A Window Cleaner’s Dream

SONY DSC“He would shine and polish windows day after day, running the soaked sponge in big tidy but quick circles, swiping the smudges and scars from the glass. He was the smith who cleared the path for others to envision with freedom, unobstructed; himself living a life in the shadow of his long bygone aspirations.

Balanced on a ladder, greased bucket in hand, pieces of plaster stuck in dry tuft of hair, dust mules glued like constellations on the white of his rugged shirt, his ripped jeans was damp. His eyes, which once shone with the light of life, which had encompassed his spirit and youth, which used to glitter with the kindle of ambition, now pulverised his soulless reflection in the window screen.

Subdued and suspended into deep thoughts, he guilelessly dipped his fingers in the can of cyan paint. Like the stroke of a brush, he unmindfully dotted the window with little daisies, white leaves and sharp artful veins. His fingers still remembered what his mind had forgotten – a passion so deep, so inert that it had clung to his soul. 

A nippy wind ran past his feet. He quivered and tumbled down a step on the ladder and was snapped to the harsh, spectacular truth of reality. He looked at the beautiful musing he had drawn on the large glass window. He smiled an open mouthed smile, more a gasp of ineptness and weak desperation than awe. His existence reeked of lost hope.

He dipped the sponge into the bucket and scrubbed the shield slowly, erasing all impediments. ‘It’s too late’, he thought, as he failed his dreams another time. He had become a manoeuvre of the double glazed glass which he was cleansing – hollow.”  

Young Geram heard the story without uttering a word. He found it poignant, but he believed he had missed the point of it. “Why this story of all, Abba?” 

“You must remember Geram, that a window cleaner has dreams too. Alas, the world taxes his ambitions like everyone else’s, indifferently. The only variance is that he lets it.”

He smiled a sorrowful smile. “Now go to sleep, it’s dark.” He brushed Geram’s hair.

As he turned away to sleep, his eyes caught a glance of the ladder and bucket that rested harmlessly at one end of the compact room. For a moment, he almost found humour in the bitter cards life had played him.  He shut his eyes in peace; sleep offered him the luxury to envisage.

My Infinity

sunshine An Anecdote inspired by and written in the memory of Helen Keller

How beautiful it is to feel the sunlight fall on my feet – the unstinting warmth, the invisible gold penetrating within me, arousing dimensions of my soul. The heat of the far-fetched sun touches every inch of me, resonating its beautiful power across the winds and seas without indifference – undefeated and indomitable. It speaks to both the sparrows and ostriches with friendly tutelage, and establishes with every passing minute how all that is distant is within reach too.

When the strong sun allows its brethren and sisters of light to fall with softness on me, dissolving its power and making no mention of its dominance, my soul is set free into its spring. It glitters across seasons, allowing vernaculars of dryness and cold to slowly redeem their space, yet maintains its benign presence with eternal promise. 

The sunlight – undemanding and giving – does not tax me. It asks for nothing in return. Even the bird on the bough, redeems the price of its song from smiling listeners. The sun, however, pipes in and out with the clock without fail, complimenting the hoots of the cock and the retreat of the flock like a gratuitous present.  

The faint yellow light casts black and brown shadows on the ground they say; I cannot see, yet with my eyes towards the sun, in its never-failing warmth, I find invisible assurance – a promise as soft and as precious as a snowflake – a promise which comforts that if you keep your face to the sun, you shall never see the shadows. 

The sunshine offers me refuge from the ceaseless darkness that envelops me. Life has robbed me of my vision and shadows are all I see, nevertheless, in the sun, I shut my eyes; the sunshine makes me feel alive, the heat – it gives me sight; sight which, unlike you or anyone else who can see per se, I can feel.

With Love, Magi

gift“This is a collectible piece of jewellery sir.” The salesman’s eyes widened with fascinated pleasure. “In fact, to call it jewellery is to diminish its value. It is a jewel! A gem of an ornament! 24 carat true gold, a tailor made beauty.” He winked and added “A select item. Worth every penny.”

My eyes gazed around the showroom, my attention was uncaptured by the beauty of these treasures and charms. Their bling failed to amuse me. My eyes rummaged for something much richer, more soulful, something worth you. The charisma of such precious stones and gems, the brilliant gold and undaunted royal silver seemed so very little to win your heart.  You are way above all of this.

Over the years that I have spent with you, I have come to know how you define beauty; I have understood that the lure of expensive presents is nothing to you. For you, beauty has a much deeper connotation. Not something as temporary as this.

Yet the salesman was not akin to my predicament; he dismissed my bemusement for displeasure and immediately wiped the counter clean of the locket.

“Hmm,” He analysed cases within his money-afflicted brain, constantly cross checking for a better sales pitch. “Your lady does not seem like a person for such valuable gold and silver. I think I know just the thing you need!”

My eyes broadened, and I gapped with rapture, my mind snapping to attention.

Diamonds!” He exclaimed.

The twit of a salesmen walked across the counter to the other end of the gigantic showroom. “Your lady seems just the one for diamonds!”

I vanished within my own thoughts once again – subdued, disappointed and clueless. “We have the best collection of diamonds! The newest and finest ones…Believe me! Nothing can please a woman more.” His voice eroded my musings like a serial comma and then dissolved into the background again as he hopped from one glass shelf to the other and I turned away chronically apathetic.

I wished to gift you the best present I could – the most expensive, the largest, the finest, the most superlative present a man can buy a woman. Yet even with endless money at my disposal, I had never felt poorer.

I was the head of the largest business tycoon in the country – I could have painted the entire globe with money and still have spared major dollars.  Yet ironically no treasure, no endearing pearl, no amount of money spent could have sufficed – it would have been nothing but a bundle of unpassionate outlay. Today, even if you would have adorned the stars with a price-tag, they wouldn’t have made a gift fit enough for a person with your soul.

If I were to take a more quixotic vein, then I’d say that the sparkle in your eyes could beat the glimmer of the most expensive jewellery in this showroom by a thousand light-years.

So, depressed and with a sad heart, I succumbed to my first instinct and left the showroom for the book store – knowing nothing would make you happier – for being the girl you are, you’d prize the gift of words over priceless diamonds.