Dwarka Dusk

And then the noise died away, fading out into nothingness. As the late-october chill dissolved into the sound of the azaan from the neighborhood mosque, the sweet tinkling of the wind chimes at her 10^th floor apartment notified her of the impending dusk. As she walked up across the hall to latch the door to the balcony, a gush of wind brushed past her face, giving her the chills marking the onset of winters. She looked down, as the amber streetlights started lighting up the busy road. But up here, it looked all different, calm, beautiful. Not a busy, traffic-laden, chaotic city road but, a bigger picture, At a distance, the suave, brightly lit metro train ferried passengers running about the course of their daily lives, a landscape of vast greens dotted by amber streetlights like tiny stars below the skies. set amidst which stood the whote marble mosque, silent, serene, like God’s own exiistence amidst the chaotic suburb. A beautiful picture of nature’s harmony. As the dusk beset deeper, the sky dissolved into her favorite hues of blue, while three tiny pigeons set on their flight back home.

Home. That was the word. Someone else too was expected home. The wait intensifying as she looked out at the street. There was still a while to go.

Having latched the door, she came back to the hall to prepare for his welcome, as she relived their last goodbye five months back. Riots had broken out in a far-off lawless land, over which god was the holiest. Forces of young, vibrant, dynamic soldiers were stationed in the casualty zones by the people condemning the riots from their AC offices. He promised to be back as his lips sucked off those nervous drops of sweat on hers. A lone drop of water had escaped her kohl-smudged eyes then.

Another such drop escaped her eyes now, now that she prepared to welcome him back. He had sounded vibrant on the phone as he expected the riots to subside and be able to return home in a week.

She had dressed in her finest punjabi suit. A black deep neck salvar kameez with a golden border, her eyes lined perfectly in kohl and her waist long her left open to one side of her face. Just the way he liked it. She wanted to leave no stone unturned, to charm him off his wits when he returned from duty. As the dusk grew into a dark starless night and the clock closed to 7, her doorbell rang. This was it, her moment of ecstacy. With a million thoughts, memories, emotions scurrying around in her head, she opened the door with the lustful smile of a newly-wed.

There he was, in a box, wrapped in tricolor.