The sound of a little knock on the door could’ve got buried in the loud volume of song “On the Top of the World” playing on the tape, if not for the sharp and attentive ears of Shweta. She felt her heart wanting to attend to the door; but her experiences of past one and half months made her believe that it’s nothing but wind playing with her loneliness, again. She ignored the sound and went back to her day’s work that’s to clean and change the strings of her beloved guitar.
There came another knocking sound from the door, this time a bit louder. It’s good enough to make anyone believe that it’s more than wind, but not Shweta. To tell you the truth, her mind had already got distracted from the guitar but she still persisted on it, calling loudly to whoever is there at door “Look I know, there’s somebody at the door, but sorry, I’m not interested today.”
Shweta has moved in the house only one and a half month back. After the death of her husband, one year back, her life’s moving very slowly. She rested all her hopes on time to heal her heart of the memories of her husband and pain of his separation, but even time failed her big time. So, after nine and half months of living in desolation, she moved to this far away place in search of solace and peace of mind. Except for the few things, of which she’s very fond of - collection of antique articles that she had collected from her journeys to the far off places of India with her husband; her collection of music (tapes and records) covering wide range of taste and her beloved guitar - she sold everything that belonged to her and her dead husband.
As expected, her days in new abode weren’t that discouraging. Being away from places and people who reminded her of her husband has really paid; time’s finally doing something supportive for her. Lost in her songs and music she’d almost forgotten the world outside. She wasn’t much aware of her new locality and was looking forward to make cordial relations with her neighbors when she first took possession of the house. But after few vain attempts of knocking, when no one opened the door; she thought that no one is interested and left the idea altogether. Also, at times, she felt someone knocking at her door, but it always resulted in wind to be found at the doorstep to which she gave the name “Ghost of her dead husband”.
So, at the age of 50, not yet an age to be spent in the company of loneliness, Shweta’s spending her days playing guitar and making songs, in an attempt to escape memories of her husband. Her words were those of happiness and love, the things missing from her life. Her only contact with the outside world was her daily visit to the market nearby in the afternoon time, which was more of a window shopping in music stores for a free company of her loved songs, as and when needed she bought household items. . She’s more in touch with music and Rest of her day was spent in the company of almost empty house, holding her guitar and playing it to the only audience she had, her lonelinesssongs than the people breathing outside the doors of her house.
Few minutes had gone when the sound of another knock came from the door; this was followed by fourth, fifth and sixth. Sixth knock brought her to her feet; it made her somewhat nervous and happy. She left the guitar on a nearby chair and called loudly “Coming, coming.. just give me a minute”.
Thinking that it could really be someone on the door, she gathered herself in front of the mirror, as she didn’t want to appear untidy in front of her first visitor in her new dwelling. In the meantime, there came the door.another knock on the door, this was more of a bang. She finished brushing her hair hastily and ran for
“Another knock by the ghost of dead husband” she said to herself smiling on finding no one outside the door. But instead of going back to her routine, which she usually did, this time she closed the door behind her and sat on the steps in front of the door.
Few seconds had passed when the door of the adjoining house opened. A man came out hurriedly and she felt him saying to himself “Will I ever find someone really knocking on the door?”, but she wasn’t sure. She thought it might be this neighbor, who is trying to bother her.
He looked somewhat sleepy and lost in himself. She knew from the look of it that it wasn’t him, still she asked him politely as she wasn’t sure of it “Sorry, but, was it you knocking on my door?”
He turned to his left still seemed to be lost in his thought and said smilingly “I thought it’s you knocking on my door”.
To Be Continued......
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Vikky Gural
PYAR HUMEIN PHIR MILAAEGHA....
