Two Worlds


two worlds

Photo by Angie Johnson

Adrunkard, a husband, a man with imperfections perfectly instilled. Somehow, he never appeared a part of this world to her, never, not at least of the world she knows, she understands. He lives in some other world, an unknown strange world which is as unknown to her as the equations of life and death to him are. A zephyr surrounds him, an air of living for one self in a care-free manner like this is the only moment, like life does not know the trail ahead. Somewhere the bottle and the liquid inside enchants him, it soars in his veins. He found a world in the bottle splashing in the liquid inside, oblivious of the people around. Does he care for the world that surrounds him? No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t even know a world exists around him. In his drunken stupor, he has created his own world, a world which he even understands , which equally understands him. That world has blurred boundaries of rights and wrongs, faint visions of future ahead and the past left behind. No burden to carry, nowhere to lead.

A wife, a lady, something was unique, exquisitely unique about her deep dark kohl eyes, squirrel eyes that spill over her husband’s ruins. Her eyes were deep but deeper was her soul, her patience as if she is not a humanly soul but some ocean, immense ocean that knows no end. With the burden of red veil and green bangles she vowed to make it simple, better, for herself and for the alien husband, a stranger in the same house. She tried to replace the liquid inside the bottle with the flavours of life, of reality and it was not a mere effort but a journey during which she got many momentary promises of leaving the bottle, of facing the reality. But, priorities differ. For him, it was his self created, familiar world and for her it was an effort to pull him out of that illusionary world.

It was that night, cold night when her effort borne her something. When she got to know the connection with the bottle has lost, husband died. She felt a tightening in her throat. Ever since she met him, she was trying to search for her existence , her vague existence in the world that the bottle captured, that had something to do with the stranger whom she was tied to, whom she always wanted to know. There were dim lights in the streets and the night was as dark as the thoughts in her bosom. She wanted to get lost in anonymity. Somehow, she couldn’t handle the newly found-freedom.

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Richa Sharma

An observer, I love to explore edges of life and the intricacies of human minds. Reading books, sketching and music are sources of my bliss and peace both.