The blue sky was blushing behind the veil of clouds. She stepped out with her kite, the one he had gifted her, the day when she met him for the very first time ..and that was the last time too. He was her mom’s “someone special”. She never knew it was her storyteller who used to call her before she gets to bed every night. She was awestruck when she found his voice had a body. Her mom had never told her that the storyteller was not just a voice, but a body. A body with eyes and ears, arms and limbs, and may be belly button and chest under the grey shirt. Until then he was just a voice, deep and sharp,soft and clear. Most often his voice travelled to vague destinations in her little heart and confused her.. Her heart, as small as her fist trembled like a leaf with excitement when her mom’s phone rang jingle bells in the night. She picks it up and without uttering a word, waited for the stream of story to flow. She knew the stream would spill into her heart soaking herself into crimson violet.
“I am all ears. Tell me.” And closes her blue eyes. . After those story bound nights, she had to pick up her scattered thoughts from the valley of dreams before she woke up. Those mornings seem beautiful, sunny and warm.
On the day she first met him, the salty wind from sea was touching her face gently and waves rolling to the shore were trying to ring her anklet bells. “I never knew. You have a body!”
She looked up to him. He was tall like a mountain. His voice sliding through its steep walls fell on her like a cascade. “Why don’t you live with us? It will be fun. I can share my playhouse with you.”
She never understood why mom and her storyteller didn’t live together. Her father had never visited her. Not even once. Never called. Never talked. Never ever told her stories.. His image was like a shadow in the mist. Not clear, not memorable, and as her mom says not even mentionable. The story teller bent down and lifted her up. The yellow rays from the sun fell on her cheeks making it shine like a bubble from her soap blower. She winked her eyes and touched his stubbles .The sharp needle hairs on his face were glittering. She withdrew her fingers from his cheeks and looked into his eyes. And there was an ocean roaring inside him.
“Shall I buy you something? A kite?” he asked.
“A kite? I never had one.” She couldn’t resist kissing him. She covered her face and blushed on her instantaneous act. He laughed. “Wait, I will get you one.”
She ran and hid her face in her mom’s lap who was sitting on the beach watching the sunset, pouring fire to the sea.
The kite was beautiful, like a huge colorful butterfly. “Let not anything stop you from flying higherdarling,” he said and kissed her forehead. She could see a shining tear drop, crystal clear, rolling down her mom’s cheeks. He taught her how to fly the kite higher up into the sky sliding sharp through the layers of the wind .She watched it drooping sometimes into the depth and then picking itself up ebbing away from the land. The sun had completely hidden in the lap of sea covering his red, blushed face.
She remembers every minute detail of the day, even today. Days months and years had strolled on the beach of life drenched with tears. The colours on the kite had faded away. She let loose the string and the salt scented wind led it to the heights, where the sparrows of memories dwell..
Rachana Madathil – Rachana from Vendalloor, Malappuram was a winner in short story competitions at the CBSE state level competitions as a student. She continued winning prizes while at college and after her post graduation, joined the erstwhile State Bank of Travancore in 2011. Her blog ‘Marjaram; which she started writing while posted in Bangalore, which was published on the online magazine ‘Varthamanam’ during 2012-13. A collection of her stories titled ‘Maarjaaram’ from her blog was published this year and has been receiving good reviews.
THE BREW 