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Her eyes look so tired, surrounded with black circles as if they have seen all they had ever wanted to. The cream she used to use to cover them up lies untouched. Her hair a lustrous brown then, is now a dull lifeless grey, her pen lies untouched by the window sill…I have not seen her smile in years now…

Has she lost the zest to live? To write? When did all the beauty disappear? Was it when her husband died… no I guess not, because I remember her smiling and living…as strong as an oak for everyone else around her…Must have been the quake at Gujarat because no one has ever visited her place after that…I have not seen the child who used to run down the stairs screaming “ammama” in years now…

There are so many questions and I grapple in the dark corners of my mind in search of the answers. But as usual I find none, there are too many dark spaces in my memory…A sigh escapes my lips. I wish I could bring back all the laughter her life, all the excitement, the little joys…but I don’t know how to…

The feeling of helplessness rises, until I can take it no more; I cannot keep gazing at her like this, and dash the mirror in my hand on the floor, trying to find satisfaction if not answers in the splinter of broken glass…

A solitary whisper reaches my ear “This is the 5th mirror she has broken in last month, make sure she gets none from now”.

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