At The Pyre | 2015
This pyre burns bright and strong; your soul so powerful I can see it vaporize – I breathe in every particle of ash and burned wood as they crackle into the air. I can imagine us dancing next to a campfire like we did last October, or helping you recover consciousness after you passed out in front of the fireplace in December, when you decided to try your hand at kindling. Those hands – I miss those hands. I'm in half a mind to pull you out of the fire, so powerful that it makes the atmosphere restless, and wrap you around myself. I think again of us bundled up together under the blankets, so warm, arms around each other with hot chocolate on the carpet in front of us, and a book between us. Truth be told, I read not a word of it, heard not a word: I only listened to your voice and your prosody, the way you enunciated every word. I watched for the rolled r's, and smiled knowing how self-aware you would be while saying the word "world" as the ‘l' bounced around your palate. I nearly cried that night because the feelings inside swelled so much that I could feel them trying to escape from my eyes as I stared at your lips moving. I would have cried so much more if I'd known I'd be standing here so soon after. I wish I could hold you and whisper, "Remember when …" into your ears. Remember when you first called me by my name? That kept me warmer than any fire I've ever made. And this one? I have hot air blowing at me, fire brazing my feet, but I feel colder than ever before. Do you, though? I know I'm just looking at a body on a bed of wood, but do you? These are memories so strong that no fire can destroy them – you aren't made of paper, though I have written each and every one of these moments down. We were sitting at that table in the corner, while our classmates were running around throwing paper balls at each other. Our pencils were out, and the table was covered in our sketches and comics. "Himani, what do you think of this?" It was so simple, but I noticed it instantly. I can never forget how it felt, and how happy it made me. I knew then that no-one else could say my name like you did. I never told you this, but after that I began mentally attaching my name to every sentence you said. "Himani, where do you want to go today?" "Himani, can you pass me the dal?" "WHY WON'T THIS GODDAMN LIGHT TURN ON, Himani?" You didn't seem to notice, but I did try to use yours a lot. A lot. "Tuhina," I'd say, "what was the Spellathon for today?" I'd smile to myself because I enjoyed saying it, enjoyed noticing how my lips would never meet when I said your name, as though it created a gap in my lips only you could fill with your own. You did notice, six years later, when I said it bed. You reacted so well, breathing hard, throwing your head back, tightening your grip, sometimes so much I'd gasp with pleasure. You'd try to say, "God I love you," but you'd be too out of breath to. There was that time, a year after we got married, when we went to the Shiva temple a few blocks away. We held hands while doing the pradakshina, and whenever we passed by someone else, they would look at us with their beady little eyes and not look away until we were out of eye sight. Once we finished, we walked back to our car, and drove away. They didn't know that Hinduism doesn't really have anything particularly strong against us – even the Gods have had homosexual relationships and changed their sex fluidly. But what does that matter to them as long as they can discriminate and cast a disgusted look our way? I can see that the others are still shooting me those glances. Even your parents, Tuhina. You ruined our daughter, their eyes glare, you corrupted her. Your father breathing so ferociously that his mouth moves upwards with each breath, pushing his bushy moustache into his nose. There are tears, yes, but they also contain fire – and it isn't just the reflection of your pyre. Jagdish uncle, on the other hand, has only fire. My parents didn't make it. They didn't even open the door for me yesterday when I went to meet them, and probably tore apart the letter I slipped under their door telling them you'd died – Oh god. I stand here right before you, yet when I say that word I nearly collapse under the weight of reminder. I'd like to think that it's someone else's body up there – but if it were, you'd be holding me, comforting me. Depending on whose funeral it is, of course. Definitely not vile Aditi auntie, always wearing her gold sari every fucking place she goes, conspicuously trying to show how she's from the rich side of the family … oh, here she comes now. I give her a cold stare as she approaches. "How does it feel to have killed Tuhina?" she spews as she just walks by, without waiting for a response. I can't bear it. I know I can't care about what Aditi says, but I'm holding back my tears – and failing. I wish there was one person around here I could talk to, one person who would actually put their arm around me and console me. I'm in a sea on strangers, and unfortunately they're all important to your family and our village, so they're all here. I'm looking around, and I can't find one person I don't hate seeing. "You know what killed her, don't you?" Jagdish says. His naturally pouty face complements his short stature, producing a rather unpleasant little creature indeed. All these homogenous assholes. They have only one thing to say, and can't respect the dead long enough to pass their snide comments. I stayed silent, biting my lips. I couldn't hold back, though. "I believe it was Amar who got drunk and threw the canister at –" "Don't try to blame Amar uncle for this," he snarled back, "it wouldn't have happened if you two hadn't gone … frolicking with each other. Look at my Geetha and Madhuri – they're doing so well, nothing's happened to them." How do you respond to something like this? How do you respond knowing that anything you say is going to fall on deaf ears, and that the more you take their bait, the more they will wave it about just to tempt you, just to get that moment of pleasure by annoying me. Gah. I need to be by myself, away from these people. The people who haven't seen us for ten years and suddenly assume full ownership when we just came back to visit and see how things were going. And now I'm here, crying pathetically under this tree, a mile away from you. I can still feel the heat on my legs as if I were standing right next to you, though. Why did we even come back? Did we really miss this place? Did you? Because I certainly did not. I didn't think of it once ever since we left. Did we really believe that anything would have changed? Remember when you changed in front of me for the first time? You turned around and stripped down, and I gravitated towards you and hugged you from behind. You leaned back into me, tilting your head back, and we started kissing. It took you twenty minutes longer than usual to put your underwear back on, and neither of regretted it. I still remember it so well – it felt so familiar, so at home, as though it was something we'd been doing for so long that we were completely comfortable with each other. There was such a surging feeling of … feeling One with you and everything about you that I knew I could never leave you. I'm so dazed and exhausted from this crying I can see you changing in front of this tree. Just a blur of light and pareidolia of leaves, and I nearly stand up to come closer. Oh, I just felt something in my pocket as I was shifting. It's a piece of the truffle that we were eating earlier. So beautifully wrapped in crinkly golden paper. I roll it in my hands, feeling the texture, the bumps and creases, the roughness. I undress it slowly, take out the chocolate, and move it delicately across my lips, closing my eyes as I bite into it. I gasp – I can suddenly feel myself in your arms, and our lips against each other. Our bodies pressed together, our breaths on each others neck and ear. Your eyes looking so deeply into mine that I melt like the chocolate in my mouth. Me leaning in, kissing your neck, your ear, nibbling it; you pulling me closer and kissing me harder: I take a deep breath as you kiss me harder; I push against you, closing my eyes tight, and – NO! The chocolate has dissolved and I can feel it swirling down my throat. Now I'm back here, sitting on this pile of dull saffron leaves and kissing the empty air. I just wanted to live that one moment again, but apparently anything is too much to ask for right now. If I could pretend for the rest of my life that you were alive, I would. I sigh and rest my head down. What's there for me to do now? I have to go back at some point – if not to collect my things before leaving, to watch the last of the flames lick your body. I don't know how long this sort of thing is going to take. I'm just going to take a walk. Sigh.I completely lost my train of thought there – where am I? Dammit. Hm, well, I think I need to go this way. It seems like I've walked quite a far way. Yes – I can hear the distant sounds of people chatting, just coming in under the rustling of trees and the scrunching of the leaves beneath my feet. I start moving slowly and on tip-toe as I get closer and try to assimilate myself back into the gathering. Geetha notices, however, and shoots a "What were you up to now – wait, don't tell me." before giggling obnoxiously with Madhuri and walking away. I'm too tired and sad to throw any anger their way. I turn slightly and face you again after all this time. The fire is still burning bright, lapping at your sides. Amidst the haze, between the tongues I can see your eyes, closed but surely gazing upwards into the eternal blackness you are now a part of. I can see your skin, singed by the flames, golden-brown, almost glowing, as if you were a bronze statue in a furnace. I can't really stay here any longer – there is nothing else for me to do. I should pack up my belongings and leave, go back to our home, and mourn there. A place we can truly call home, and place that will actually offer me comfort and a place I can house the ghost of you that are my thoughts. I start walking away, glancing back every now and then so that I can see your physical form for as long as possible. Oh, my love, why must you lie so?