bls31
September 9th, 2007, 12:38 PM
Some times later I wanted to keep some money aside for any emergent requirement and I picked her favourite black leather purse from the back of the shelf in the cupboard. Inside among the nick necks, that I presume women tends to collect in their purse over time, among her personal things was her hair-brush, favourite lipstick and the vile of her emergency pills: ‘Pills’ now no more required as there would be no emergency.
The lifeless and dull, bunched mass of her hair, tangled in the bristles of the brush, getting wet, under the water tap, suddenly, came alive. The now living hair from her mane, with the original bounce, sheen and colour all there for me to see; feel and touch rose from past; the famelier thrill of her touch, shooting up my fingers jolted my dulled senses to the new reality. I was thrilled and my joy knew no bounds: a physical part of late Jeet had come back to give me company. Alas it was too good to be true, the pleasure was short lived; my daughter- in- law, Jolly, with a fetish for order and cleanliness, noticing the brush, with the strands of wet hair embedded in the bristles, lying on the shelf, under the mirror in the toilet, unaware of my new found treasure, promptly washed it clean of her last vestige: the brush, now useless for me, soon confined to the dustbin. The feel of her touch, a gift that providence has brought for me from past, I lost once again ; twice in one life.
BLS
The lifeless and dull, bunched mass of her hair, tangled in the bristles of the brush, getting wet, under the water tap, suddenly, came alive. The now living hair from her mane, with the original bounce, sheen and colour all there for me to see; feel and touch rose from past; the famelier thrill of her touch, shooting up my fingers jolted my dulled senses to the new reality. I was thrilled and my joy knew no bounds: a physical part of late Jeet had come back to give me company. Alas it was too good to be true, the pleasure was short lived; my daughter- in- law, Jolly, with a fetish for order and cleanliness, noticing the brush, with the strands of wet hair embedded in the bristles, lying on the shelf, under the mirror in the toilet, unaware of my new found treasure, promptly washed it clean of her last vestige: the brush, now useless for me, soon confined to the dustbin. The feel of her touch, a gift that providence has brought for me from past, I lost once again ; twice in one life.
BLS