Skip to main content

The facade of beauty


Ursula watched her nape in the giant mirrors, one overseeing the other. She was fond of her nape, the ubiquities of hair suddenly pausing at the nape, not prepared to spoil the smoothness ahead, curled back upwards. The beginning of her nape marked a point of deference, attracted reverence and the hair flew backwards like waves on the shore. Less intense, thin and listless loose ends of short hair fell on her nape beautifying it beyond the limits of ecstasy. She bent her head forwards, brushed her hair upwards from over her nape, it was the skin in its prime, and nothing could come close to it. Her long neck embellished the nape; air from the fan pushed the short hair over the nape to fly over it, titillating her nape, brushing it, caressing it, and loving it. Her spine running upwards submitted before the beauty, it could not proceed any further, the rugged and crude bony frame prostrated before the queen of the structure, and the queen blushed, accepted the affirmation, and let the frame behold the queen, to carry her like a beacon on a ship. The egregious bony frame carried the queen above with a vibrant charm that over flew from the queen's heart to fill spirit into the insides of the hollow bones, to engulf the outsides with drapes of smoothness that added virtue to the efforts taken.

Ursula twitched for a moment, it was the cold air. She turned the fan off, something very profound had happened to her at that moment, the thought was still afloat on the surface, not really elusive, but her memory clippers were just not gripping it firmly. Then suddenly, she recollected and the thought was so quick that she, for a moment doubted if the spinal cord had somehow held on to the beautiful thought itself, thought wise in holding on to it, and relay it back when she implored voraciously, cried in despair for the benumbing thought to feed itself prey to the memory clippers.

It was at that moment, when she twitched in cold, her spine jerked, it was imperceptible, funny she thought, how the flexible frame withstood the unprecedented event, not letting the ripples of involuntary reaction disturb the queen's posture, how the frame took it hard on itself, swallowed the jerks honing the queen's stature.

The hair above her nape crowned the smothering beauty below; her hair epitomized the nape, embellished it, and at times obscured the impending beauty! But, who could obscure the invading sunlight? Who could obscure the precipitating darkness? Her nape's beauty kissed the hair over it, as the radiations flew outwards through the hair, striking an eye ball here, an eye ball there, and all eye balls rose in honor, stood in attention, summoned by the pervasive beauty before them.

Her face looked the other way, palpitating with jealousy, had been looking away from the facade of beauty for a long time now, so long that she forgot if her face ever faced the facade of elegance, the facade of burgeoning attraction.

Now as she gaped at the piercing beauty, she thought, her face was but a bait of quasi attractions. Face intoned to the nape; all the while 'go on! I will watch your back', face misled the subversive, mean and overt glances, protected the queen's back. It was never necessary to protect the front, for the pervasive beauty arrested motion before it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Where British Steel met the Nubile Cultural Beauty.

Noughties have been a delight. My life began; I might be tempted to say-just as any other city’s did. But the fact is that my life began when angry gentlemen threw spades at each other. In sixteenth century, my rulers at Golconda founded me. Musi, my artery ran through me fresh and clear embellishing me for years. When plague besieged me portentously, my rulers wove one of the most beautiful monuments in India-Charminar, adorned me with the crown. But before the incumbent rulers at Golconda could flourish in the shadows of the great crown and meadows of the fecund land, Nizams defeated them in a battle. What was to come next, I would not have contemplated at that time, but looking back, I realise that the Nizams watered those shrubs of culture that sporadically rose in the rule of my previous rulers. What was to be quoted by Dr. Ambedkar after my inclusion in the united India - as home to all the riches and culture, so good to take upon the capital city status for a united India - grew...

Oceanic lass

Last night, as I walked through the canopy of dry grass, a strange illusion came over me; the night was cold and the breeze penetrating, sort of trickling through the most sensual neurons of my body. The lady with a heap of clothes on her back went past me, with mincing steps, eyeing me for a fleeting second. I paused and so did the world around me, shut my senses off and apprehended the beauty of the moment; the lady walking heavily heaving and thrusting her right foot into the pile of mud before her, holding her sari by the folds with her naked palms, all the time indifferent to the beauty she possessed. She was not lascivious by the modernistic standards, but was effortlessly exuberant, intoxicating in the way she undid the heap off her back. Presently, she bent over and was reaching out for the folds of the heap, to unite. As she sat down, I noticed that something was bothering her. Her eyes, it was perhaps a straw of dust that found its object of beauty. From where I stood, I coul...

Chowmahalla Palace

It was the morning after my wedding. The dark peachy coloured blinds on my windows were still drawn; the maid with pigtails had retreated after laying down the morning’s breakfast on the thickly lacquered table. Stepping down from the cot, silk thread from my morning dishabille was stuck in the headrest’s broad eagle wings; it threatened to steal away my modesty. Gathering the folds around my knees, I restored propriety before slipping my feet into the glint slippers. The flower vase in the patio shone its tinselled mouthful of white roses that caught sun voluminously. In the garden that night, sitting alone, with the full moon perched in the pool water before me, I recalled the incident and the man who had turned me into a woman. The day before my wedding, a painter had been called. I met him in the courtyard; he was seated on a backless piano chair. Neatly perched on the easel was the drawing board, and from behind it, with tapered quills, greeted a man with sagebrush moustache. Th...