for broken hearts they may be the opposite...

My life,the roses
The soft and cool wind reached the nape of my neck and I looked at the open window of my small room, my eyes stealing sweeping glances at the abomination at one corner. On the dark mahogany table they sat so silent and captivating. I could smell their fresh scent in the air and I inhaled deeply to collect all the perfume in my chest. The roses stared back at me, red as rubies, shining softly in the moonlight. I thought of him and the smile that formed on my lips made me blush. The roses reminded me of my Romeo and the unending and incandescent happiness that was soon to come…
My mother talked frantically and unstoppably to the lady in the blue satin sari (long dress). I would have melted of embarrassment were it not for the equal blabbering from her side too. They seemed to never run out of a topic for discussion and were perfectly content with the awkwardness in the large sitting room. My father sat indifferent to the noise around him, absorbed in his book and nodded vaguely when my mother asked him if he agreed with her. Over the loud talking, I could hear my heart doing a drum roll against my ribs. I looked at my hands and risked an upward glance at the ‘perfect suitor’. He smiled softly as he caught my eye, making my heart turn to a faster beat. His grey eyes were the likes of metal but were deep and engaging. I watched him arch his unnerving brow and nod at the two blabbering women. I glanced at them, fighting to keep my countenance straight. They looked like two colourful balls of noise. I looked back at him and gasped when he winked at me. My cheeks felt warm and I knew I had turned a horribly dark shade of red.
“O! Our Parvati is so lucky! Rahul is such a rich man and o so handsome!” My mother fluttered about the room and clapped her hands with happiness, “She will be such a beautiful bride! My Paro, all ready to marry! Jaan don’t you think this is perfect?”
“Yes,yes, Sanaubar, he’s a very agreeable man and I am pleased to marry my Paro to him.” My father looked up at my mother from his newspaper and shook his head at my mother’s enthusiasm.
“Agreeable? He was more than agreeable! Such a charming man!” My mother went on and on and I smiled shyly.
Nandini and Anjali, my younger sisters, laughed hysterically at my mother’s outcries, thoroughly entertained by the show.
The air bloomed with the smell of hena and jasmines. Reds, yellows and greens, the chief colours of Mehndi (marriage function) dominated everything. Colourful clothes hung from the walls and strings of flowers wrapped all long and standing objects. The sight was breathtaking and the colours played their way this way and that. We all sat in my parents’ room, tired and exhausted of the day’s work but full of excitement and anticipation. My sisters and mother huddled around my dress that had just arrived from the Dulha’s(groom) house. It was such a sight! The green and maroon were strung together and decorated with gold gota (handwork). My father sat in his chair going through the invitation lists and frowned now and then. I sat on a small stool, massaging my arms with almond oil and smiling to myself as I dreamed.
We all looked up instinctively as the phone rang and my mother lunged forward to see who was calling.
“It’s Rahul’s mother!” She exclaimed and rested a hand on her heaving chest, as if to catch her breath. She smiled mischievously and picked up the receiver.
“O hello Rani! What how nice of you to call! We just received Paro’s dress and I have to say it’s such a lovely thing! We are so excited about”- Mother’s wild exclamations were interrupted and she frowned. Her face paled and her white lips quivered, “What do you mean Rahul’s no more?”
My mind felt numb and cold as I stared at my mother’s face. The bowl on my lap had slipped and the oil poured onto the floor. The colours seemed to fade and the motions seemed futile, all voices cut off by the roaring madness that was my heart. People were grabbing at me, hugging me but all touch was lost. My life played in my mind like an old rusty movie, like a play drawing to its close when the crowd held its breath, the pulses raced and the bombshell dropped. With a puff of smoke the curtains fell and I lay broken…
The cold wind felt sharp and chilly against the nape of my neck and I gazed at the black twisted gate of the cemetery. In the distance I heard the voice of a religious preacher, speaking of death and departure. My eyes followed the petals that lay on the cemented path and came to rest on the bouquet of roses lying on the tombstone. The petals looked like drops of blood against the grey. I stared at the roses; they were sitting so silently, so innocently. I wondered how something that pierced my soul now with grief and pain, could have once promised unending love and happiness…

Submitted: April 01, 2011

© Copyright 2022 saraharoon1993. All rights reserved.

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