And, she was full of herself, at times so much to an extent that it would seem narcissistic, but that was about her. Pretending to be aloof but she wasn’t, for she knew it all, maybe; it was her defense mechanism, built and developed over time, for it covered her scars well. Contradictions galore, it ran in her, this way and that, hither tither all the time; and that was she: chaotic and composed, soaked in ice this moment and breathing fire the next. And, it was beautiful, and she knew it all along, for she knew she was beautiful.
To decode her, to be able to in fact was never easy, no matter how hard one would try, her resilience at not giving it away made her worth the admiration. Steady and steadfast in resolve, undaunted and unperturbed by what was to come, she was what she stood for. Cranky at times, well most women are, but most importantly, she was a woman. In the midst of so many women around who preferred acting like girls (you know what I mean), she was a woman, minus her eccentric behavior, although that has my benefit of doubt.
She loved to read, was well read in fact; the issue however was she couldn’t be read, her eyes spoke something; her lips contradicted, she wouldn’t agree though. Well, contradictions in abundance!! Her silence spoke better; the lulling storm within, before it went on a rampage. The calm and the rage; withheld and laid bare, added to her persona; that was about her. And, it was beautiful, and she knew it all along, for she knew she was beautiful.
She wrote remarkably well too, poems and stories, write ups and articles, of hope and love, life and happiness. The beauty of it all often camouflaged the pain she chose not to show, she wasn’t vulnerable; for she had no other choice left.
She talked less, way too less; she would rather contemplate, not knowing what to think or talk about, would come across as attentive and indeed she was. Her voice often cracked when she held up things within, or as she would suggest it was a bout of cold that would go away. Her Voice echoed Oscar Wilde’s poems, there was a tinge of melancholy to go with hope and cheer, as balanced and neutralized as she preferred to be. And, it was beautiful, and she knew it all along, for she knew she was beautiful.
And, she was broken, with a broken smile and a broken soul, held tightly all by herself. The apprehensions that ran within never showed without, for they had no room. The complacency of the world might have taken over, but she was strong within; she chose not to fall for it. The daily transactions of life had little to do with what she had in herself, the chaos outside was well left where it was supposed to be. Perhaps, the chaos running within her was far greater, and it made sense; for she had seen much, suffered and learnt stuff in a way she never imagined she would. She would count her recklessness and impatience as flaws, but they added to the bundle that she was, she wasn’t seamless. And, it was beautiful, and she knew it all along, for she knew she was beautiful.
As, John Keats had put it up:
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep”
She was and still is a thing of beauty, that’ll forever remain, etched in the heart and the mind shall follow this time. Her nothingness, well that’s what she manifests: nothing in everything and everything that now means nothing. No, not really!!
P.S: And, I’d still:
Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay a while And she will be loved !!
abhishek purkayastha 