The Fault in our Stares.

Ah! The thrill of spotting a rainbow!

Like, it had chosen for her to see it, not the other way around.

She had drawn umpteen rainbows while in school. Finely arched lines on a blue sky, seven colours beautifying its outlines, slanting rain drops in the background, a smiling orange sun, its rays scattered all around, birds flying across the rainbow and a few puffy clouds to add to the theatrics...it was always the same. As she had grown up, the smudging had given way to cleaner lines, the blue sky got speckled with grey tones, sometimes, orange and pink too, the clouds became ill-defined and natural, puddles and umbrellas dotted the scene and a whole other paraphernalia came into existence on paper. But the seven coloured rainbow was always a staple on the rain scene.


As she looked at the rainbow today, she noticed for the first time how faint and indistinguishable the colours were from each other, how sepulchral the sky looked even in face of such a joyous moment sweeping across it, how life seemed brighter on one side and darker on the other side of the rainbow and how the rainbow was the brightest just after the rain. There was no orange sun smiling from behind the puffy clouds - just a subtle trace of its presence somewhere, no slanting rain drops and no birds flying across the rainbow. And if she looked closely enough, she could even spot a twin-rainbow.



The reality was so different from what she had been imagining all along! That a rainbow could give her such a deep and defining moment, was not something she'd have thought. The fault had really been in her stare! 


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Does time heal?

Time heals, they say!  Little do they know the meanderings of the nimble heart and the fickle mind. They tease and challenge one another, and they tear and scream but there are days when they leave no trace of that animosity. It is almost as if they are conniving to work in tandem. While the heart will nurse so many wounds that healing becomes impossible, the mind will keep the wounds fresh by scratching them periodically, never letting the healing process to begin.  How long is long enough to know it's time for the healing to begin? Honestly, I don’t think there’s an answer to that.

It’s funny how you never let go of the memories, of the times gone by. And everything you do is a constant reminder of the past, no matter how good, bad or ugly it had been.  The game of blame, the passing of bucks, the if onlys and what ifs, the rewinding of the memory tapes, and replaying it with a better ending each time. The scratching of the wounds never really stops, does it?

You try to think what you could have done differently, what you could have done better, and how you could have reacted - the possibilities are numerous and the outcomes are as numerous as the possibilities. Sometimes, you see endings just like the way you envisioned them to be, but mostly, the endings are the same – a reflection of the present. There are times when you hate the circumstances more than the person responsible for it and at other times you hate the person with an equal vengeance. Many a time, you hate yourself too.

It’s a cross you have to bear on your own, the burden of shattered dreams, of dark nights and darker days, of loneliness, of tears, and that feeling of futility that never seems to go away.

No, time doesn’t heal.