The Mean Streak!

"You look like Heracles!"

"Now who is Heracles?"

"Ohh he was a character in Greek mythology, popular for both comic and tragic material"

"What do you mean .. I look like a man?"

"Yeah that too"

‘Is he the same man – I loved?’ She asked herself jeeringly.

"Btw I was kidding. You can take it as a compliment coz he was a great mythical hero and carried many solitary exploits. Believe in yourself n quit this shoulder-hunting." He added abstrusely.

‘Huh .. I’ll show him ..’

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"I want to don a new look.. do anything you like .. I’m at your disposal."

"Well ma’am .. to don a new look .. you should always begin with hair, it changes the way you look.. your outlook .. everything".. the beautician replied, combing her lustrous dark hair.

"I have very straight sparse hair .. n its graying" she sighed.

"How about having some blonde streaks . .it’s the ‘in’ thing .. isn’t it ? So many people are getting their hair highlighted. I’ll make it brownish to go with your dusky glowing skin ..and that’s going to cover the grays too."

"Ok!"

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She was now contemplating her new reflection in the mirror. Shoulder length hair, with some brownish-blonde streaks had completely changed the way she looked. Her scattered hair gave the semblance of a Black Sea with golden flamboyant ripples. The streaks made some outrageous angles as they turned twisted n ended abruptly. They were horizontal at one time and vertical at the other. Sometimes they ran in different directions with a crisscross creating an optic horror - of confusion madness n mania.

In the morning she got up and the first thing she did was to look in the mirror. Her tangled hair shrouded her face in tense ringlets. The streaks appeared like yellow patches of sunlight - something that proceeds the dawn. Some patches of dark .. some bright patches - combination of various disposition ..creating some kind of motif on a Persian rug ..

In the afternoon they were torturous coz they looked lurid in bright sunlight. The luminosity blinded her for a moment as they formed thoughtless gilt hexagons ..n then plunged into the darkness. When she reached home after a maddening day on polluted streets .. her hair took the guise of coal-smoke with bronze flames. In the evening the streaks turned maudlin with her mood .. configuring different arches everywhere on her head. The scheme was melancholic, suffused with sadness - some careless lines drawn by an unsuccessful painter. The images seemed disconnected n they faded with the night - the way children play hide n seek …

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"What is this?"
"My new hair style… you like it?"
Venetian lamps and the soft light in the room had created a certain dubious impression.. on her head full of varied shades of blonde brown and black. It was a dim-lit restaurant with floral wallpaper. She was sitting across him with a tilt on the left side on a plush maroon sofa.. her lips half arched .. n her aureate hair falling carelessly on her anomalous face ..

"I have told you many times .. this is not working .. don’t think about me .. and don’t consider my approval in anything.. we are not meant for each other."
"I don’t want anything from you .. don’t you see how much I love you?" Her voice was edged with a sharp silver need.
"Love? Do you know what love is ? Its not about changing your hairstyle .. what matters here is our lifestyle .. and we don’t gel"
"I’m only doing things that please me .. I try to please you coz it pleases me"
"You are pleasing me with this? You know how this looks? It demonstrates all the traps you have in your head to lure me .. to hook me .. and bind me .. it seems your cabals have grown out of our head .. in the form of these mean streaks!"

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"The world is illusionary .. its maya .." she heard the voice of someone.. she had heard long back but could not seem to recall. "The world that you have created through your interpretations and accumulated memory is what that surrounds you all the time and you carry it wherever you go" Patanjali says .. ‘Nirvitarka samadhi is attained when the memory is purified and the mind is able to see the true nature of things without obstruction’ He says, ‘Nirvitarka mind puts nothing, it simply looks at whatsoever is the case’"..

"Why do you need to ask him – a favorable reception? Do you look beautiful or does he think you love him? Don’t you know it yourself? Why do you want to run behind an illusion that exists no more? He is gone.." This was the voice of her best friend.

She was flipping the channels of the idiot box .. ferociously – as if there was something under her fingers that obeyed her command and she can manipulate it .. dictate it ..
A bearded man in a saffron robe was saying on a channel – Osho says .. "If you can become a child again and can look at reality without any obstruction, experience, knowledge, expertise then…."
She switched it off.. big words, kibitz, everywhere ..

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"You like this sorry feeling don’t you ? You have to blame someone for your present incapacity and past negligence so you chose me" He was firing his verbal volleys again ..
"But you loved me .. what about those commitments and promises .. of honey and milk."
"I loved you .. but now I don’t .. everything changes .. so did I .. now move on.. find someone else!"

She had that dream again – her face was wrinkled, ridged ..in depression ..the decaying skin had camouflaged her youth. The blonde streaks had transformed into stacks of gray .. few black hair on her head were falling. Her face was shrinking slowly into an ersatz of herself - covered with wispy white hair ..

Her mother was thumping the door of her room and was taken aback when she managed to open it with a thrust, "What’s you doing here alone?"
She was crawling in the room ..holding a teddy in the left side ..

"Are we capable of an emotion only if the forgotten language of our childhood.. that tenderness and forgiveness .. is made real again ?" She asked her mother innocently.

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She bumped into him again ..
"Will you marry me? You promised me .. didn’t you?" She rolled her eyes ..
"You ask me zillion times .. the answer is NO"

Something was swinging inside her and she was feeling as light as a kite ..something was egging her on .. to break the shackles and explode. She gathered all the courage that she had within herself.. n slapped him hard ..
He held his face n gave her an astonished probing stare ..

This is what you call mean streak and she had accomplished her solitary campaign successfully.
She came home ebulliently. There was none to share this joy that she felt .. but the dusty room strewn with .. books clothes and junk seemed to be greeting her like a friend. She had kicked that interlude n woken up to a real life. She was beaming with this newfound jovial pride - that heady cocktail of love anger and hurt.. as she faced the mirror again n murmured to herself.. "I’m Aphrodite – the Greek goddess of love and beauty!"

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#This is a story (?).. that I'd written - for "Experimental Writings" section at Sulekha but they have scrapped the section so I never sent it and it could not get published. I would call it "mental-writing!"