Once in a quaint lazy afternoon you told me that you wanted to write a story a story that shall follow no script, no beginnings or even an end. A story which can be read and ended wherever possible. And I laughed at you.
You said we’ve come to accept mediocrity as means of creativity into our world and your laugh is just an example of it. Perhaps I shall not be read, maybe they would not understand my story but I shall pen it. You know why, because I do not confirm to the epidemic averageness that fills our world like ether.
I said hopeless, all the while laughing and then added you’re part of the world spirit -the Geist as Hegel said. You’re no greater than the whole sum you stubborn fool. Now I realize, why should a story follow a script when life does not?
You told me it was not my kohl filled eyes, my aquiline nose or even my seductive yet soothing voice (your words) that made you fall but the fact that I knew my philosophy. You made me laugh.
I said, I still cannot fathom that why am in your arms. You said Weiltgeist, the world spirit sweetheart.
All of them said that I was very beautiful. That my eyes were not eyes and that they compared me to a summer’s day thanks to the Bard of Avon.
And you, it was as if you could see through me. Later you gave me your own theory that excessive beauty made you afraid and that you could never bring yourself to judge a book by its cover. The first time you kissed me was when we talked about 'subjective idealism' of Berkley perhaps the moment I uttered the sentence.
I asked you once why do you value this knowledge so much? And you in your own Bogart-ish style with a burning cigarette and that slow but unnerved voice said that Sophia means wisdom and -phile is lover. You love your wisdom and so do I. How many people care to ask, who am I?
And then to know it read what great men and woman before have said about it. And..
The doctor came looked at both of them and said-
Mam I have to feed him now. Both pair of eyes looked at him and she said, Okay I shall leave then.
He just looked on as if he could see through them. And she kissed him and went.
Later when the doctor fed him he looked at the doctor like he knows her and said-
“Was she Helen or Blessed Hildegard of Bingen?"
The doctor laughed and said-
" Yesterday she was Bonolata Sen."
And cleaned the spilled food with an old piece of cloth.