Footprints on the sands of time

The cold seemed to have seeped into my very bones. On other days, the snow would have made me reach out for my guitar and burst into song,

Where is Mona?

She’s long gone

where is Mary?

She’s taken her along

But they haven’t put their mittens on

And there’s fifteen feet of pure white snow?

Where is Michael?

Where is Mark?

Where is Mathew?

Now it’s getting dark …

Whatever the meanings hidden in this song, I just love singing it, whether Nick Cave is talking of cocaine or some other drug, or trying to say that all earthlings are trapped under fifteen feet of snow, I just love the exuberance of this song.

 Where is Mona?

She’s long gone

Now it’s getting dark

Yes, I am drugged on life, life is a drug for me. But today, this very life was coming in the way and making me feel cold, so cold that I could not marshal my guts to walk to the other room to get my guitar. On other days, I could have even called out to the kids, but they were out vacationing at their grandparents’ place and the house would be empty of the prattle of kids for a fortnight more, when the winter break finally came to an end.

 How they love listening to me when I sing this song, almost mesmerized by my actions and my loud full- throated singing, raise your hands up to the sky. When I sing, flinging my arms around, then raising them to the ceiling, the kids too raise their hands, and break into dance.  I will definitely videograph their dance one day.

But right now, I sit near the fireplace shivering, every second tightening the shawl around myself, and adjusting the woolen cap over my head.   Was it because of the cold that I had been shivering or was it the news about the bush fires tearing through cities and rural areas of Australia , leaving millions of people and animals hapless, that had sent a chill up my spine?  So far, nearly 500 million animals had died. I had even seen a video of many kangaroos fleeing the fire, and the moment my eyes fell on the image of a Joey, caught in tangled wire and burnt while trying to escape, I screamed a horrified scream.

Had these bloodcurdling images created havoc in my mind or was it the fight that I had had in my office that was wreaking havoc in my mind? It was a couple of days back in the office that a spat had taken an ugly turn and the colleague had threatened me with dire consequences.  I looked at my watch, it was 3 AM.

Shrugging away the cold, I walked to the window and parted the curtains. The snow- laden pine trees were head- banging, and the wind whistled an ominous tune.  I again shivered imagining scary silhouettes hiding in the dark, waiting to pounce at me any moment. There was some stirring in the trees, may be some half- sleepy birds were fluttering their near- frozen wings. The neighborhood was wrapped in a blanket of deep slumber, unaware of the fact that just an hour back there had been a fresh round of snow.

The neighborhood kids had built a snowman in the garden. It was not the typical snowman, standing smugly with a carrot for a nose, and marbles for eyes, but a snowman which sat on the bench outside with a cigar in its mouth. I was surprised to see that the cigar was missing.  Had the kids taken it away or had it slipped down its mouth?  I tried to peer closer as some shouts fell into my ears. Shouts from the past- shouts of my colleague from a couple of days back.

“Don’t try to throw your weight around, you rogue. Don’t forget, you are not the boss here! I am! You have not seen my true colours. Wait, till I show you. ” The colleague had bellowed, hurling his cigarette stub in the wastepaper basket and quickly lighting another. The chain-smoking scoundrel! He had fretted and fumed, giving vent to a string of invectives, catching me by the scruff of my neck. It was with great difficulty that the other colleagues had managed to extricate me from his clutches.

 The gate of the house creaked. Who had dared to venture out in this frightful weather? Phew! It was almost a blizzard.

 I could hear footsteps.  

 Soft.

 Muffled.

Stealthy.

They were crunching the snow on the driveway. I shuddered.

My insistence on keeping the door open, because of my overwhelming fear of claustrophobia gripping me any time, was well- known.

Someone pushed open the door.

 A sudden rush of cold air punched me bang on the nose and I shivered.

Suddenly the lights went off.  With quivering fingers, I struck a match. Was there someone in the room? A figure was heading towards me, I stifled a scream. I could feel hot breath right on my face as the matchbox fell from my hands.   Before the figure could say something, I saw two hands stretching towards me. Was I hallucinating, or had my imagination gone into overdrive? Before the confusion could be cleared, the hands were on my throat.

“How dare you!” The words were sharp daggers of outraged wrath.

Total silence followed.

 A strong whiff of eerily familiar cigarette smoke permeated the room.

 I could not see the figure around and started feeling panic- stricken and claustrophobic. May be the cold night air would help me get rid of this claustrophobia.   I stumbled out, groping my way forward, as though in a somnambulistic trance, wondering why the vicious wind was not whipping the tassels of my shawl. The ground outside my house was nothing but a sheet of unending snow. I tripped and tumbled, picked myself up, took a few steps again and turned back to see whether I was being followed.

 Suddenly the lights in all the houses came on.

I whirled back.

 The icicles hanging from the awning looked like golden daggers to me.I heard some shuffling a little distance away and glimpsed a figure disappearing behind the honeysuckle bush. Feeling very light-almost lifeless, I no longer shivered, as I looked around in breathless fascination. Everything seemed to appear new, tinged with surreal hues. I thought that the trees clad in pristine white, looked like elegant ghosts, raising their leafy arms upwards for succour.  The simile brought a tiny smile to my lips.

I looked around with more interest in my surroundings, but suddenly my eyes popped out of their sockets and I gasped a soundless gasp.  

I was struck by the sudden realization that I was leaving no footprints on the snow!  

I screamed and screamed, my hands clutching my frozen cheeks. The very picture of Edvard Munch’s The Scream.

But no one heard MY scream.