The Monarch
THE MONARCH
…And while you entangle that two-meter-long
piece of clothing in a tie around your collar, I’ll be sitting here on the
other side of the glass case that restrains me, watching you from afar. Occasionally,
you come so close that I can smell the aromatic Guaiac wood present in your
perfume. What a weird combination is Guaiac wood and citrus, though! But it somehow
turns this room of apathy and monotony into a holistic haven.
I’m a painting of us- you and
the-one-whom-you-left-behind-five-years-ago. I know you lie when you say that your
resentment elevates drastically on seeing me, just like I’m lying at this
moment, presenting myself as a painting when I’m just a garrulous little artificial
bracelet lying in a strange yet overcrowded corner of the glass drawer across your
room. But hey, aren’t I a metaphoric reflection of what has been painted out of
an ordinary, cheap bracelet by you yourself?!
I'm an artificial jewel with a
pretentious evil eye on my sleek body. Every inch of me reflects imitation. I'm
all of these expensive, gaudy objects yet not even a fraction of the integrity
they hold.
My other precious co-habitants mock
my simplicity for I am the cheapest of them all. So, why is it that I’ve
remained for the past five years in a place I do not really belong? Amongst
ruby rings, silver anklets, heavily ordained Maangtikas, gold-toned
figurines of religiosity, Ma’s priceless Bichhiyas, Papa’s
mark of bliss on that first ever piece of poetry written as a fifth-grader?
Rumour has it that the only rationale
that may be found in prioritizing a cheap object like me is an association with
some bittersweet memory.
Remember the day you got me- the
only band of friendship that the-one-whom-you-left-behind-five-years-ago gave
you? While everyone went around proudly bragging about the multiple bands on
both their wrists, you were content and gratified with just one which meant the
only and the most to you.
Well, again, I lie when I say ‘you’
left the person behind five years ago. I lie since I owe my allegiance to my
original owner. But what about my present, devoted owner-cum-lover; the one who
confesses piled-up sentiments of rancour inflicted on me but vents, sobs and
shares ill experiences at miserable instances of loneliness and grief?
What is this if not a loop of infinite unrealized
trajectories?
You’re a big girl now- a woman,
in fact, of great confidence and willpower. Then, why is it that you maintain a
purposeful distance from everyone you encounter? Why are you afraid of even the
thinnest string of attachment? Why can’t you let anyone enter your chaste
temples of trust to repair the damage caused by your ruthlessly fanatic past? Why
can’t you or why “don’t” you?
And the answer lies right there
in the gospel-like preaching you conduct in front of people who ask you for any
sort of romantically inclined advice. The answer lies in the very context of
“loyalty” you speak of every now and then. The answer lies in your idea of
emotional chastity. Oh, poor soul, your fidelity restricts any new accomplice from
entering these chaste temples of trust.
You lament about the excessive
damage caused but perhaps, you were never in the favour of any reparation that
had to take place at all! Perhaps, you have fallen in love with the melancholy
you were once embittered by. Perhaps, you don’t wish to give anyone else the
place she once held in your life- your dearest best friend. She isn’t your
regretful past or a passed misfortune, she’s an absent presence- your
undeniable present as much as I am. I owe my livelihood and validity to her
existence- she, who rules your kingdom of trust.
She’s a monarch- a rather minacious
one- who exploits this kingdom of trust, yet the guidance of the book of the law
the countrymen look upon is incapable and powerless when it comes to dissolving
her tenure of eternity and establishing a delightful democracy of novelty.
Content Head,
Pink Legal Naaz.
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