Hanging On The Ropes
Hanging On The Ropes
I’ve always looked forward to watching the early morning sun. The view is and always will be surreal and breathtaking. It gives me positive vibes and instills new hope for a new and better tomorrow. But that’s not the only reason why mornings are special for me. I owe my first crush to the sun.
When I was 14, she must have been around 22-23. A newly married woman at that time, she lived in the chawl opposite the garage I worked part-time. The room she lived in had a balcony having our garage as a front view. The first time I had seen her, the morning sun had shone brightly on her face; irritating her but enhancing her beauty to me without her knowledge. I was left awestruck at her beauty; my mouth wide open to such an extent that my boss literally had to pull my ears to get me back to work. Being from a lower middle-class family, I was accustomed to such treatment regularly.
She was busy hanging the just washed clothes on the ropes. Her skin was wheatish, her features sharp and her height average. Even though she didn’t smile, she had a pleasant face. The one which screamed innocence and virtuousness at the same time. In the heat of the moment, I decided that if I do get married, I would want to marry a woman just like her. As an adult, I can only help but laugh at my own naivety and stupidity. I barely knew her but at that point in my mind, she was my ideal woman.
The days I luckily caught a glimpse of her in the wee hours of the morning was some of the best days for me. Just looking at her charming face gave me hope that life’s not that bad and good times would come eventually. For her, she was hanging her clothes on the ropes but for me; my heart was hanging on those ropes. From day one, I was aware that I would end up having my first heartbreak. It’s not that I expected us to be lovers anyways. She was already happily married and I was just a scrawny little teenager.
She might have barely even noticed me. Even if she did, she might have thought of me as a little kid who was too short for his age. One day, I accidentally discovered that her name was Rupa. I heard her husband yelling out her name on the top of his voice and saw her running back immediately. For the first time in days, the magic on her face was missing.
Rupa looked like a ghost, a completely different person lost in her own thoughts who had been pushed forcefully. The next day I saw her, there were bruises on her face and neck clearly implying what had happened the day before. I felt helpless. My heart ached to see her hurt and disturbed. I wanted to help her but there was nothing I could really do. Neither was I 100% sure if her husband had been the prime reason behind her bruises nor did I have the permission or authority to ask her.
Ever since that day, I saw her differently and cautiously. I didn’t want to be another reason for worry in her already dreaded life. I never stopped admiring her though. I felt sad that the woman who gave me hope with her mere presence had to fight the inner and outer battles of her own. It was exhausting to see Rupa’s early morning freshness change into something ghastly overnight. A year later, I stopped working at the garage and never looked back. The truth has always scared me. All I hope is she fought for the right against the wrong. All I hope is the best for her. If only she didn’t have to go through such a horrifying experience! All I want is pleasant memories of her in my mind. Even today, my heart is still hanging on the ropes.