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Most of us turn to a higher force for solace, for a patient ear, for a solution. Here’s a look at the receiving end of our prayers and whining!
One of the top 5 entries for October’s Muse of the Month writing theme, with the cue “There’s only one thing more boring than listening to other people’s dreams, and that’s listening to their problems.” taken from Sue Townsend’s The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4.
My day begins as usual: first, a special bath. Then, beautification of the body or sringar; wearing a new silk saree, putting on jewellery, flowers in the hair, applying sindoor, ittar and whatnot. And then comes the waiting.
People wait outside, and I, inside. I almost feel fresh and impatient. Finally, the opening hour arrives. People come and go. Many of them are in a hurry. Some of them linger, and are eager to talk. I listen to their stories.
Some of them aspire for something, some of them want to escape. In an ideal world – all are equal, but not here. The person who spends more money gets more time and attention. For the first few in line, I am more heedful, I try to be sympathetic. After a while, it becomes routine, and I start doing everything mechanically.
There’s only one thing more boring than listening to other people’s dreams, and that’s listening to their problems.
I used to love flowers, but now their fragrance is nauseating. I have lost the lust for new sarees. I hate jewels! All I want is some “me-time”. Some peace, some space. I want to be alone and free. But I cannot run away. I am deeply rooted here, rooted for eternity.
It is always a long day. I don’t even feel hungry; all I need is a good night’s sleep without nightmares. Dreams have long deserted me. You know what my dreams were? I used to dream about a day without the elaborate bath, about an old cotton saree. In my dreams, I used to sulk away from the world, I used to sleep surrounded by non-lit lamps. But soon, I realized that I am here to fulfil others’ dreams and desires. I am here to solve their problems, so I cannot have mine. I have turned into stone now.
I wait for closing hour. After the door closes, I see people counting money. The sound of coins and the smell of notes thrills them. An ugly feeling runs through me by the sight. I feel hatred towards myself and my entire world.
I don’t remember how many days have passed since I have been here. I don’t want to recall. Every day passes like a yuga (era). You see so much in a day.
Please don’t judge me, for I judge no one. It is not easy to be a popular deity in a town.
Pic credit: Image of the eyes of a deity via Shutterstock.
Hi prachi, loved your write up.
Thank you Deepa !
Hey Prachi, what an unexpected ending. Through out the story, I was wondering who is the first person? Liked it. It reminded me of an article I wrote in my school days, it was about God being the first person and how he saw humans beings, his creations. Thanks for the wonderful story, Prachi.
I am so happy you liked it Shaifali !
Beautiful story and such an unexpected ending…loved loved it!!!
Thanks Bhavya !
hey prachi , such an unusual story.i loved it.and i m able to see a writer in making.
Thank you Pooja ! This encouragement means a lot to me.
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