I first
noticed it when she placed the strands behind her ear and laughed, throwing her
hair back, her hand covering her mouth. It was a pretty and an honest laugh,
but it was her jhumkas that dangled from each earlobe that made me pay
attention to her.
Memories can feel out of place, sometimes, even feel unreal, like you never
experienced the moment in the first place. My time with her was like that – she
feels like an unreal memory, a person who never existed in my life, but this
small object makes her real.
And perhaps, it was the most attractive thing about her – her choice in
jhumkas. The first time I saw her, with black emeralds, and little bells hung
around them.
And then I saw her four more times.
She would continue to put on new jhumkas everyday and I would remind myself, to
not hurt her, never her. And then, one morning, she put on a new pair of
jhumkas – a hoop inside a bigger hoop, and they rotated in the opposite
direction when she moved her head. How could I not be fascinated by something
so simple, but thoughtful?
Looking at
her, standing there near the barrows, picking jhumkas and examining them, an
old memory came to me from my childhood days – my mother would spend hours
hopping from one barrow to another, looking at the jhumkas, too, and would
almost ending up buying at least two. We never had enough money at home, but
she always had enough to buy herself jhumkas.
So, I did what I do best - I complimented her
on her earrings. Women, in my experience, feel safer around men who notice the
little things - and jhumkas are a very small thing, especially for men, because
it's often covered by hair. Besides, picking the right jhumkas takes a lot of efforts,
so a compliment is always welcomed.
She thanked
and smiled, and thus, began our tale.
No longer I
had to stand in the shadows and watch her from a distance.
Soon enough, I became a close friend. gave her reasons to laugh, to throw her
head back or move it around, just sol could watch her jhumkas move.
It was a
beautiful sight but I was starting to get obsessed.
And then,
it happened, what I feared the most.
It happened quickly, but it left a mark.
I remember asking her to take off her jhumkas for me, so
I could keep it.
"To have something of yours to remember you by.
"She laughed, and then, refused.
"It belonged to my grandmother," she had said, smiling.
And then, the next moment, I remember her clutching her
left ear, confusion and horror all over her face, and blood
trickled down her neck. She had screamed, too.
One moment she was laughing, and when she
refused, I snatched the left jhumka right off her ear,
a small piece of flesh came along, sticking to the hook.
It was a beautiful sight, holding the jhumka in my hand. I had to have that
jhumka added to my collection. So, I gave into my temptations
And now that I had her jhumka, she
served me no purpose.
She became a nobody to me.
I was done shopping here. So, she had to go.
I hold the floral jhumka dearly in my
hand,
thinking about her, and watch it move with
the wind, just the way it had when she wore it.
I put my 2nd jhumka into the box.
I now had a pair, yet both were distinct.
And maybe, that is the beauty of my jhumkas-
they are abstract and have a tint of blood .
