The prism and the photo.

Precariously perched on the window sill, between the prism and the photo,Geetanjali languidly glanced outside. This was her favorite place, though not too comfortable;but she was used to living on the edge.The curtains half hid her and she watched the outside scene without others seeing her. The day was warm and humid. The sudden shower had poised itself on the leaves.The raindrops rolled down,glinting in the now emerging sunshine.The prism in front of her caught the rays and the rainbow buoyancy seeped into her, making her feel at peace with the world.

Half her life was over.Her daughters were now settled in their betrothed homes.It had not been easy bringing them up,her husband having taken flight after the second was born.The days were happy and yet sometimes she felt lonely shouldering all the work.Suddenly the metallic, cruel ring of the door- bell cut into her reverie.She went to the gate with a slight frown.The courier had brought flowers! She had completely forgotten that it was her birthday;but her children always remembered.She could not help the smile as she quickly signed the receipt.She carried the flowers and lovingly placed them between the prism and the photo.The gardenias smiled at her and she smiled back at the photo of the children.She knew they were thinking of her and all the difficult and happy moments spent together.The silence was comforting.She walked up to the tanpura kept standing in the corner of the room,sat down,and the room was filled with the beautiful and clear notes of the 'megha malhaar'.

"Mirror,Mirror on the wall - - -"

The mirror reflected his image.He was not handsome,as the saying goes,but he knew how to adorn his clothes.In fact he looked quite natty in the striped tie and he smiled at himself.He chose his clothes carefully to go with his slightly crooked smile and his long neck.His shoes were always polished.He liked it that way and his wife knew it.After all,a man is known by his attire,as well as knowledge that he carries inside that brain of his.As he admired himself,his wife's reflection suddenly stirred from somewhere behind.He looked back at her and was glad to see the adoration in her eyes.She flitted past in the back ground,but not before he asked where she had placed his cigarettes.

The day was half done;The wife caressed her tired eyes and looked into the mirror.She looked tired and disheveled.Her hands were rough with cooking,washing and dusting the many books that adorned the bookshelves of her husband's study.Somewhere,tucked behind all those stupendous knowledge lay her thesis too,long forgotten in the daily chores.She felt she had done a good piece of work,but it did not really matter now.Her handsome husband with his shiny shoes and smart clothes was already a well known figure in the literary world.She felt sadly happy as her limped eyes looked strangely at her own reflection.