“You look different today,” Yuva told Shreenidhi, tilting her
head as though trying to view her friend’s face from a different angle.
“Different? Not at all,” Shreenidhi replied, with a mild attempt at denial. “You may feel that way because you haven’t seen me for some time, having been away for a while.”
Yuva raised an eyebrow. “I was gone just a week. What great change could have happened within this short period?” She turned toward the other friends standing there and asked them, with a smile, “Haven’t you girls noticed a change in Shreenidhi's appearance?”
Vanitha, one of the friends, laughed. “How could we not? We did notice a change in Shreenidhi's looks and asked her about it, but she denied that there was any change at all. But, we have not been able to spot what the change is. And you, Yuva, you being her closest friend, can't detect what the change is, you really are a slow one!”
Yuva studied her friend closely. “Of course, I have deciphered what the change is. Shreenidhi’s eyes used to be always rimmed with kohl—dark, sharp and beautiful. That was giving her a special look. And now, it is gone.”
Yuva's voice softened, as she addressed Srinidhi. “I have watched you put on the kohl… so carefully, as if you were drawing a border around your eyes. I have always admired it. Even when the kohl smudged, even when it stung, you still wouldn’t give it up. Why stop now?”
Shreenidhi dropped her gaze. “There is no reason. I thought why I should suffer eye irritation for the sake of making my eyes look bright?”
“Don’t lie to me,” Yuva told Shrinidhi, her voice firm, but affectionate. “I know the truth. Shall I tell them?” pointing her forefinger at their friends standing there.
Shreenidhi shook her head quickly, pleading silently.
Yuva laughed and turned to the other girls. “Shreenidhi's family members follow a tradition. In the month of Margazhi*, they fast and sing Thiruppavai**. In one verse of Thiruppavai, Andal says: ‘Let us go without kohl.’ So none of the women in her household wear kohl during that month. Shreenidhi hid this from us, fearing that we might make fun of her for following an orthodox practice."
She winked at Shreenidhi. “Isn’t that right?”
Shreenidhi said nothing, but her silence was a sign of admission.
“That’s it? What a boring secret!” the girls laughed,
drifting away one by one.
When the courtyard fell quiet, Yuva leaned closer to her friend and asked her, her voice no longer playful, but searching. “Now tell me the real reason. I don’t believe it is just tradition. There is a man behind your change. Who is he?”
Shreenidhi’s lips trembled into a shy smile. “Ashwin.”
“Oh!” Yuva smiled. “Not a bad choice. But wait—did he say you don’t look good with kohl? If so, that means he has no taste!”
“No,” Shreenidhi replied quickly. “He never said that. He even asked me why I had stopped applying kohl. I gave him an evasive reply.”
“Then why, Shree? Why give up what you love?”
Shreenidhi hesitated, then whispered, almost embarrassed, “Because Ashwin lives in my eyes now. Always. Even when I close my eyes, his image remains inside, as if carved into the darkness. And when I draw the kohl, I fear its blackness will wash him away or blur the image I hold so close. I stopped… because I was afraid to lose him, even if it was only an image.”
For a moment, Yuva was silent. Then she smiled, her
fingers brushing her friend’s cheek with the tenderness of sisterhood.
“You are mad, Shree,” she whispered. “Mad with love. And
there is no cure for such craziness.”
Section 3
In Praise of Love
kaN uLLAr kAdhal avarAgak kaNNum
ezhudhEm karappAkku aRindhu.
Verse 1126
No comments:
Post a Comment