Nala looks closer into the mirror. Love had made his skin glow. Since she left him, the glow has been on the wane. Eaten, gobbled by Rahu. He wonders what would make this dermatological eclipse come to an end.
His bathroom has descended into emptiness. She used to have various tins and boxes, all over the place. When she was shopping, she would open the desired bottle in the shop, regardless of the obvious fury of the shop assistant and inhale deeply. If her nose liked what it inhaled, she would hold out the bottle under his nose, and command, “Smell.”. When she stepped out of her bath, there were would be a million scents. Each subtle, each overwhelming. On the days that she washed her hair, she would sit right next to him on the couch, and command as always, “Smell.”.
Out of boredom, or the sudden need to break inertia, she would pull out some face mask. Apply some. Then apply the extra on his face. After the first few times, she always made her strange mixture of rose water, edible flour, inedible flower, sometimes olive oil, maybe sandalwood for two. They both would sit with face pack thick on their face. Trying hard not to giggle. Listening to the news. He would always ask her, “Can I wash it off now?”. She knew he wanted to put these strange pastes on his face, but he had to pretend that she forced him. It was a game. And they both knew the rules. His role was to protest. Her role was to force. Before presentations and important client meetings, she would get more persistent. He wanted her to.
He would make her buy moisturizers that promised that the scaly look on your legs was going to vanish. He was too shy to buy it for himself. She was bold.
There’s no question about it. Love made him very beautiful. It made him hairless on his nose. Love trimmed his nails. It made his heels soft. It made him smell nice. Love knew about his cuticles, hair roots and what conditioner he should use. Love knew what scrubs were safe for the face, and which ones worked better on the back.
Now, her tins, boxes, potions and powders are gone. His skin becomes dull. Lovelessness leaves him hollow and dry. He wishes someone would appear suddenly and hold out a magical box of face mask paste and say, “Smell.”.
Posted on March 12th, 2007 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Poetry and Fiction
cinema stylela sollanumna
manasukku idhama irukku :-)
beautiful!!
Well, now that is a poignant end to a simple tale. while it is quite complete in itself, somehow i can’t help feeling it needs a dialogue or an exchange to liven it up a bit. yet, a nice bit of work.
how bizarre :O
Was recently pointed to your blog. You write beautifully.
Neha, I think you need to have one of those “forum-like” options – where people can click and it says xx number said “Thank you” or xxx number said “Lovely” or xxxx said “I like the other one better”.
I am running out of words. And looking around, I can see you’re right – the men who live with women (or men as lovers) appear to have a strange glow on their face. I thought maybe it had to do with diet. (You do eat more regularly once you begin cooking for two.) But maybe cosmetics is the reason! I wish my wife used more of these lotions and creams – that would really make me pretty! (yes men can be pretty too!)
I once wrote a post about how being in love changes me -
Heh!
beautifully written neha.
nice work…enjoyed the post very much..
What’s with your obsession with “she left him” theme?
fe: Romba sandosham.
vendz: Thanks.
Prasanth: You’re probably right. But dialogue is not really my forte. I seem to be better at exploring somebody else’s head rather than word.
sudha: :D
Monica: Thanks for coming by…
Fifth In Line: The other option of course is to go out and buy them yourself!
gauravonomics: Ha! So I maybe right..
Sangeeta, Dhivia: Thanks.
Naren: Well, when I find out – I’ll let you know.
973485 Blog Verification…
973485…
“When she stepped out of her bath, there were be a million scents” – what is ‘there were be’ ?
Kalpana Krishnan: Thanks for pointing that out. Error rectified.
Neha…i HAVE to delurk to tell you that i really enjoy reading your fiction fragments. lady, you should write a book , collection of short stories or something.
keep ‘em coming!