All the lives...

All the lives, that he had lived until now, flashed before his eyes, moment by moment, unrelated but related by the scent of the intense emotions that they once generated in him. Isolated moments, without the future of what followed them or the past of that preceded them; isolated, in his introduction to the different rhythms his heart could beat in.

Juggling faces…the intense gestures, spoken words, joyous unions… now just faces… he had always known the arrival of this moment but it had been out of fear… fear of loosing all that he cherished, all that he knew… he was unaware, then, of this feeling of peace that could fill him, like now… The passage of time, slowing down to force its awareness in all things…

In the stillness of a crumpled shirt, now frozen but containing in its state, the action, the energy, the warmth that preceded… The erectness and pride of the metal guard decorating the entrance, one who never tires, never respites… The blades of the moving fan, which on giving a little attention fill us with the fear of their falling down while they continue with the same emotion, of no emotion and we push them back to their unnoticed existence… Books out of their shelves, clothes scattered…out of place…but still belonging to that moment, completely, just as they are, where they are…

The passage of time which in it normal pace, in its maddening rush could strip us from the sense of existence of ourselves, of life in us…this sense of existence which she was knowing now…aware of all the desires, all the aspirations, all the fears that he had lived… he could see them entangled amongst themselves, living on each other's breath and he had tried to separate them, differentiate between them, when they had no existence on their own. And now they all lay before him, gasping for life… This existence, this life which was not his, as he had known until now…it was not, all those moments of laughter followed by tears…chasing each other, one wining over the other… It was devoid of everything that had filled him until now, yet there was no sense of emptiness or a loss.

He got up to respond to the ring of doorbell. It was the familiar face of the dhobi. he took off the drying clothes from the balcony and handed them over to him. The wall clock chimed to remind him of the time and he switched on the geyser, one of the tasks that started his routine of getting ready for work.