A Beautiful Moment

 A Beautiful Moment 

We held each other’s hand quite tightly while we  walked along the pavement. She was married, I knew, and not married to me.

 

I was aware I was committing a cardinal sin by holding a married woman’s hand. To cap it all, there were no fraternal feelings alive in either of us at that time.

 

She wanted to be with me, she had seized my hand with the alacrity of an Olympian athlete making   a dash to the finishing-line.

 

There was a typical appeal in the warmth of her hands: it articulated her wish to hold my hand forever.

 

I was a bit surprised at this informality on the part of a young lady. I am not young, I am not very good looking, and yet she insisted on holding my hand, and she grasped it quite tightly!

 

On my part, I didn’t mind giving her my hand. A feminine touch is a novelty for me and I didn’t want to let go of the novelty: I didn’t want her to leave my hand.

 

She clung to my hand a bit tighter than I held her hand. Apparently, she badly wanted to feel the warmth, comfort and security of my clutch very badly. She was perspiring all over as if she had been running a 100-metre race.

 

She had left all other competitors behind her: it was written on her face. She had run away from someone, I felt sure, and had clutched my hand for security.

 

For a while, I wondered what exact prompts were responsible for this typical behaviour. It had to be something more than lust. Her face glowed red with excitement, quite a bit of which was transferred to my hand through her fingers.

 

She was quivering with excitement, and so was I! and This was the first time I was getting so much attention from a feminine quarter. 

 

I was a bit embarrassed at first, but it didn’t matter for I enjoyed the attention she gave me. I couldn’t help smiling with joy. I wish I could jump into air.

 

I loved every single moment of it although I knew she was going to let go of my hand in  a while. The joy was going to fade into oblivion soon. This was why I held her hand as tightly as I could: I wanted to hold tightly to whatever bits and bytes of joy I could extract from her hand.

 

It was hot, it was very hot. All diamonds in the world would have melted at this temperature, I felt sure. A typical flame burnt in her even as she whispered her name to me.

 

Her name said she was a Zoratrian, a fire-worshipper; no wonder her hand felt so hot. Its temperature was enough to melt all social and ethical norms standing between us.

 

Its warmth created a new paradigm between us: we didn’t remain strangers. A loud silence between us had been shattered while we held hands.

 

I was about to leave her hand, they had badly scalded mine, but a typical adhesive held them together. Heaven and earth came together during those moments.

 

She held my hand a bit tighter. I began to feel uncomfortable at her frankness, but she only tightened her grip.

 

Practically, we were strangers, and yet there was a spontaneity typical to close friends in her grip. Her hands felt a bit rough as if they were habitual to manual labour.

 

She inched closer to me; I was taken aback at this, but I let her come closer to me. I was enjoying every bit of our proximity.

 

I looked quite closely into her face: she wasn’t very good looking, but she had a sharp nose and mouth set into a fair complexion. They stood out of her face like mountains standing on a plain.

 

She was blushing: her face was turning from crimson to pink alternately.

 

It took me back to an experience in my youth when  a fair classmate had reacted to some words I had said in her praise in a similar manner.

 

I never held her hand, she never held mine, but her reaction was quite the same.

 

A few words were behind her reaction, while this time, another lady was holding my hand, and blushing all over.

 

Even as her fingers closed into my hand, I felt blood rushing through my hand at a typically faster pace. A connection was certainly being formed between us.

 

It was to be stronger than all other connections I had formed till that day, I knew. My heart began beating faster to keep up with the excitement pumped into me through my hand.

 

My other hand was a mute spectator while this drama was being enacted. It had to join the applause that was to follow the performance.

 

The performance was not going to be repeated ever again, I knew. We were to go our own separate ways in a while.

 

This realisation made me hold her hand a bit more tightly than before. An ecstasy was rushing through our bodies at a speed faster than what could be initiated by all the psychotropic drugs in the world.

 

I was blushing as a rose with excitement while she collected herself from the adventure. She was preparing to leave me.

 

There was embarrassment written all over her face too, but there was a typical glow of satisfaction in her too: she had found quite a bit of the relief she was looking for when she grabbed my hand.

 

Quite a few wayfarers had slowed down their walk, while many had even stopped to witness  a rare phenomenon. No one knew our marital statuses, but even a slight intimacy between a man and a woman in public does raise eyebrows in our society.

 

Ultimately, she shook herself away from me and we went our own separate ways in a while, probably never to meet again. I still wish I knew a bit of her secret behind her strange behaviour.

 

I hope some day we meet again.