Yellow: The Leaf Withers Away...          

 

Yashi Singh

 
Copyright 2016 by Yashi Singh

 
 

 

Photo of leaves on a stream. (c) Richard Loller, 2014



The other day

The morning light entered my eyes through my window. It was a bright sunny day. The vibrant colorful sunshine pierced through my window into the bedroom. I was fast getting ready for the day. I had to catch the train for my workplace. I gazed at the watch 8:15. I had time in my hands. I had to reach there by 10:30. It took me 15 minutes to reach there. I thought I will complete my pending work in the meantime. My stomach started to hurt. I took my pill for stomachache and waited for time to subside. It was not before noon time that my eyes fell on the yellow paper on my desk. I gulped down the orange juice on my table and picked up that yellow folded paper. I carefully unfolded it and tried to read what was scribbled on it. "Sorry"

I was astonished. Who can write me sorry? Who knows me that deep to know I melt easily when someone says sorry. Was it my former lover or was it my imagination. Did someone took fancy on me?

Then I forgot about it and got lost in my work. I had a huge pile of files to complete. I had to meet the deadline.

I reached home all tired. I asked for a glass of water and my sister obliged. I told her about the yellow paper and she also wondered who it might be. 

The meeting

There was mist in his eyes. He sauntered lonely. He entered the hotel room. It was dark and gloomy. He was about to say something when I stood up. I didn't want to hear a single word of his. He was irritating. My father had visited me after a span of five years. After he separated from my mother I had stopped talking to him. What was evident on his face was guilt. He was meeting me after such a long time. Maybe he had numerous things on his mind. But he said nothing. Maybe he was sad maybe not. But I could not forgive him. Not after what he had done to my mother. He had tried to call me several times but to no avail. I had made up my mind and now no one could change it. I could not alter my opinion about him. For me he was a vagabond, a loner, a figure of utmost disgust. I was washed with pity. There were tears in my eyes and anger in my heart. He had done a lot of damage to my psychological condition. Now I could not go back to the previous days. Many things had changed. I was not the same. The times had changed.  

My mum has suffered a lot because of that man. I don’t want further mess in my life. He continued to haunt me till date but not anymore. He has stopped to bother me. His words fall on deaf ears. I can never forgive him. He tried to ruin my life but not anymore. He needs to be taught a lesson and I think I have achieved that part. I no longer want to mess with him. He can’t mess with my head anymore. He has ceased to exist for me.

There’s no point in forgiving someone. People never really change. They only break your heart in the process. The turmoil in my heart was giving way to apathy. I have become indifferent now. I’m sorted now. I don’t nourish any anger in my heart anymore. My life has turned a new leaf. I have moved on. Who wants to nurture grief? There’s a point you reach a saturation level. No one can harm you beyond that. My agony has also reached a saturation point. I have only space for happy things in my life. I have made a pact with god. I will not hurt myself anymore nor will I let anyone else do so. I have decided that I will not wait for happiness to enter my life. I will make things happen. Make good things happen in my life… 

I have seen that people make a mockery of you if you let them but if you treat them right they cannot do so. It’s essential to steer clear of follies and make your own life with grit and vigor. When the time is right you meet the right people and right things happen. If you let things go then who is to blame. If you bang your head against a wall no person can save you. Only you have the power to envisage yourself.

Who else but you can predict the future of yourself. Believe in yourself. Believe in the power of I. Real talent lies in visualizing oneself ahead of time. 

As his cold face lied in my bare hands, I could feel my heart right into my mouth. I was experiencing extreme strife and pain. I lifted him up and made him sit on the bed. He opened his mouth to say something but then fumbled a few sentences of which I could make out nothing. I was grim tired as I hadn’t slept for two nights now. My eyes were hurting.

The nurse came and told me a few instructions. I jotted down all the points carefully. I knew he had very less time on his hand. I wanted to run away from all this. I believed I had not enough power to face such a scenario. I wanted to take back all the bad things I had ever told him or thought about him but how was that ever possible. I was numb. I wanted peace of mind. His approaching inevitable end was not something I was prepared of. I had never thought that a time will come when he would not be there. If he was wrong even I was not right. 

Yes there was an abominable lull all over the place. The quiet ceiling and the walls were as if sonorous of some deep buried truth. What was left unsaid? What was hidden? A clandestine glass wall piercing the middle of the room was about to say something mystical when all of a sudden some vagabond voice vaulted from the ceiling of the tomb. I was afraid to say goodbye to my father. I had no words. I was mum and overcome with emotion. I had never thought the cause of my agony was already gone. I had mixed feelings. I wanted to cry but I could hardly speak a few jumbled up words. I was alone in that crowd. Forlorn and gloomy.. So was the atmosphere. Everyone was steeped with emotion. I was embittered and sad. My eyes spoke of a disillusioned story. The tears won’t stop but the heart was heavy. I didn’t know what to do nor say. I had seen remorse before but nothing like it. Should I burst out and cry out loud or should I stay calm? Who knows… there are times like these when your emotional quotient is tested.


Contact Yashi
 (Unless you type the author's name
in the
subject line of the message
we won't know where to send it.
)

Book Case

Home Page

The Preservation Foundation, Inc., A Nonprofit Book Publisher