Eternal Sunshine

Something about her felt odd. I couldn't put my finger on it until I noticed her feet. She had worn mismatched shoes. 

One was a dull grey suede with tiny sequins embedded in the front and it had a slightly raised heel.

The other was a worn out flat sandal, with criss-cross straps buckled at the ankle.

Ahh! That explained her tilted walk.

A transparent plastic sheet covered her head perhaps to protect herself from the unpredictable rains. Every now and then wisps of silvery hair managed to escape the sheet and kept fanning her face. 

But what was mystical about the lady was not her bizarre way of dressing or her crooked walk. On a closer look, I noticed that she wore bangles in both her hands, a dozen too many that went all the way up to her forearms.

Not in any set pattern the bangles were a warm, colourful mix of glass, metal, plastic and whatnot. The plastic ones had garish beads studded on them, while the metal ones were a mix of gold and silver. But most part of her arms was adorned with glass bangles ranging in different shades. From a burnished red and orange, to a livid purple. Few, matched the colour of the sky; all in blue hues. A delightful mix of colours simply stood out.

Perhaps, on someone else's hands the bangles might have looked highly outrageous and may have invited mockery but on hers they felt just right. As if they all came together and produced a fantastic piece of art that so enhanced and dazzled both her hands.

As she kept dragging her feet along, she managed to arouse some queer stares from people on the street on her quirky appearance and strange way of dressing. 

With her chin up, the slightly tilted walk, wearing all her finery, hair in a bun and the bangles jangling in the background, her look was marred at so many counts.

But despite all odds she still carried an aura of wholesomeness around her that couldn't go unnoticed.

She seemed content in her own world.

*******

In his fifties, he looked older than his age which felt exaggerated because of the shock of curly white hair he carried atop his head. Sunken eyes and droopy eyelids, he stood at the edge of a footpath with his toes sticking out from his oversized slippers. His arms folded behind, he stood there watching the stream of people going up and down the stairs. Some of them sprinting, trashing empty tea cups into the nearby bin while on their way to take a metro to unknown destinations, maybe ones he had never visited himself. 

Moments passed by and I notice him peering down at the ground below. What had caught his fascination was a bright red packet of half-eaten biscuits. Quickly taking stock of his surroundings, he removes one foot from his slipper and manages to delicately entwine the biscuit wrapper between both his toes. In a fraction of a second I see him holding the biscuit packet in both his hands and he is hungrily devouring at it's contents. Traces of crumbs are stuck on his upper lip but he is not to be bothered as there is a childlike excitement written all over his face.

My imagination stretches far and beyond. And for a moment, 

I think what if the bohemian lady, the one with her shiny bangles whom I had seen earlier in the day crosses path with this old man whom I am watching now.

Will the old man offer his biscuits to her?

Will she accept it, her bangles jangling in the background as she bites into the biscuit?

Will time stop still for them?