The Kite

The typical tinge of sub-urban Indian lanes lingered in the still July evening air. And with the slightest of movement a tang of pan spits in union with that of cow dung would come and hit strait in the nostrils. A few hands shall go up to the nose to save it from the ordeal, but for most it was at the way of life with their reflex systems immune to its indignity.

Vegetable vendors screamed, and the tawa quietly bore the burning torment at the back and merciless nammers-the chat-walas statement of his presence on its face. People returning from office hurriedly hired auto rickshaw to get back to their secure shelters in the company of the loved ones, to feel the warmth of their love and affection and to know the purpose of their very existence. There was still some time before the birds would follow their human counterparts but eventually they would. "Only, no one shall. come back to me, to let oceans of love and affection swelling in my heart and mind be bestowed upon someone or to make me the purpose of someone's existence." Tara signed as she stood on the second floor balcony of a decrepit remain of regal majesty gazing at the humdrum of the life below. At the little drama that takes place every day-monotonously. Drama, because it is momentary yet TARepetitive, because it is all human whim and fancy, because It displays an unaltered pattern of events, because it seems so well rehearsed.

weary of it like an audience who knew each line by heart she turned her gaze towards the sky. Tangled electric wires. Even if they were tidy, simple and orderly when they were fixed as most humans are at birth, the tests of life, breaking and mending and change of relationships have left them complicated, puzzled, confused, and un-directed.

Her gaze moved on. A few yards down the street a tedious argument over the rickshaw fare had begun inviting spectators. While the Lala took it as an opportunity of recreation the urchins took it as an opportunity to swell their tiny palms with whatever came in easy and close vicinity.

Just below her the rattle of hand pump combined with the gasps of cloth under the washing stick.

Across the lane from the back yard of an uninhabited house a lone Babool tree bent on the street. A helpless kite with its threads in the clutches of thorny babool hung from it. It dangled to and fro the fierce and dangerous Babool threatening to pierce its delicate body any moment, the clouds threatening to wash out her very existence in minutes, the sun threatening to steal her of her color and the naughty boys threatening their intentions so that even if her owner comes to rescue her, he either does not find her or finds her in such a state that could only fetch him shame.

But she too must have for once soared high; kissed by the cool and fresh air. She too must have danced in her glory among the clouds, she too must have been his pride. He too must have loved her, been proud of her. She must have defined his success. But now.. Was she Shakuntala? Walting for him. The hope fading away. No she was Tara. This was a perfect comparison. Of all the things around, this mere plece of paper defined her life most aptly. Tears brimmed her eyes as she looked back at her bygone years.

He had come like a cool breeze after the scorching heat burned Tara almost to death. He was a doctor. They met when Tara was rushed to hospital after a suicide attempt. Poor Tara. She was an orphan. Tortured and tormented by her relatives she had little option left but to take the extreme step. Her beauty was enchanting, her eyes were deep oceans of emotions; her smile was as rare and beautiful as the half crescent moon. Tara, for the first time in life realized what she had missed. He defined love for her. They were married. She danced among the clouds of happiness; he loved her; protected her, she was his pride. But now...

Many an eye is set upon her. She is like the lonely kite swaying with the wind of destiny, scared for her existence. She remembers falling at his feet. The last thing Tara did was to fall at his feet and beg him to stay back. But duty was more binding.

"There are people who now need me more than you do, my dear"

"But...but..."

"Why dear, I will be back in the evening. Wait for me", he cut her short.

A torrent of fear swept over her.

Despite all efforts, Tara was unable to hold him back. He left for the hospital to look after the victims amidst a storm of communal violence in the city.

Every evening she waits. It is over a year now but she is waiting. The hope is fading away.

"Oh! Here is my kite!" Someone joyful scream pierced through.. Suddenly she was jostled back to the present. A little boy was standing near the backyard wall.

He labored his little body to pile up bricks risking his bones to climb the backyard wall. With great effort, he untangled the thread. Finally, with a few bruises, he got back his treasured kite. For a moment he held the kite close to his bosoms. Then once again she soared, high, high, high among the clouds to dance in her glory.

Tara felt a streak of relief go through her body and mind.