I stand in front of the mirror dilly dallying over a strand of straying hair. Music wafts in through the slightly opened door, some Bollywood number about long lost love. I feel the beginning of a headache as I try to block out the cacophony of excited voices outside my room.
Raja Dada is getting married in two hours. I can’t call in sick at my own brother’s marriage.
“Get a grip,” I tell myself.
I look into the mirror and there is a stranger looking back at me. She wears a rose colored saree embroidered with silver threads. Her hair falls in soft curls over her delicately made up face. And she has an armful of silver bangles that jingles softly as she moves her hand... As I move my hand.
She exudes an air of confidence I do not feel. There is a stranger in my mirror.
I reach out to touch her - the stranger in the mirror. But she is no longer starring back at me. I find myself looking into darkened eyes, morose and brimming with a dozen unfinished stories. Dressed in rags of neglect, unkempt tousled hair framing a tear stained face. I know her well.
She has not slept in days. Wet pillowcases bear witness to her misery in the darkness of the night. Her smiles are fake, they no longer reach her eyes. The sound of her laughter that once warmed the coldest heart is long forgotten by the world.
Yes, I know her well. Because I am her.
Today she is holding a knife so sharp you can see the light gleaming off the edge of the blade... Some days she plays with a box of matches and on others she stands perilously close to the edge of a cliff.
“Tanvi” I hear my mother calling me.
I cannot look away from the mirror. There is something mesmerizing about the glint of the blade. Perhaps it is the key to the emptiness in my life. A perfect end to the constant war that rages within my head every single day. Just one swift slash and I will be free. Free of all the pain.
“Tanvi,” my mother calls again, “It’s time to go,” she says. I can hear her footsteps just outside my door.
I quickly return the knife to its hiding place. “Soon,” I tell myself.
The stranger in the mirror is back.
I walk out of the room to the sound of my softly jingling bangles masking the silent sobs of a broken heart.
It has been over a year since that day. The bravest thing I have done since wastrying to continue continuing my life when I wanted to die. Every day is still a battle, but so far I have not given up.
#IndiMarathon #tatazica #tatazicamarathon #navigation #fantastico
Raja Dada is getting married in two hours. I can’t call in sick at my own brother’s marriage.
“Get a grip,” I tell myself.
I look into the mirror and there is a stranger looking back at me. She wears a rose colored saree embroidered with silver threads. Her hair falls in soft curls over her delicately made up face. And she has an armful of silver bangles that jingles softly as she moves her hand... As I move my hand.
She exudes an air of confidence I do not feel. There is a stranger in my mirror.
I reach out to touch her - the stranger in the mirror. But she is no longer starring back at me. I find myself looking into darkened eyes, morose and brimming with a dozen unfinished stories. Dressed in rags of neglect, unkempt tousled hair framing a tear stained face. I know her well.
She has not slept in days. Wet pillowcases bear witness to her misery in the darkness of the night. Her smiles are fake, they no longer reach her eyes. The sound of her laughter that once warmed the coldest heart is long forgotten by the world.
Yes, I know her well. Because I am her.
Today she is holding a knife so sharp you can see the light gleaming off the edge of the blade... Some days she plays with a box of matches and on others she stands perilously close to the edge of a cliff.
“Tanvi” I hear my mother calling me.
I cannot look away from the mirror. There is something mesmerizing about the glint of the blade. Perhaps it is the key to the emptiness in my life. A perfect end to the constant war that rages within my head every single day. Just one swift slash and I will be free. Free of all the pain.
“Tanvi,” my mother calls again, “It’s time to go,” she says. I can hear her footsteps just outside my door.
I quickly return the knife to its hiding place. “Soon,” I tell myself.
The stranger in the mirror is back.
I walk out of the room to the sound of my softly jingling bangles masking the silent sobs of a broken heart.
* * *
It has been over a year since that day. The bravest thing I have done since was
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#IndiMarathon #tatazica #tatazicamarathon #navigation #fantastico
This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.
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