Fiction Figments

She looked at them after the important presentation, indifferently but feigned a look of anticipation, a skill she had mastered over years.
Her colleague gave her a cheerful look and whispered how ‘cool’ the pitch went, the brand new campaign for a new variant of the leading brand specially designed for the rural counterparts of the country. The CEO patted her back and congratulated for the efforts she had put in. She thought to herself, what efforts! it’s a daily routine, preparing for meetings like these, that she so thoroughly enjoyed… not so much the end as the process…

Work was hectic, as hectic as the rush in the local railway stations and daily struggle to get into the jam-packed rusted compartment of the local trains. The chaos, the fight through the clumsiness gave her a sense of order, a purpose. Parallel to this, her real purpose existed in the angel back home.

The disorder, expectations hurled at her in the office muted at home with a warm hug, not so much the hug as the very phenomena .. arms flung open at her, energetically, willingly, desperately, inviting to erase the pressure and tensions that filled her ambience around at work. And the giggles that followed and the never ending yap! Back home, she would mesmerize into the feeling, they would lie side by side looking out of the window, staring at the moon and the clouds, and watching the fresh dew drops smile at them early in the morning. The rest of the world ceased to exist then, and all that lay spread before them were opportunities to live life to the hilt. Every achievement made sense, every competition seemed challenging, and every new day felt meaningful.

Yes, it was the angel , her sweet little angel who had suddenly filled her senses with contentment. Happiness? She had stopped bothering about happiness long back,
when promises of happiness shattered like rubbles of a fragile building, fragments that could never be the same again, in its entirety , having lost its essence, helplessly.

She had felt the pangs so bad, the emptiness..the anxiety, the empty hopes… the forced nightmares, emptiness again, dreams that choked, like an impact ! emptiness again, despair and a naked dance of those situations. …The cellphone she had wished to throw away, guilty of her fingers that automatically dialed numbers she shouldn’t, she needn’t, she fell prey to the little device, the machine that ruled her days then. That let her hear voices that gave her hope…and then the emptiness again.

Her convictions had brought her trouble. She had decided to preserve the love that made her heart swell with pride. She didn’t care who else cared, when the person who should have cared the most let go! Reasons flew in air, discussions and possibilities mentioned….and then the same emptiness.. Futility and more of it!! Killing the love didn’t seem to solve the problem… she decided to hold on. She would handle the pangs, alone! Burning photographs or curses only aggravated the problem. Emotions felt void of purpose…

Years went by, she went on, life went on, successfully. Sometimes she gaily liked to call herself a successful living corpse, a zombie. Such clichéd darkness, she would laugh aloud!

Fast forward - - > The day she went to this adoption center , a fear filled her heart. The familiar fear, of her dreams shattering the moment she saw hope… and expected them to last.

It all happened like a blurred piece of fiction, the initial formalities, talks, elaborate details of her background…. And then the angel in her arms, it had looked into her eyes with a twinkle so innocent she fell in love with the little bundle then and there.
The bright eyes spoke volumes about the days to come. Responsibilities, she didn’t run away from them. She liked to fulfill them at the right time, and when she decided the world couldn’t stop her.
She named her Simran. In her she saw an extension of her love. She made her dreams come true. She preserved the delight when situations had given up and made them come true in her own way. If something has to live forever, who could ever kill it. Not shallow surrenders of all the things!

The black and white photographs turned coloured again… she looked at the old snaps, the genuine smiles , the twinkle in the eyes and the firm beliefs…she remembered her dreams of a home, the brightly-lit drawing room , low sofas, dimly-lit bedroom inviting moon’s gaze, full of photo-frames of candid shots, the lively discussions. .. Mesmerizing into the feeling, they would lie side by side looking out of the window, staring at the moon and the clouds, and watching the fresh dew drops smile at them early in the morning. The world would cease existing then, and all that would lay spread before them would be opportunities to live life to the hilt. Every achievement would make sense, every competition challenging, and every new day meaningful… and she remembered their dreams of a kid running around the house , hopping with those mischievous giggles , her curls flying with the breeze , her pink lips turning rosy with each word she uttered…