They trooped in sombre yet noisy. That quiet bustling sort of noise that characterizes a family. The noises you make when you've been with the three people all your life. The people who've seen you since you were twenty four inches tall to when you were six feet tall.
The husband was a tall lean man. Fashionably grey at the temples , spectacles that foretold hours of reading. A scholar. Deep lines on his face.Laugh lines? Worry lines? Neither? The wife suitably garish. Loud. Scandal perhaps? A lover tucked away somewhere? The girl was pretty. Pretty in the way most Indian girls aren't. Her hair rudely sliced off at a jaunty angle and then coloured a flaming pink. A girl just finding her indentity probably .Vaguely pretty. The boy was tall and walked with long loping strides. Spectacles hid his face as did his overwhelming shyness. Probably didn't know of a world that existed beyond his physics text book. Had that clumsy awkwardness of a boy tucked inside the body of a man.
I looked into the bottle of wine that held their reflection. I detested it as much as I detest alcohol. The memories I try so hard to forget flood back. Standing up I fling the bottle against the wall beside me. Every shattered piece reflects a million families back.
All broken .And all bleeding little drops of wine.
The husband was a tall lean man. Fashionably grey at the temples , spectacles that foretold hours of reading. A scholar. Deep lines on his face.Laugh lines? Worry lines? Neither? The wife suitably garish. Loud. Scandal perhaps? A lover tucked away somewhere? The girl was pretty. Pretty in the way most Indian girls aren't. Her hair rudely sliced off at a jaunty angle and then coloured a flaming pink. A girl just finding her indentity probably .Vaguely pretty. The boy was tall and walked with long loping strides. Spectacles hid his face as did his overwhelming shyness. Probably didn't know of a world that existed beyond his physics text book. Had that clumsy awkwardness of a boy tucked inside the body of a man.
I looked into the bottle of wine that held their reflection. I detested it as much as I detest alcohol. The memories I try so hard to forget flood back. Standing up I fling the bottle against the wall beside me. Every shattered piece reflects a million families back.
All broken .And all bleeding little drops of wine.
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