Written by Anvesha Bhanot
On a ruinous day described with an eerie serenity, people clad in white gathered around stacked logs of wood, the scene enveloped by the sweltering heat. The air thickened as the pyre was lit, and hymns recited fervently as flames leaped towards the sun. This vivid image lingered in my mind as I stood in the kitchen, seeking refuge in the mundane task of dicing onions. The skin of the onion peeled back, revealing layers that fell apart as my knife glided through them, transforming whole into quarters, invisible layers becoming starkly visible.
It was during these moments of forced escapism that the onions betrayed me. I paused for a moment to wipe my eyes as tears streamed down my face, obscuring my vision and thoughts. Why should I resist this sorrow? If tears shall stain my face tonight, let them, I wondered, contemplating the permanence of my grief.
The routine task became a backdrop to my deeper reflections on permanence and loss. I thought about the fleeting moments of joy scattered like stars across the vast darkness of sorrow. I remembered promises of forever that came into my life, masquerading as hope but proved to be illusions. I had once believed, eagerly drinking in the dream of belonging somewhere in this vast world. And how I hid behind those layers, but now I have to stand in this moment of forced truth. Now, I understand the impermanence of it all . Everything I once cherished seemed to be destined to perish, to dissolve into ashes, much like the logs on that pyre.
With a heavy heart, I envisioned erasing the physical embodiments of my pain. My mind wandered to the catharsis of destruction—of setting fire to the house that never felt like a home and to the presence within it that stifled my breath. The thought of flames consuming it all brought a twisted solace.
I imagined striking a match, the sharp scrape and the sudden burst of flame bringing both destruction and renewal. The house would burn, and with it, the stifling presence of the man who could never understand. As the fire roared to life, I pictured myself watching the fierce dance of yellows and oranges, a perilous display of nature’s unchecked power claiming victory over what once was.
The crackling of the fire would fill the air, the heat intensifying as it devoured everything in its path. I would feel the warmth on my skin, smell the acrid scent of burning memories, and listen to the relentless sound of my past being reduced to ashes. And as the flames reached out for me, I would ask them to embrace me gently, to carry me away from the remnants of a life that no longer held any joy.
This fantasy, both vivid and violent, was strangely beautiful, an end to the old, making way for the unknown. As I sat back, the tears dried on my cheeks, and I found a grim determination settling in my heart. What tomorrow would bring was uncertain, but tonight, I silenced the cacophony of noises in my head. I lit up the fireplace to keep me warm and set ablaze the thoughts of ending it all, and in the crackling wood I found a calm, a gentle flame that broke my fall.
Anvesha Bhanot
Correspondent
Renesa
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