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Beauty Bites...
THERE must be some characterised times when you get carried away with your thoughts and actions: don't you? Some of the "very" conscious may not agree, but most of the humans are like that. I was in a same situation a few days ago. As 1 was changing roles, or at least trying to do so. like the jackets of a wardrobe while performing some layman duties, an emotional distance was grown between us — me and my "new" friend, because on her part, she seemed to have found some adjectives of life.
She should have been by now (the time we spent together) become more than a friend. But like human merry-go-round sees many changes, my Book of Life culminates with a dream fantasy of a fancy-dress ball In which I feel the barrier between "she" and "I". What I was feeling is like this — "I would sample life's tortures once more and shoulder one more at its senselessness. I would traverse not once more, but often, the hell of my inner being. One "day", I would be a better band at the game..."
Well, that's what ”1" was thinking, but she was least purterbed. or rather least bothered. about it. For she thinks her past' and present’ to be the most grueful (she has a preoccupation to laugh at Life) undermining everybody else's sorrow. She pretends like the Angel of the Duinese Elegies to see and summarise human life as a whole. If you ever happen to meet a lady with such striking ability (I think there's a lot out there) to beautify her sorrows, never let her go away. I try more to interact with her, taking her to my library to read out the very first sentence from Tolstoy's Anna Karenina; "All happy families are like one another: each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
Her face illuminates and to tell you frankly, at that time, she looks exactly like my Laksmi with Pagan eyes full of nocturnal mysteries. But unfortunate "me": if she really were "my" Laksmi. she wouldn't have hesitated to let me nestle in her beauty — beauty that disturbs my human hunger.
Many of you may be bored to ' ।death reading about my Laksmi, again and again, as iny friend! iRomel onc^ again asked me ' 'about her existence". I answered ' in affirmative. And I wish —
and you' have every liberty to differ — that you see what I see and feel what I feel. I think if someone like my Laksmi exited in your life, you wouldn't have to project yourself as "too-smart" whenever you come close to the female species of human beings.
Let s start with beauty. In beauty. Laksmi is a Greco-Bengalee version of Hardy's Eusta-cia Vve. and unlike Eustacia, she would liave done more than well on Olympus without auy preparation. You must forgive me for comparing Laksmi to one of my once-imagined female strangers. But again. I often do feel like shouting at her: "Oh thou art fairer than the evening air/Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." This was what Marlowe's Faustus was wasting his soul to Helen. But do not mistake me — I'm not entertaining any sentinel from Hell. I already have enough within my "self'.
See, how much I am engrossed in and carried away with 'one' person's beauty! And for that. I sometimes rebuke myself from the Old Testament, saying: "A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother."
But as I was born handicapped from my mother's cradle with all the elements of an anarchist and a non-conformist hemmed in my hectoring lifestyle. I was trying to get back at a hypocrite browbeater. Definitely. I was carried away accompanying my characteristic flaws. I whispered to Laksmi with all the punctuations of my inner wrath that "I had learned that society imposes insults that must be borne, comforted by knowledge that in this world, there comes a time when the most humble of men, if he keeps his eyes open, can take his revenge on the most powerful."
These are the times Laksmi □lays her "beauty" card — from heavens, she takes me drawn into her. pressed onto her human limbs, spreading her swan-like anchol over my body and soul. Resurrected. I feel like the Eagle who finally has dived into thc^Ocean, illumined by the morning Sun.
But no... a,little later when I realise that ft v>as just a passing dream. I go up. Up to the rocks where beauty can'only’ bite...
—SK