Cryptic

It was a scorching summer evening. I was waiting for my bus at the stop full of people red with summer heat and contempting their environment. It looked as if everyone was contemplating about their lives as it’s a human instinct which forces us to think a lot about our lives in times of hardships.( And yes waiting for a bus in such a scenario was not less than a hardship). I suppose people ponder a lot in alone journeys as well. Anyways, not diverting too much into this. So, I was also busy making plans in my head that what things I have to do going back home.

This was limited only till the time an unrecognized figure, came into my vision spectrum. She was old, wretched and to my surprise cladded herself in a stole apart from her torn clothes in such a killing atmosphere. It seemed as if beside her stole she was hiding her most precious treasure but ironically looking into her situation, she could hardly have anything valuable with her. I could see her pestering people for something and they were driving her off with lamenting remarks. She was craving for money.

In a moment, her eyes dipped in the red ocean were gazing at me, noticing that I was showing a subtle interest in her unfulfilled purpose. She darted towards me, her eyes begging for money, stretching her hands towards me. Without thinking too much I gave her 20 bucks, enough for her to buy a meal. Taking that much, she started walking fast and in a moment she was out of my sight. The bus came after 5 minutes, but there was something else pricking me from inside. Even after 5 minutes I was unable to forget that women, that engimatic look, it gave me some kind of mixed feelings, so instead of walking towards the bus I walked down the lane were I saw her darting few moments ago. It was insanity to do so, but I couldn’t help that feeling inside me, a deep uproar it was.

At last I got her, but seeing what she was doing, gave a series of shock waves in my entire body. I was clueless about what to do seeing such a scene. She was exhaling rings of smoke into thin air, it looked as if she has been doing this for years as they were so perfect in structures. Her wrinkled hand holding a cigarette, and her body deprived of that stole.

Her arms were now visible to me but ironically, they were shielded with different figures inked onto her body, talking in a sort of peculiar hieroglyphical language, some of which I could see was a snake clutched to a tree branch, a pair of birds – one was a dove and other a black raven, some scriptures written in some unknown language, some words looked as if some sort of an incompleted sentence, a black rose, and some circles signifying some sort of geometric pattern. These inked stains on her body, told a lot about, who she was, who she is and who she will be in coming future.

As she was busy doing this, she noticed me and there was not a single change in her nonchalant behaviour. She continued with her work, with not a sense of guilt. As if it was her choice and she was accustomed to do so. I could sense a subtle smile on her face. She knew that her treasure is now visible to me. Her only inked skin which is now left with her. She looked like a darkness, with those figures shining as stars on her body. Withered of the feeling of hope and those figures on her body untouched by time. Deprived of pain, pleasure, hope, desire and living with the sense of her own soul, knowing her right and wrong, she was aware of her dark existence. Those feelings that I could see in her were inexplicable.
Instead of feeling guilty and questioning her for this. My legs moved backwards, I smiled at her and turning away went on my assigned way. I walked, remembering these lines which I read before and got an experience now, which are:

“Isn’t it time to acknowledge the ugly side? I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims, soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books. I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains. Not ill-tempered women who scheme about landing good men and better shoes (as if we had nothing more interesting to war over), not chilly WASP mothers (emotionally distant isn’t necessarily evil), not soapy vixens (merely bitchy doesn’t qualify either). I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.” – Gillian Flynn

p.s. I know people must be judging me in their own ways. But, I think writing this down was the most exhilirating experience for me.

I would love to know your views, both positive as well as negative. Do let me know about your views.

And yes, if you have a dark side to yourself(it’s not ‘If’, everybody do have it actually 😁), you can share your thoughts and experiences personally with me. I don’t care how much creepy they are.😁

46 thoughts on “Cryptic

  1. beavoicefororphans

    our dark side, once we come to know love and forgiveness allows us to show compassion toward someone dealing with similarly dark times, addictions, and/or feelings.. you can lead them through any darkness with the light you’ve found in living and overcoming… offering hope and understanding so they come to know they’re no longer alone…
    https://suicidenotmyheart.wordpress.com

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wow! It’s really an unusual experience.. pretty intriguing too, I think! I don’t think you did anything wrong. In fact, you were quite lucky to be part of such an unusual happening! 🙂 Btw, I loved the way you put it 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Interesting post. Thank you for sharing your experience. Coming from the neighborhood I grew up in, you see a lot of that. You give out your hard earned money to some one who is worst off, only for them to use it for their dark habits. For you to tell this same story but with a woman as the main character is something you don’t see everyday. Woman have always had a skewed view in main stream media. We are seen as fragile or a survivor. We aren’t seen as capable of containing evil without being influenced by an outside source. There most definitely is a dark side to everyone. Mines, personally? I know her all too well and she terrifies me. The dark me is the side that doesn’t care. I don’t care about anyone, about what I do nor the consequences. The times I’ve let her show have ultimately been the worst times of my life. It’s better to embrace the darkness than to suppress it. Let the dark side become a part of who you are. The reason a separation is created is because one is trying to hold something back. That energy has to go somewhere. It manifests itself into an entirely different personality. Yes, a dark side but really it’s just another part of who you are naturally that you’ve secluded to the point that it has become it’s own entity.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I love your blog, I love this piece. I love the idea of being the hero of your story until you become the villain, and I LOVE this image!! As for me, I’ve developed this almost overwhelming urge to pinch smiling cute kids – pinch their little legs to make them cry, just like the little ol’ grannies used to do to me/other children. I’m a little worried, since I’m nowhere near to being a little old granny (denial isn’t just a river in Egypt ;-D)

    Liked by 1 person

  5. very good to read this. But i wasn’t too surprised by what she was doing with money. We all want to do what we like most. This was one example of telling lie to get our work done. I think all of us do the same each day. In that way i found similarity between her and us.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Elvis once said, brilliantly:

    “Everyday before supper time, she’d go down by the truck patch
    And pick her a mess of poke sallet, and carry it home in a toe sack
    Polk salad Annie…
    …gators got your granny
    Everybody says it was a shame
    Because her momma was a workin’ on the chain gang
    A wretched,
    spiteful,
    straight-razor totin’ woman!”

    That’d be a fun story to write!

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Such a intriguing read!!!! without squabbling a lot, what you did is right!!! We can rationalize and judge for ourselves from the signs and the sorroundings, all we need is the Criterion to judge between the white and the black (metaphorically) .

    Liked by 1 person

    1. the undomestic writer

      Thanks a lot, knowing from different people about what they think about this post makes me ponder a lot on what i hv written. Because, it is new and fresh from every person’s point of view.
      Thanks again 😊

      Liked by 2 people

  8. This was such a fascinating slice-of-life to read! Sometimes I get the best unspoken lessons in the staggering diversity of the human condition from those who dwell in the shadows and remind us of our own hidden dark sides and unwritten futures.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Well, there is one line, I might have said it or I might have not. But the point that is you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become a villian. We all are villian of our own tale. If you asked us to give an opinion about the old woman, I might not end up saying too much. But if you’re asking for yourself, so what if you think your point today view makes you a villian, do not forget, you’re a hero upto a point. After that,we all are villains. Every good man or woman is just one bad day away from becoming everything he or she despises. 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

  10. Hahaha such a funny encounter, although I am 99.13% sure that it wasn’t a cigarette, such people can’t afford to buy one although 20 bucks would have gotten her 1 cigarette and still 8 rupees in change. What she was smoking must have been Bidi, usually 6-7 for 20.

    Anyway, I’ve also had my fair share of such cronies. In Bangalore, someone would come up to you on a busy street and start reciting their sob story about how they are from Maharashtra, came here for pilgrimage , someone stole their belongings and they need 100 rupees to board the next train home. I know that’s a huge tangent but the concept is the same. As for your experience, just know that such poor people have a flair for Sasta Nasha and often skip meals in favour of said Nashe even when they can afford them.

    Liked by 2 people

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