The Silent Lover

"There is an ocean of silence between us... and I am drowning in it." - Ranata Suzuki

I can't remember the day I fell in love with him. The memory of those early days is obscure, like the dim light of stars veiled by the clouds at night. No clock, no calendar can measure the number of days, months and years I've been in love. My love for him is more ancient than time itself. 

Through the haze of time, what I'm able to remember is a masculine figure, draped in blue and green. One look at him and I knew that I was bound for eternity. Since that day, I have been devoted and loyal to him. My life revolves around him - day after day, year after year. 

But it breaks my heart to admit that he was never mine. He will never be mine. His life revolves around someone else. Someone who is brighter than me illuminates his life. Her blinding light mesmerizes him, sustains his very life, gives meaning to his existence. Yet when he finds himself in darkness with no one to guide him, he gently turns to me. I give him solace with my softness. I try to remind him of the rhythm of life - that the journey is always from the darkness of the unknown towards the soft radiance of truth, the path that unfolds through the growth of understanding, the path that requires the complete surrender of ego on its last leg.

Sometimes, I become jealous like any ordinary woman. My heart desires to reclaim its love from the clutches of that other woman. And guided by the follies of my heart, I step between the two of them, bringing an eclipse. But those moments are always fleeting. And they always leave me heartbroken.

When I feel too vulnerable, too powerless in my love, I send him silver tides - a reminder of my presence in his life, a sign he cannot ignore. Years of enduring the pain of unrequited love have left its scars on me in the form of craters on my surface - the tell-tale signs of a life of suffering.

When my soul's yearning for him becomes too intense, I silently retreat to my inner self, cocooned by the darkness of night, invisible to him. I introspect deeply what it means to love, what purpose my unrequited love serves. Then I realize that I too have some importance to him, however trivial it may be. I may not be the center of his life, but it's I who shape his tides and light up his night sky. Neglected by the love of my life, I continue my journey in my own orbit, for no matter what happens, life must go on. 

I may be the silent observer of the love affair between the Earth and the Sun, I may be the woman never chosen by the man she loves, but I too have my own identity. I, the Moon. The silent lover.

Image Source: Unsplash

Chaalchitra

"Bajlo tomar alor benu..."

("The flute of your radiance begins to play...")

Mrinalini woke up to the tune of 'Mahishasurmardini' being played on radio sets of neighbouring households. On Mahalaya's auspicious morning, Birendra Krishna Bhadra's voice reciting the 'Mahishasurmardini Stotram' floated in the air. To Mrinalini, it always seemed like the first breath of autumn on earth. 

A sense of relief washed over her as the realisation dawned that all the chaalchitras ordered for had already been painted. Today, representatives of Puja committees and some bonedi households from Kolkata were supposed to collect the chaalchitras and pay her dues. The months leading up to the Durga Puja had been hectic. This was the time when demand was high for the chaalchitras.

Mrinalini put the kettle on the stove to make some tea for herself. Today she had no more work left on chaalchitras. She was just a year shy of eighty and those long hours of work for the past few months made her legs heavy and her hips ached. She added a few cloves and cardamoms to the boiling tea leaves for that extra tang.

The morning tea ritual was over. Mrinalini had ample time today. She lovingly looked for one last time at her own creations, the chaalchitras heaped on the floor of her workspace. In the middle of one particular chaalchitra, she had painted Mahadev. It reminded her of her own Mahadev - her long-departed husband, Subodh. Subodh was a chaalchitra and pot shilpo artist. It was he who initiated her into the art of chaalchitra painting more than sixty years ago. Mrinalini could almost visualize the shy, naïve, eighteen-year-old version of herself, the touch of Subodh's callused palms on her tender, creamy hands, gently guiding the intricate brushstrokes while she painted Radha-Krishna. She was the Radha, head over heels in love with her Krishna. Subodh was not just her partner, he was her mentor, her guide and her eternal lover - steadfast in his love towards his Parvati, just like Mahadev.

Subodh had always hoped to pass on the mantle of his art to Sunil, their only son. But Sunil had neither the artistic inclination nor the patience required to paint chaalchitras. Instead, he was more interested in making quick money. After finishing school, he managed to find a job as a security guard in a residential complex. When Subodh passed away, after forty years of blissful married life, it was Mrinalini who took up the mantle.

After Subodh's death, Mrinalini suddenly found all the colours drained from her life, leaving behind a gloomy, grey-tinted existence. The only things that added colours to her life were the colour palettes meant for chaalchitra painting - white derived from chalk dust, yellow from turmeric, blue from indigo and red from vermillion. She clung to those colours for dear life. Today as the honey-coloured autumn sunlight bathed the earth in a warm glow, she whispered, "Wait a little more for me, Subodh! Together we'll paint the heaven red."

Glossary:

Chaalchitra - A traditional form of painted panel art from Bengal, often depicting mythological or religious themes. These paintings are typically created on wooden boards using natural pigments. It serves as a decorated, painted backdrop behind Hindu deity idols, particularly during Durga Puja.

Bonedi - A term used in Bengal to refer to members of the traditional aristocratic or upper-class families, usually landowners or people of high social status with a long-established lineage. Bonedi families are often associated with wealth, heritage, and influence in society.

Pot shilpo - A term referring to artistic work involving painting or drawing on earthen pots, often featuring traditional motifs and designs, and is considered a form.of folk art from West Bengal, India.

Image: AI generated.