The remote doesn’t stop at one channel. She has been trying to divert her mind, but whatever had happened in the morning was troubling her. Though getting hit by her husband was a ritual of the day, tradition of the night; still, the blood oozing out from the deep cut on her right cheek hurts, at least physically. Her heart was not trembling; it was not scared. These are those emotions which she had made subdued a long unknown. May be she didn’t care anymore. But, only for her, she is good; a good mother she is; at least in those cute little eyes. She is or she is not; she doesn’t care about that also. There is only one person in the world, whom she loves, deep down her heart. That’s what people think , or may be most of the times she also makes her feel the same. Umm, no, but there are two.
And, with this thought she realized that her heart still pumps blood. She still has sensations. She doesn’t have idle limbs, she doesn’t have the lethargic brain, she doesn’t just have tattering legs, and she does have feelings. She feels for those lost emotions that transformed her. She recalls those untouched touches which made her a lady.
The tickling of high heart beats gave her life and she again accepted that she still loves someone. He is someone, whom she doesn’t care like a kid, but like a partner; with whom she could herself like to be a little doll who enjoys pampering; who loved her for what she was, not for what her beauty prevails; who accepted her in the way she wanted her to be accepted. She felt the passion again which is far beyond the daily care of her husband’s tantrums; her affection for ‘ankoo’ her daughter; her sobbing of daily monotonous constant grief; the compassion for the uselessness of her own existence; her own senselessness of lost sensibility. It was a sense of fullness, and acceptance of surrender, a unique way of losing the possession of her ‘self’.
Pankhuri was no longer a teenager, nor even a young look-a-like woman. Her heart is still very young with adventure, love and passion.
It was then, she got stuck. It wasn’t her imagination, it was surreal. The picture was seen on every channel, of an accident. The victim was a big businessman, a renowned celebrity, Prasoon. And again, she felt all those sensations. She felt to cry of fear; for the fear of losing someone whom she had already lost but had the hope to see some time in the future; as they lived in the same planet. They were, Prasoon-Pankhuri or Pankhuri-Prasoon.