Today, the last of me fell to the ground. It was inevitable. I had been standing for many months in a decrepit condition, my make-up gone, my back scraped to reveal hollow bones but I never accepted defeat. I arched my feeble self and stood with pride to avoid the 3R’s humans are known to do at the drop of a hat- Repair, Reconstruct, Renovate. Nothing wrong, but I had the same false pride that everyone has and maintains while being with a celebrity.
Now, as my last breath struggles to break free from my scarred lungs, a reluctant breeze brushes its wet lips against my peeling skin. My pain eases a bit and I cast a final thought at what I had been.
I had occupied the prime place in the palatial bungalow of Miss Shikha Raj, a doe-eyed Bollywood beauty. She was the top heroine of the ’90s. She had built the mansion with a lot of care and money, of course.
I was embellished with fancy lights and gilded frames, all acquired during her shoots abroad. Me and my conjoined twin revelled in her attention and gentle caresses of love. I remember how our pale gold make-up shimmered when she drew the diaphanous curtains to let in streaks of auburn and yellow in the mornings.
But change dwells in the ominous shadow of time.
In the year 2000, Shika got married to the famous businessman, Anish Burman. The lights on me twinkled with joy, like her, at the prospect of a happy and exciting future. I was ecstatic that I was garlanded before her for the ceremony.
But barely a month after the grand wedding, even before my dainty ornaments were put away, my muscles vibrated with her cries and screams for help. I watched helplessly as she embraced me and poured out her pain of staying with an abusive man.
Sometimes, I cried when her head slammed against my chest and I was streaked red but couldn’t comfort her.
I was mortified at my insensitivity. My cosmetic beauty waned. I could only cry for Shikha, who was no longer that desirable phoenix in the celluloid land.
Yes, she had friends but they tagged along for free dinners and drinks. I remember the times when they splattered their intoxication all over me. How I wished to give it back! But I stood stoic for my caring owner.
“You are condemned to stay within these old, leaking walls, you fool,” Anish screamed and was gone.
I didn’t mind his accusations and was glad to see his back.
Shikha lay supine on most days her back resting on me, her vacant eyes a reflection of her defeated self. Finally, drugs snuffed out her flickering pulse.
My doomsday has come, about ten years after Shikha, on 20th August 2025 when torrential rains lashed Mumbai.
I bid goodbye as the shadow of fame dissipates with the gray. Another light is ready to take over the world.
(Word count: 499 including title)
Written for #five0024 contest by Artoonsinn Writers Room #The Protagonist
