Revolving Armistice -MSF Sadib
From a little girl up to her maternal years, Sanisa has made so many armistices with her mind along with the people around her that it had come to the point to let her existence tossed around, budding dreams hanged and shattered like withered petals in late fall. There has been times she would attempt for an escape from the universal reality and crawl into her own. But when she does she acknowledges that there are voids that she drags in her reality that was built unintentionally from the speculation of those armistices. Sanisa looked at Rohock. Her husband was engaged in a deep trance state of activity at knotting his shoes. While her husband was doing his thing Sanisa glanced at his broad jaw with which had developed a white beard crease line. Sanisa never felt like keeping track of time ever since she moved in this foreign country with her husband. Now whenever she looks at Pollock’s beard she subconsciously knows, just the amount of years that had flown away by the change of his beard colour. Pollock was done with his shoes but he didn’t quite liked the design of socks he was wearing. He hated the white strips on socks probably because the hard turmoil of life looses it’s perception of the soothing of white. He flinched and looked at Sanisa with a face of rancor impression written all over.
“How on earth did I get my hands on this stripped sock. God! it’s giving me a cringe. Sanisa, bring me another pair”
But Sanisa was hardly listening to anything Pollock was asking for. She was already lost in those erected white beards in Pollock’s jaw while counting her bygone times.
“Are you even listening to me?” said Rohock snapping his fingers.
Relapsing back to the reality Sanisa was dumbfounded. She put on a smile to hide her embarrassment.
“Sorry, I might have dossed off. The nights are getting long, so is my sleep. , already eloped with the chanting poems I used to remember. what was it you were talking about?”
“Never mind. it’s no big deal”replied Pollock in an indifferent tone. He looked at Sanisa in a pensive mood. Her shoulder length brunette hair with sharp fringes glowing with her morning numbness. Her eyes puffy from the eerie insomnia. Both of them were locked in an uneasy sudden eye contact, which both of them knew convicted nothing short of a hideous understanding. “Will you be joining for dinner tonight?” asked Sanisa, twirling her hair. She does that when she gets nervous about any approaching answer. Pollock gave a final nudge to his NYPD badge.
“I wish I had a definite answer to that question. If I’m assigned to any extra overnight hours…. . well you know the rest. Just put them on the table if it gets late”.
Without further ado Rohock walked to the door. Sanisa was looking at the blue ceiling when she heard the door slammed shut. She had the whole day to herself. Being an immigrant and a housewife meant an awful reduction in her social time. Not that she complains to any of this. After all this was all part of her judicious armistices that she’s been making with her life. Often she recalls her jovial time in her little room back in Bangladesh that had a similar blue ceiling. How marvelous time she had with her little sister. Unlike Sanisa her sister was haggling with a boy who considered her little sister a star of his eye. He would do frenzy things for her little sister, which according to the statement of Sanisa’s sister was branded as “A cheap romeo act”. Sanisa grinned at the thought. It reminds of her own lost love she cherished once. She looked through the window and gave a quick glance around her neighbourhood. They’re akin to strangers for her. The only familiar thing that she finds close to her is the soothing morning breeze. She loves to have the vivid notion that through revolving movements this wind comes from Bangladesh overnight to give her a perfect morning company. So she made an armistice with the morning breeze too. In exchange of this gleeful company she would often sing “valo achi, valo theko” to the gentle breeze. As the wind blows she fathoms that all these armistices are getting too tiring for her. From one comes another. Often as pain; pale as the blue ceiling itself. She always imagines of a colossal offshore where she would pick up things, she had left off. Perhaps there will be an existence of such precious day. Until then Sanisa has to revolve with these armistices as her thoughts touch across time.