The Woman My Grandmother Loved.

Chapter Nine

"You know you are in love when you cannot fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."

Dr. Seuss

It was a whirlwind romance. The kind you don't find in fairy tales; for stories of yore only speak of gallant young men with their bewitching damsels. Anita, spoilt and fussed over as a child, had seen these in the large books embossed with jade green embroidery and had so far considered it to simply be something entirely fictional. The drama of it all had always exhausted her. The fanfare, the loud proclamations of love, the chasing; all of that ending in a big fat wedding. It had never made her feel remotely tempted; the yearning for companionship, she had managed to tuck in between the careless pages of the flimsy stories.

But the previous week when she had been walking through a cultural fair hand-in-hand with Becky, embroidered quilts and rugs on display, flown in all the way from the Middle East, she had for a split second allowed herself to see. Had she allowed herself to see or was it the world that wanted her to see?

Jamias vu is a phenomenon that sits on the opposite side of Déjà vu. If Déjà vu is a phenomenon of having the strong sensation that an event or experience currently being experienced has already been experienced in the past. Then Jamias vu, is the phenomenon of experiencing a situation that one recognises in some fashion but that nonetheless seems very unfamiliar.

When she looked at the brocade work, the intricate designs and the birds that looped around in circles on one end of a purple rug, she couldn't help but feel that she ought to recognise it. Or perhaps it was simply the longing, the feel of Becky's hand secure in hers and the unwelcome question of how long it would go on to last. The waves of time dancing around; overlapping one another for a split second and Anita saw. What the promise of a future, if there ever were to be any, looked like. It was all so uncertain and there is a definitive beauty in transience but the ache for permanence had never cut so deep.

Evening glow on linoleum floors, two pots of tea- Earl Grey for her, Darjeeling for she and love to warm them both when their teas were forgotten and cold.

Becky had looked at her questioningly and Anita had simply smiled. For how does one put to word the vastness of such experiences? Experiences untethered to reality and anchored in dreams? We just smile.

It had been a whirlpool of emotions for both the girls. There was so much to be said and words always seemed to be hanging in the air, remaining unsaid. They were both aware of how delicate the entire situation was, never daring to voice out what was actually felt. Anita brushed hers off with vague references to Jane Austen whereas Becky flicked hers away with Da Vinci.

But they fit and unquestioningly so.

Hand squeezes during secret meetings, coincidental interviews resulted in impromptu dates and Anita hadn't been going home on the weekends. It was comfort that most people never find, a sense of belonging that stems from a cosmic level of understanding; two energies that complemented each other so beautifully. Most of us don't find that and when we do, it is tangled in webs of deterrents that keep you whispering Maybe in next life.

Following the weeks after, Anita and Becky had settled into a rhythm of their own. Anita's sister in law didn't care much about her comings and goings and in the days that followed, Anita and Becky were almost inseparable.

Summer had graced the little park and they spent many weekend afternoons on their little picnic mats with egg sandwiches that Anita had grown to love. When they went out drinking and men would ask for dances, they'd simply shrug and say something about it being 'night with the gals'. When Anita's childhood friends dropped by to see her, during their exorbitant vacations, Becky tried not to be jealous. It was particularly hard for her when she saw young women dressed in light coloured silk wrap dresses stopping by for a little chat and ending up with Anita not coming over to Becky's for the night. Those beautiful girls that Anita always had some ridiculous childhood memory or other with. It made her realise; a bitter realisation at that, Anita would always have a world she was not in. She could never fit in with the daughters and sons of socialites who seemed to always be on one cruise or another, delicate and expensive pearls paired with the most casual dresses, custom made leather shoes on fun outings. It was all too much at times for her; it felt like subtle reminders in shades of gold seemed to be taunting her at times.