The Loaf Of Bread

The Loaf Of Bread

The street was unusually still for the hour of seven in the morning: an incessant drizzle beat down from the sky since dawn. Street lights were switched on, but they were quite hazy: it was as if a gauze piece were kept over them that filtered the light. Water trickled down the steep slope in the road in a continuum at a slow but regular pace. There were dark clouds over my head. I was out for a loaf of bread.

She had rung several bells of happiness in my life over the past couple of years, but I still waited for the most vibrant chime of all---Zeenat. Life had sounded a variety of cymbals in my life before she joined forces with me, there had been a lot of  entropy in my life, but she was someone who had managed to capture all that went astray to bring home a lot of joy and happiness.

It was as if I had been ready to jump off a moving train and she had clutched my hand at the last moment to pull me into the security of the coach. The railway track rushed by while I stood at the gate of the coach. She had done more than just hold my hand: she had pulled me into the coach too.

The coach provided security and safety toe both of us. our lives had pushed in several  elements of bliss and happiness into our lives despite the realization that life would have been entirely different fore both of us had I not have been blessed with a couple of handicaps. But then we would never have met each other. I do consider myself unlucky to be fated for so many issues, but then I also thank Allah for her company.

It has brightened up my life. There has been a lot of verbosity in the silence of  the morning ever since. Quite a few thoughts rush to my mind, but it is not possible for me even to think of the facets of life I would have had to see if these problems had not been a part of my life.

There would have been a n entirely different set of problems for me. I sometimes wonder if I would have been better off with these set of problems. Life would certainly have been different, and although I would still have had problems,  I may not have had her company. There would have been someone else in her stead. I do wonder if the other person would have been better than her.

I may not have dreamt all the dreams I have; I may not even have thought of Zeenat. The very thoughts of Zeenat have ignited a fire within me. There has been a roar of flames in my heart, and I’ve been forced to divert my mind to a dark corner of my heart. Zeenat’s thoughts have been strong and vibrant enough to illumine all my life.

As she is a part of my life, she too has to bask in the light shed by Zeenat’s thoughts. Before we had met, I did wonder how she was going to react to Zeenat and her presence in my life. We had decided to let Zeenat be the dream she is. Zeenat will never be anything to her; I had said this to her several times. She had agreed on not claiming any rights on Zeenat.

Zeenat is an ideal I have created in my mind. As matters stand, ideals are never   a part of ordinary life. They are shattered by the ruthlessness with which life flows. I don’t want my ideal to be shattered and destroyed. I don’t want it to be a part of real life.

I don’t think the Zeenat I have in my mind will ever be a reality. There re simply no perfect entities in the real world: ideals shatter when they clash with reality.

Should I stop dreaming of Zeenat? I would have to curtail my sleep for this to be possible. Cutting on the hours I sleep is going to imply a curtailment of the freshness I experience after a comprehensive sleep. I dream of Zeenat whenever I sleep. I don’t think I could ever stop sleeping or even of dreaming of Zeenat.

Zeenat seems to bet he driving force behind all my efforts for success. Whatever I do, I do for Zeenat. I want to continue to move towards success, but I don’t want the dream of Zeenat to come true.

I came back home without the loaf of bread--- I didn’t want any after all. It had stopped drizzling, and the street lights had been switched off.