The walls in this house were screaming pride. Or, perhaps it was the owners, who want to silently convey it by adorning the walls. If there is no shame in displaying your success,putting them on walls is possibly the most subtle way to do it.
“So, what’s happening in your life?” she asked abruptly, perhaps the third time during the conversation. They always had less time for small talk, getting straight to the point was the only best part of their acquaintance as colleagues first and later as friends.
But that was some summers ago. Those were the days when he was a struggling with life and she was making noises about living. But what glued them was different, something like a vague sense of demise, as if two people have met during mourning. And hence they spoke less but definite. Acknowledging the loss and hoping to look forward.
He looked at her face, it betrayed happiness. “Well, nothing much. It’s all the same,” he replied. He had repeated himself thrice. He had hoped to find the pain in her words; at least some. The sense of demise was somehow missing.
He mostly kept silent during the conversation. Actually, he was looking for keywords. Sad words, or expressions that point towards a loss. Old habits die hard and he expected them from her even after a gap of almost a decade.
But today she was on a different tangent, talking animatedly about a trip to some off shore location, and on home redecoration plans. How was she going to use her college degree for some good, and on how finally she has started enjoying shopping...
“Does he hang you too?” he finally blurted.
“Excuse Me!!” she sounded visibly hurt.
“No does he? Or you feel proud to be among one of those animated objects?” he continued unfazed...“Sorry, let me rephrase it, do you compete with them?” pointing at the wall.
“Sometimes I do. And yes there are times, I feel proud,” she blurted.
They were now talking. The shadow of death had crept in and words flowed easy.
“Is it good? Sense of achievement?” he drilled.
“Mixed bag. Not really,” she answered.
“And what about leaving footprints,eh?” he probed. Gloom was yet far.
“I removed the tattoo,” she retorted.
Yes, sight of despair, he rejoiced in his heart but managed to keep a straight face.
“So what do you dream of now?” he asked casually. Expecting nothing.
“How to hang there without getting replaced, EVER,” she answered with a firmness in her voice.
The servants had cleared the tea by now. He had to rush. He was still struggling with life and perhaps she was still making noises about living...
