Autumnal Fever

Posted by Nilanjana Biswas on Tuesday August 08, @10:08PM

Coming to terms with Time ...

I had walked this path before with him, hand in hand or was it our hands around each other’s waists? The familiar sentinels that witnessed our daily sojourns were suffering from their seasonal autumnal fever. They listened to our bouts of incessant chatter, plans for the future, our tiffs indulgently. Even they were deceived to believe in forever.

We would start on some mundane topic, get very personal, disagree with each other vehemently, fly off our handles and walk with a at least a three feet gap between us. The sentinels would laugh at us, shower us with their smiles and chuckles. I don’t remember as to whom would make the first move. He would come closer; pick one of the yellow leaves tangled in my stubborn curls. We both would look for excuses to come closer, to make-up and continue down the beaten old track.

He would look for non-existent smiles and chuckles in my hair, ruffling it and coming closer in the process. I would give him a knowing look with a lop-sided half a smile that encouraged his hands to possess a life of its own. My head would droop on its own accord on his proffered shoulder and his head towards mine. This was cyclic, we continued again till the next disagreement but always secure in the knowledge that we would find each other again.

The first kiss was almost hilarious. My spirits had been buoyant with an undefined euphoria. I had stopped to look at the sentinels above when he clasped me by my waist and deposited a hasty wet kiss on the corner of my lips. I had looked at him for whole ten seconds and then said something very inane like, “That’s cool!” He had looked very abashed and said something equally stupid like, “It’ll get better” and it did.

Time was so relative. It flashed by or stood still as was dictated by us. A chuckle would dislodge itself from the sentinel gyrating in the eternal vortex of suspended animation. He would stop, pick it up and tickle the tip of my nose with it till I giggled and swatted his arm playfully. This lovemaking was so different, so unique, so intensely provocative and yet painfully passionate.

It had been a rare autumnal shower. The chuckles were beaded with pendulous tears. I splashed each puddle I deliberately stepped on and he carefully avoided them. The imp in me had been in an impulsive mood that me jump into the puddle next to him. I had chortled with glee as his frayed jeans got wet. His answering stare had frozen me in my tracks. I could have had handled an outburst but that blank unwavering gaze shattered time.

I was in limbo, stretched out in time waiting for the teardrop on the leaf to fall, or the leaf to fall. I looked up and it fell on my cheeks and then on my lips or had they been there before? The complacent sentinels looked on disbelievingly. I had never asked why. Time had started its psychic voyage while we had inhabited in our chrysalis of perfection.

I bent down to pick up a withered, leathery, decaying leaf. I twirled it between my fingers, tried to crumple it in my fist. I opened my clenched fingers and I set it free — free to follow its pre-destined path or to mould nemesis.