Waiting ( A narrative)

 

Narratives are not really my cup of tea and I usually find them difficult to handle. However its been a while since I tried my hands on one and I desperately wanted to create a piece. So before a reader judges the quality of writing here, know that its more of writer's inability to resist her temptation of writing a narrative rather than an attempt to create a fine piece of literature. Happy reading!

Waiting….

Aisha opened her eyes to the melodious chirping of sparrows, a voice that successfully awakened her everyday beforehand. She has not enjoyed a long, deep sleep for so many years now. It had become like that rain which is heavily forecasted but never pours. Life is different since her daughter, Amna, left. Living alone were a choice, although, all other ordeals came unsolicited. Today she would return after completing her master’s degree from Singapore.

A visible ray of sunlight, stretching to the plain floor tiles, pierced through her window curtains. Aisha had bought these from a local cloth market and soon despised them as their eggplant lavender color began to fade. Today, they shone brighter than usual. When life is colorful, curtains barely matter. Quickly, she amassed all the strength in her frail, raw-boned figure and headed to the kitchen.

As she entered into the kitchen, one word that replaced all thoughts was; broken. The shelves on the top, where most of the large pots are kept, sustained on a single side glass, and racks were on the verge of losing any force that held them together. The brown and yellow, ancient-looking, cracked walls presented a sight of construction rocks from the stone-age. Nearly everything begged renovation. When was the last time she had anything repaired? Never. She pulled open the refrigerator which smelled pungently of tomato sauce from last night’s leftover spaghetti. She picked up two eggs and began preparing a batter with flour. Her hands functioned without halt. This was the first time, since Amna had gone, that her stomach craved anything. To her misfortune, it protested late. Her clothes have already agreed upon being worn loosely.

Life seemed to re-appear

After enjoying a meal after years, Aisha now rushed to Amna’s room. She wanted to make it spotless before her arrival. Amna’s room pictured a dream. A Pink-walled room, designed meticulously and furnished palacelike. It resembled to one that you see in a Disney princess’s movie, except that the princess wasn't anywhere to be found. Cleaning it was like teaching a bird how to fly. Anyway, she painstakingly picked up everything and rubbed it once, then twice, and continued until she realized that rubbing any more would likely take away the color. While cleaning the side-table, she stumbled upon a polaroid in one of the drawers. It was a picture from one of Amna's school trips. Amna’s face was curled into a wide-smile and she was carefully maintaining an eye-contact with the camera lens. At this moment, she suddenly experienced a sharp sense of discomfort. Her hands could easily be seen trembling while her forehead heavily perspired. Will she see the same smile ever again? She sighed, while trying to devictimize herself of unreal thoughts driven by motherly-instinct.

 ‘I hope, I meet her soon. I hope she is safe’ She secretly prayed.

All these years she was a pillar, like an invincible obstacle in the way of obstacles. Giving up her wishes and compromising her needs, she was still fighting. She did cherish solitude, but had endured loneliness too. Adversities perpetuated incessantly, turning Aisha into an undefeatable warrior. But these last moments, they stretch to an eternity, that too, while prophesizing an unrealistically negative future. Every passing moment, the clock struck once, and heaviness grew twice. Will she reach safely? Will I be able to meet her before death? A storm of questions confronts her optimism.

She is powerful, but a mixture of exhilarating and pessimistic thoughts weakens her.

Will she survive waiting?