Our Black Shadows(Alpha) Our Black Shadows
The Fuchsia and the lobelia have grown an inch taller. The green of the foliage is instantly visible as a Limousine crosses past Brook Street Avenue. Rogan, my dad, turns obliquely to steal a glimpse of the driveway where he has parked his Chevrolet, merely evincing how he cannot cease to coddle his possessions. I descry his squinted sight which, as I can tell without looking, scrounges for his car over the tarmac of the pavement that juxtaposes aunt Manorama’s condo. Her mansion, not gargantuan as such, stands on the wayside of the avenue which lies in the middle of the town’s bustle. The crowds go quiet by the hour the night descends, but the cacophony of the vehicles and the Lorries keep the ambience composed anyway. It is somewhat different today. There isn’t a plethora of any of that. It is the very inception of yet another year – first of January. The Styx Connoisseur, the only three star lodge, has its moniker covered up by fairy lights as does its Christmas tree stand tall with them, all in glitter and bright with a lambent glow that captivates my eyes for ecstasy. This has been the sole reason why errands at any hour of the dark had my predilection – I would be lost in the gleam of the lights against the skyline of the town. I tilt my head backwards and see yet another XUV 500 drive down the avenue from the left end of the street. It has both its diaper and its headlights on. The light falls on the catseye and the edge of the road shines like the mother-of-pearl. Whilst the spectacle hexes me for its visage, Rogan’s dread emanates on the porch of aunt. He appears visibly tensed for his car. “You would’ve known had the Limousine hit your car dad. There was no collision because there was no sound. Your Chevrolet is safe in the driveway.”, I tell him, clearing my throat with two bouts of cough. I stand next to Aklin, my step brother. He tends to lean on the casement of the lateral window of aunt Manorama’s house. It is her son’s birthday, and much fortuitous as it had to be, the New Year as I said. I have a polo neck stitched in cotton yarns which was died red by my mother. My knee high Long Johns are accompanied by massively long cady stripped socks while on top of all that, the fair isle on the cardigan I have put on as my vest coat finishes my farcically weird attire. Aklin, as usual, could consent to nothing else but a flannel shirt with a cowl neckline and a necktie that has been painted purely black. Rogan on the other hand, and to emulate us the young kids in their youth, certainly looks overdressed for an occasion as such with a gorgeous black coat and suit and tie, picked right away from the Vintage collection of The BloomsBury House, downtown. Precisely speaking, we are dressed in our best clothes but late to wish one on his birthday at one’s own private space and at half past eight in the night. Surely it was the earliest we could make to aunt Manorama’s. The winter breeze kisses my neck with a splash of a terribly cold touch as the three of us stand at her doorstep. I adjust the calico muffler that mom made me wear just in time as I was leaving for the destination I am at now. The twigs of one of the boughs of Dahlias abut me on the foyer from the red bricked wall as I stretch my arms along the left. “I think we can ring the bell again. It won’t do any harm. I don’t think there is much of a celebration going on inside dad.”, I utter, checking the time in the light of the cord pendant lanterns on of my aunt’s porch that cling away from the tiles of the cloister which covers the three of our heads now. Neither Aklin nor Rogan speaks a word. Assessing no abstention, I walk two feet downwind and reach out for the bell. “Ivy, stay calm. She must be caught up. She will open. Why are you so restless? You didn’t even want to come foremost.”, Rogan blurts out, pulling my hand back. I forbear quietly. It’s after a span of another ten minutes that I hear someone unfasten the bolts from within and the door creaks open. “Golly! Josh! Look who’s here! It’s your uncle, uncle Rogan…with…Aklin and Ivy. Come greet them.”, Aunt Manorama shouts out to her son Josh who dashes to the front door at his mother’s beck and call. “What a pleasant advent! Uncle Rog, this is great surprise. No more waiting outside. Come on in.”, Josh says and holds the door open for all the three of us. He rubs my back as I trudge past the doorjamb. I hurl a dekko at him and he whispers, “Trust me. I lost count of the many days after I had seen you last. Where were you? It seems like an aeon to me.” and chuckles sweetly. I merely smile back and step on the doormat as he closes the door behind me. “Make yourselves comfortable. I will get some – ”, aunt Manorama commences to speak the initial words of welcome that Rogan barges into her speech. “Honestly Manorama, we are here just to wish Josh. We have showed up with empty hands. The visit was pondered over in an hour that couldn’t have been any later for one shop to remain open in the suburbs. But we still thought to pop in. To push you into your kitchenette at this hour of the night would seriously be the last thing I would want to do. Please don’t bother yourself with any concerns of our refreshments. We are absolutely fine and full.” “Oh dear, it’s a pleasure for me to cook something. Tensy knows how I devour every recipe! Where is she by the way? Don’t give me that excuse that I already know Rogan.”, aunt Manorama inquires as she directs us into the arena of her chintzy chinoiserie. “You know my wife. She has one thing or the other that makes up for her preoccupation. She wanted to come, but the work at home was quite exigent. She has sent her word for Josh.”, Rogan comes up as he crashes into her couch. He calls out to Josh who has vanished into the kitchen to fetch some coleslaw for us, “Josh! Josh! I respect your hospitality, but I want you here, not inside the kitchen. Josh! Aunt Tensy has sent you her word. She wishes you a very happy birthday and showers her love and many refrains for the day. Josh! Come on chap. Leave the dishes.” The crimplene of the rug below feels warm and soft on my bare feet. I waste two steps, one each from both and without changing position, just to feel the calico laid on top of the fabric a little more. “Ivy, how have you been? We haven’t seen you in a long time. I like your poncho. Who got you that?”, aunt Manorama speaks, seeking to instigate a conversation with me. “Yeah. You caught it mama. I was telling her just that.”, Josh supersedes me in my answer as he joins the ménage in the living room, clicking a grin at me. In a moment, I am the cynosure at the corner of the living room. “I…I was just…Um… Nothing mu – ”, I try to say something that Rogan snaps me up as we all sit down on my aunt’s lavender chesterfields. “She is somewhat gauche, not gregarious. Let alone bother the world outside, isn’t it Ivy?” I sit down next to Aklin. He grabs a fanzine from the ottoman that stands across the sofa and dives into the section of rock bands. A jiffy passes us by and he pushes his finger into the left sleeve that my mom stitched into my bandeau. “Wear clothes with some decency. Your disregard for the skin isn’t pardonable in their discourses.”, so she often reminded me every time I wore anything that ended above my knees or left my arms starkers by my shoulders. Aklin pulls at the cuffs of my vest from underneath the glass table that sits medially on the velvety rug of the room. He beckons my attention for a mention of Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson’s reception of an accolade at a garish ceremony in the Globes for having been the worst duo in Twilight. He gives out a grin of lampoonery. I reach for the page of the magazine that aunt Manorama comes at me again. I almost look elsewhere to evince my insipid participation in the dialogue that is far from my fancy now. “Ivy, you didn’t tell me. Your poncho – who bought you that?” “My mother did.”, I respond, being totally strict with only what I am supposed to answer. “I see. It looks nice.”, she compliments, leaning against the door jamb of her dining hall that comes along the right side of the living area where we all sit. “Thank you so much.”, I say, sitting up straight and smiling with vivacity. “Yeah, I really like the fabric of your duffel coat. But I am afraid, I have caught a flaw in it. It is so damn visible that I cannot help admitting it. You see, the cerise shade of the coat matches the black of your trews, not the black of your skin.” I hold my body with a slightly extra firm grip and sit straight right where I preferred to sit, at the corner of her couch and attached to the coarse fabric of the upholstery of it. I do not flinch, but broaden my smile a little. I cannot deny the propensity of a certain but not unacquainted kind that is incited in me. I have sensed it in all my consciousness to know it in no better way, and can thus, sense it just as well right now. Aklin continues to flip the pages of the magazine and I look at him for recourse. There is no way I cannot have put my agony on display by actually looking elsewhere this time because I want to keep the sparkle in my eyes to myself like I always have. Perhaps, she misread it and came up with yet another blow. “You could have put on something light you know, like baby pink or yellow…ah! don’t go with yellow. You will be such a contrast against the bright hue that yellow is. Pink will do. Surely it will. I’m confident.” I whisper to Aklin close to his ears, “What did you find? Any other piece of news?” as tears swell to the brink of my eyes. He nods his head in negation and doesn’t look up. I inhale deeply and can feel the warm air I breathe in from the cold surrounding that has become colder now. I gaze around to find a few miniature toys, all carved in sylvan wood. I pick up a small tortoise whose tiny tail can be moved. It does not seem anywhere more exciting an entity, but oh yes! it does look like something I can use to have some more strength to pull my tears back for some more time, and definitely, I prefer the tastelessness to the indignation. “Ivy, will you get up from there and come sit here? Here chap, come on. I want to show you all something.”, aunt says, patting a solitary chair next to the door she stops leaning against now. I do not move, but keep my smile on. “Just keep smiling. You will soon be leaving. It will be just fine.”, I tell myself inside my head. My fingers develop a smear of the golden brown tinge of the hue from the wooden work that I have started to rub with vigor and without any cognizance of the same all that while. “Ivy! How dare you be so insolent you little girl! Didn’t you hear what your aunt had just asked for? Obey right now. Get up and leave that place. Go sit next to her.”, so are the remnants of my strength clobbered by the rebuke from Rogan. Aklin raises his head and looks around for nothing in particular. I heed to a sudden desire of asking him to fabricate an excuse and take me out on a walk. No wonder he doesn’t hear that because I do not say anything. “Come here dear.”, aunt Manorama iterates emphatically, patting the cushion of the chair thrice. I stand up and make my way from in between the cascade of the calves of her ménage. I walk past all of them even when I am barely able to maintain a balance with sobriety. I recall my mother’s face as I tread forward, crushing my feet into the patina of the floor just to consume more time. But abruptly, Rogan is in no rush unlike my system that is about to be rendered derelict in a stampede of resentment. It’s been this way you know. My mind deceives me to believe that I can do it, only to leave me to concede with the humiliation, and in no time do I behold my conviction for composure falling silently somewhere as soon as I let my tears fall in the legroom of Rogan’s Chevrolet and lose them all right there. Eventually, I accede as I take the seat. She doesn’t know that I have to jeopardize my heart to keep hers. She walks across me and puts on the switch of a plain light bulb that is lit right above my head. Her feet revert. They occupy a new position right in front of me. “See, I told you. She is such a contrast in these colors. Dear you look too black. Take off your duffel coat. Oh, my fault. Let it be; the light won’t find any better place to shine on. God! You look repulsive now. You have grown so black. Don’t saunter much in the sun. Why don’t you switch to some skincare commodities? Rogan, haven’t you taken notice of how ugly she has become? Who will love you like this dear? You know you can use some help. Why is that color there? I can even figure out that you have grown darker than the last time I saw you. Ivy, listen to me. That color doesn’t have to stay there. Wash your face regularly and use something to scrub your face with. Will you?”, she asks, her head careening along the left of her posture. Every ounce of gravity falls short upfront my desire to look at her eyes right then. I stare straight into her eyes, not with intrepidity, but my tacit answer that I have no knowledge of the reason why. I have never known the reason why – why I was so black, why I was ugly, or why I bothered people with the way I looked – I never found any answer to any of these questions. But God I must confide in someone that I tried to scrub my skin until I was scratching the same; I washed my face a million times until my tears were doing the job; and so did I confine myself inside my private space to let alone bother with the world outside. Despite having tried them all, nothing ever altered. I almost detested my God because I couldn’t gratify my aunt, my cousin, my mates at school and a few parents who wouldn’t hesitate to point out the spots on my body in spite of the complete paucity of a relationship with me. I never divulged my weaknesses to anyone, yet they ascertained my Achilles heel. That was an incredible shock to me – I was so visibly ugly. “I don’t know aunt. I just don’t know. You see, I was born with it.”, I want to say but don’t. “I know I appear ugly with this color on. But I can’t quite understand what is so wrong with it because it doesn’t hurt me in any way.”, I think of saying but I don’t. “I was perhaps imprinted with this shade when I was in my mother’s womb. Laying forth my hatred for it seems like a desecration to the one who created me. I owned this color when I was still swimming in the blood of her placenta. I don’t know how to let go of it. Can you help me find a way out because so long that I have tried to, it has always hurt me so much that I am all bruised? I am unaware of how I should erase it because so long so far, I have only failed, again and again.”, I almost speak out, but don’t. I cower myself in arrant shame, not knowing what I am ashamed of. But the shame is palpable like nothing else is right now nor can anything be. My shadow appears clearly underneath the lurid light right beside the chair I sit on. I see my silhouette against the white tiles on the floor. It is absolutely black in there and flinches only because I do, never by itself, like it’s not bothered to stretch on the white of the floor. It will be all fine in my ambience, or I won’t fidget if the others around are not here. There I find a contrast in between my aunt and her own house she calls as her home. Her own floor defies his precepts because unlike her, it accepts my black shadow without any grievance. I extend my sight and visualize Rogan, Aklin, Josh and my aunt. All of their white bodies cast shadows under the same light that shines above my head and they are all black. The Limousines pass by the boulevard outside and with the babel of the honks from the cars at a distance. I stare outside the window I sit next to. A swish of zephyr comes swaying the white Jasmines that grow on the hedge of the bricked wall of my aunt’s, and strangely, it caresses my face as well. Despite the cold touch, it brings relief because I am able to engulf the heat for one more time as I hear a vehicle roll down the wayside of the Skyline Connoisseur in a distant murmur. I can tell it rushes past only too carelessly, but does it swiftly past it in the dead of the night regardless of its color. I wonder if its headlights are on. The white light must shine so bright amidst the black of midnight.

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