So one day I was
walking along with my mother in the marketplace, searching for metaphors. You
might be interested to ask which shop sells them, but the truth was, she was
shopping and I was continuing my search for metaphors.
My hometown is small, with limited space for development. Wait, I don’t think this is my opinion. In fact I just happened to hear it from someone and assumed it to be true. My town has developed in the last eight years, a shape of city marring the landscape. But it wasn’t as if I would forget my way about. A lot of things remained unchanged- old shops, familiar landmarks, the beach...
Of course the sea wouldn’t change. Maybe that is why I’m so fond of it.
Passing through a confectionery named ‘Rema’ made me do something I used to involuntarily do as a child- look for the familiar face of a middle aged man. If I try to remember his face in my mind, I would get only a hazy image. I’m sure if I see him again I would know. I was to only see his photograph hung there in his memory because he was no more.
Maybe I ought to feel sad. Almost twenty years had passed from that particular childhood, but his actions weren’t forgotten by me. He used to give me free sweets whenever we visited the confectionery, hence a greedy child’s involuntary glance towards it. I had taken it for granted that I would get free sweets if I pass by, for he had never disappointed me. I remember I used to only respond with a smile or a rare ‘thank you’ whenever he presented me with what I was anticipating for. Maybe I ought to have spoken to him more, but I was a shy child who kept much to herself. Anyway, adults found shy children less dangerous than the loquacious ones and I was more than happy to comply with their expectations.
As if reading my thread of thoughts, my mother said, “You remember the man who used to give you sweets? He is no more.” Then she smiled one of her poignant, sad smiles.It was to express regret over the death of a generous man who was fond of children- shy, secretly greedy ones who only substituted smiles for a ‘thank you’. I think I also have that kind of a smile among my other ones- forced, shy, genuine, dramatic. I think she expected me to comment or offer an incident of reminiscence, but I merely nodded without putting on my ‘poignant’ smile. I asked her if she remembered what his name was, which made her crease her forehead for fives seconds or more and admit that she did not.
I had found one of my metaphors. Aren’t metaphors supposed to be comparisons? I was trying to find one to compare my childhood in my hometown; it had to be something old and nothing new. Change may be constant, but it is also secretly hated. We want the past to be remembered as glorious and untainted. My town has undergone changes, but the people have become almost unrecognizable, not like a shadow of their former selves, but with a strange metamorphosis of something else which children fond of imagination do not wish to understand.
This nameless man with a forgotten face was my metaphor. At that moment, I couldn’t even muster a poignant smile.
I continued the search for the next metaphor.
My hometown is small, with limited space for development. Wait, I don’t think this is my opinion. In fact I just happened to hear it from someone and assumed it to be true. My town has developed in the last eight years, a shape of city marring the landscape. But it wasn’t as if I would forget my way about. A lot of things remained unchanged- old shops, familiar landmarks, the beach...
Of course the sea wouldn’t change. Maybe that is why I’m so fond of it.
Passing through a confectionery named ‘Rema’ made me do something I used to involuntarily do as a child- look for the familiar face of a middle aged man. If I try to remember his face in my mind, I would get only a hazy image. I’m sure if I see him again I would know. I was to only see his photograph hung there in his memory because he was no more.
Maybe I ought to feel sad. Almost twenty years had passed from that particular childhood, but his actions weren’t forgotten by me. He used to give me free sweets whenever we visited the confectionery, hence a greedy child’s involuntary glance towards it. I had taken it for granted that I would get free sweets if I pass by, for he had never disappointed me. I remember I used to only respond with a smile or a rare ‘thank you’ whenever he presented me with what I was anticipating for. Maybe I ought to have spoken to him more, but I was a shy child who kept much to herself. Anyway, adults found shy children less dangerous than the loquacious ones and I was more than happy to comply with their expectations.
As if reading my thread of thoughts, my mother said, “You remember the man who used to give you sweets? He is no more.” Then she smiled one of her poignant, sad smiles.It was to express regret over the death of a generous man who was fond of children- shy, secretly greedy ones who only substituted smiles for a ‘thank you’. I think I also have that kind of a smile among my other ones- forced, shy, genuine, dramatic. I think she expected me to comment or offer an incident of reminiscence, but I merely nodded without putting on my ‘poignant’ smile. I asked her if she remembered what his name was, which made her crease her forehead for fives seconds or more and admit that she did not.
I had found one of my metaphors. Aren’t metaphors supposed to be comparisons? I was trying to find one to compare my childhood in my hometown; it had to be something old and nothing new. Change may be constant, but it is also secretly hated. We want the past to be remembered as glorious and untainted. My town has undergone changes, but the people have become almost unrecognizable, not like a shadow of their former selves, but with a strange metamorphosis of something else which children fond of imagination do not wish to understand.
This nameless man with a forgotten face was my metaphor. At that moment, I couldn’t even muster a poignant smile.
I continued the search for the next metaphor.
7 comments:
Beautifully written!
To search for metaphors is one, and to encounter metaphors in its most naked and truest sense is another. It is an endless journey when one is on a seek of metaphors, for anything and everything comes forth with a masked-face to be revealed.
I look forward to reading more of your writings. All the best!
Coming from a great writer like yourself, I shall preserve your comment close to my heart and revel in your encouragement!
I am sure every one will have something of this sort to say but putting on the paper is at times makes one in difficult position. It all starts with beginning, good beginning always remains to make one read and look forward to the postings, keep the good work. I hope to read more.
Thank you so much for the kind words of encouragement! I will try my best to write more.
Panda sent me here. Panda-suhasini.
She writes well yet manages to promote even better.
Thank you for sharing your words and thoughts in the piece above. Metaphorically, walking through the piece was a journey in a way that takes an interesting read in itself. I may be no-one to comment on things, let alone shine light on works of literature- panda's job it is.. however, shall leave you with these words below for food for thought....
Once an ant started climbing it's ant hill, or so it thought. One hill was conquered and the second came up, that was conquered and the third came up, when hills ran out, next came the mountains...
Happy writing, happy mountain climbing
Thanks again
Indeed I would climb the mountains armed with your kind and encouraging words! Thank you very much, I'm beyond honoured.
As for panda, she has always been a pillar of strength to everyone around her. I owe a lot of my creative energy to her wonderful presence in my life.
Panda taught me how to write, don't tell her that, she will deny that.. as for words.. kind or not a nugget that I can share is write to express yourself always,, impressions are to be derived not desired
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