While staring into that mirror, I also saw a reflection other than mine. I could make out the female form of the image but I could not give it a name or a face. She came towards me as if floating in air. Instead of turning around I continued to admire her reflection in the mirror itself, which soon turned hazy before diminishing into a dark halo. I closed my eyes because whatever was happening wasn’t voluntary. There was nothing to be seen, only felt. Her left hand gripped my shoulder while she ruffled my fluffy hair with the right. I could vaguely make out her nose nestling near my neck. Her scent absolved me of the stage freight. Her lips brushed against my ear as she whispered, “Kalsh, thank god it’s you.”
Starting October 2013, we are going to bring, for our readers, personal accounts from the exotic locales of India. Life as seen by; as heard by; and as Told by Real People with Real Emotions. Add to that a heap of Indian Spices and you are ready for a Literary Feast. So check this page every Sunday to find out How We Indians made it through the Week.
Photograph by Arpan Ganguli