In The Process of Becoming

Elle looked up and took in the peaceful view of the sun setting over the horizon. The brownish water of the lake glittered golden as stray rays from in-between the clouds hit the surface of the water. The view has been the same from her window for so many years. But today, it looked magical. She could almost imagine herself walking into that luminous shimmer that would transport her to a different world. She felt a sudden pang of intense emotion in her chest, a pain that made her realise how much she physically wanted to reach out and see what lies beyond that shimmer. Closing her eyes, she drew in a couple of deep breaths and she felt the muscles loosen. The ache eased out.

Elle continued to stare at the view for some time. She had more than enough time at hand. At 50 years old, she was a proud mother and a woman who has done very well as a wife. Like most other children of the generation, her son has shifted out of the country and is doing pretty well for himself. Elle smiled. He did not know that Elle has recently aced the usage of Instagram. She saw her son’s photos with a girl. She is pretty and compliments her son well. She silently approved.

Getting up from the corner of her bed, she walked over to the wardrobe and retrieved some more clothes. Her languid movements reflected leisure and her face was like the calm depths of an ocean. A light smile played on her lips throughout, one that typically connects actions to thoughts. She arranged the clothes in neat folds in front of her. Once done, she straightened up, walked out of the room and took a stroll through the house. Her steps were unhurried. Myriad memories flooded back into her mind, each connecting to some parts of this house. She took time, halting at every significant memory, relishing the relief and granting them their due respect.

Coming back to the room, she picked up her bags. Glancing at the group of photos arranged neatly on the bedside table, she carefully kept the bags down. She walked over to them, picked up one at a time and stared. Arranging them back exactly as they were, she picked up her bags again. Walking down the length of the house, she stepped over the gracefully ageing threshold, a subtle smirk hinting the corner of her lips.

As the last bit of the sun’s rays hit the empty room, it lit up one of the photos on the table. It was a photograph of Elle. Elegant, young and beautiful, her photo was framed in exotic wood, extending well beyond the photograph, on the left-hand-side. The wood had carved letterings in gold that read,

“My beloved wife, Elle.

You are eternal in my heart.

1967 – 2017”