Remembering Lady of Shalott

[I realize that this is in the same vein, but then...]

Dead of the afternoon, after the rains. The restive stillness has gone, leaving with a light dusting of quiet peace. I can now see the place in the mirror, the lush green of the field beyond, the trees dotting it, the Umbrella Tree looming in the foreground. The Assamese towel in red and white hangs on to the scene, the radio antenna on top of it. The place is so far beyond, yet surprisingly accessible- it’s as though it has been flattened, reducing its depth to a surrealistic degree. Twin swings hang in the middle, secured together by a chain; tall, unwieldy grasses have sprung up all around- the air of abandonment hangs heavy over it. But now it is a beautiful green, and I don’t mind the sprightly grasses, or the overhanging foliage of trees that have eaten up the dirt path. Turning right from there, was the place where I had tossed dead kittens in a shoebox into the grasses. Mosquitoes had formed an overarching column, rising over my head like a veil of gloom. Now the water has crept into every leaf and twig, swelling it to twice its size. I don’t see that, but the roots have been steeped in excesses, and the trees bursting at the seams. It’s only a while now before the light fades and the green is swathed in a purple glow. The place vanishes.

Like the place that could be seen from the window on the other side, I can’t see it any more. From Dadua’s room, a window spied on a family occupying the ground floor next door. It was only possible to see the kitchen, and the adjoining open space, where clothes and utensils were piled every morning for the maid to wash. Words were ground with spices, the mistress turned over in the pans fish heads, and the day’s activity ceased with the wash being hung out to dry. Overnight, the family disappeared, the kitchen door remained closed, and the courtyard became overgrown. The next family that moved in after a period of seven years, walled up the door, and shut the space out.