The Blueprint

The wounds of the past

Something is amiss—something ominous, looming on the horizon like a storm brewing. Except there is no sight of rain anywhere, just the bright moon- shining in all its glory. I love the moon more than the sun because it is like all of us. Closer to home. Brilliant, luminant, but with dark shades of grey, like a proper human being. The sun terrifies me, for it is blinding, bubbling hot, and burns- with a savage intensity. It reminds me of the horrible burns on my face; I can still feel the embers gnawing on my skin. The burns that took away my face, my life, and him. Yes, he left me alone and stranded He left me for her, the other woman. I remember her perfect feline eyes. Her perfectly rounded lips and toned figure, like a model. Wasn't she one? Yes, she was.

His muse. His inspiration. His spiritual calling, his canvas, and his art. Poor Akshun. He had always been gullible, too trusting, and wore his heart on his sleeve. Like a kid awestruck by everything magical, It was this obsession for perfection that made him the renowned nuclear scientist he is. His infectious passion for perfection made me fall in love with him. It was the one thing that gave me the strength to fight the world to be with him. But Alas, that's the price one pays for being with creative geniuses. You end up being a toy to be thrown at the next inspiration, the next thrill, the following "life-altering" endeavor. She had played him to perfection. I remember the day till now. The day it had ended between us.

"How can you not see beyond her beauty, her mask, her ?" I bellowed with hot putrid tears streaming down my face. I felt like my insides would burst.

She stood in front of me, wide-eyed, smirking with an air of indifference. She shrugged her shoulders and scorned.

"He's mine now." Do what you will; I really don't even care."

"Have you ever looked at yourself? It's a miracle how he even agreed to marry you with a face as hideous as that. If you try coming near him again, the curse will be on you."

I swore I could have killed her that day; ripped her apart with my bare hands, but then my eyes fell on him. He stood there meekly, without uttering a word in total surrender. I walked away, knowing things would never be mended. He was under the spell of that witch, and she would not be defeated. I've asked this question a million times, over and over, what went wrong? Why did I deserve this? Was I that hideous? Is my worth that of a toy to be flung over? The long hours at my tech job never helped either. I never knew how we slipped away.

Her eyes haunt me even today. But I am not one to be bogged down. I have to love myself. Self-respect is the only crown that a woman should strive to wear, and that's what I did and walked away. Its been a struggle, but I am getting there. It's just that these wounds, these burn marks, don't seem to subside. Maybe it's the curse of that witch? There are nights when I wake up screaming as if my entire body is on fire. She indeed must have dark occultist powers. The meds haven't been helping anymore. I have silently stopped taking them. It's our little secret. I know Abu would be furious, but he wouldn't see reason. Not a single scar of mine has healed; I need to find another way. Stopping the meds has taken away the sleep. I need to sleep. I haven't slept in an eternity. Well, surely not over the last few weeks. The only way I get to sleep is when I say those magic lines, thousand times repeatedly:

"I am the Phoenix. I have learned to rise from the ashes, and I am not to be toyed with."

It's dawn by now, and finally, I have a visitor named sleep at my doorstep.

I wake up to the loud drawl of a motor starting. Abu and Ammi are frantically running up and down as the water in the motor has run out AGAIN. I rub my eyes with disgust to glance at the watch. It's almost noon. Its 11:45 AM. Another day where the day is half-finished when I have woken up. I grumble out aloud. What date is it today? My phone died last night, and like all previous nights, I hadn't bothered to charge it either.

"Aman, where the hell is the calendar?" I thunder. Haven't I asked for a calendar to be put up in my room for the zillionth time?

Aman and Abu come running, panting with a concerned look on their faces.

"Didi, is everything okay? Do you need help with anything?"

This tone that has sympathy wrapped in the garb of concern makes my blood boil. All of them have behaved this way, every single one of them since the separation. As if the world has ended.

"Where is the calendar?" I repeat myself irritably.

"I forgot. I shall get it", mumbles Aman without meeting my gaze. I know he won't. He hasn't gotten it the last million times I told him so.

I look at Aman sternly. My temper is rising by the minute.

"And what about the newspaper? Why doesn't it ever get delivered at home anymore?"

Abu interrupts abruptly and explains:

"Lyla, the society committee has still not allowed the delivery of newspapers in our society because of the pandemic. It has been unanimously decided. As soon as the situation improves, we will have it delivered."

I scorn and turn back to my room, closing the door behind.

Don't these guys realize? My year-long sabbatical is going to be over. I would need to get back to work. I need to know the date to start. The wellness app reminds me every day that the best way to start anew is by decluttering the past, such that remnants of the past don't become giant obstacles in the present. I need to get back to work. To rebuild. To relive and find peace finally.

"Not one step backward" is the Stalin quote that Abu loves to reiterate every time to lighten the mood. I adore him. His will and determination to get my life back in order are commendable. He is solely the reason why my life hasn't fallen off from the rails, been unhinged, or ripped apart. I laugh silently and switch on the T.V. absent-mindedly. It's the same bullshit each day of daughter-in-laws being secret serpent queens or a "love hexagonal" involving every combination of men and women in the soap opera. Just then, an advertisement comes up during the break that makes my skin crawl. My eyes are transfixed on the screen as if held in submission. It's an advertisement that has HER in it. The witch. My nemesis.

Her blue, cold eyes are a drunken concoction of lust, greed and pretense. Those eyes hold a gaze that pierces the screen as she bares into mine, like darting lasers threatening to decimate everything in their path. Her bright red lipstick is the color of the blood she has spilled and tasted, and the aura she exudes is one of lies, hate, and deceit. Her twisted smile reeks of betrayal. She is swaying her perfect voluptuous hips with disdain as she wears long heels over an emerald grown made of envy. She's barely a hundred pounds, weightless, levitating in the air, like a witch. Its an advertisement for CRAB shoes.

"The lightest heels on the planet, at your fingertips," she utters with a smile plastered on her face. If only I could extinguish the living daylights out of her. If only. My body jerks and recoils with disgust; I can feel the blood in my veins turning into molten lava, setting my skin on fire; a volcanic eruption is on the corner. I can't take it anymore. I leave out a blood curling scream. There is darkness.