She was no ordinary girl. She was a different creature altogether, the one I had always...
|I am not sure if I can use ‘she’ for her, it might downgrade her identity. I’ll use it for the sake of
convenience and since there is no word appropriate at all, including ‘she’.
She was no ordinary girl. She was a different creature altogether, the one I had always looked for. This
way of finding the one was more challenging than other ways, where people first meet other people and
then try to enforce harmony by employing compromises. My frame was already established and I had
looked for the blank space since I realized I had two eyes. My eyes were also the one who had sought for
a being like her, not my heart. This is the story of the discovery of the most perfect human being I have
ever seen. Well, I have not really seen her as such, but still, you will know…
She used to tread the same campus as I did during my first year in college. But she would hardly have
stepped on any road unnecessarily. She went to places only which she had to, it was decided since her
first day in campus. Her march to the lecture halls was well defined, like a planned military group’s. The
number of steps from her hostel to her seat in the hall was counted to the last significant digit and was
fixed; and she put them precisely on the same side of the road as she walked each day. Only one hand
swayed the minimum angle when she walked, the other used to balance her carry bag on her back. She
stuck her chin into her neck as if her eyes remained buried inside the ground beneath. She wore glasses,
the simplest that one could have. Her eyes fixed on her foot, the one which stayed ahead of the other
while she walked, stayed fixed until she sat down on her bench in the classroom, when she could no
more see her feet: the desk on the front blocked the view. Each step was firmly but elegantly placed on
a particular stone of the road all along the way and the stone was faithful to stay there, knowing when
the next time it would be stepped by the same foot with the same impact and waited for it; there could
not be aberrations of a minute, over months. She walked as though the road curved, rose and fell for
her, as she directed. Her pace was that of a rolling leaf in the wind: neither very fast nor very slow, but
constant- they rolled uniformly, trying unconsciously her best not to attract attention. Attention of
anything that could have noticed her: people, birds, trees, leaves, waters, winds and other stones
embedded on the same road. Her steps did not make a single sound. They danced magically as if in
vacuum. The stones in the road had agreed to the pact and they did not clap against her sandals either.
For people who did not intend to make themselves noticed to her, she did not exist either, on the road
When she walked, the surrounding tried to complement her presence, not the other way, so that it
could match the perfection exhibited by a new creature in the campus. But it failed. The leaves fluttered
in the swinging winds, so that they could dance in the wind she had disturbed, but there was no wind
disturbed by her at all: her pace had promised to never disturb a single gust whenever she moved, to
never leave even a transient clue that she had just crossed the place. The huge buildings around shone
tall and straight, tried their best to make their own presence felt, but again without success. Everything
and everyone around her was trying the same: to make their presence felt to her. But she would not
look up. Not once, for all the months. She did what she did every day, nothing else in this world existed
when she was around, just her eyes, and her foot, to look at with her eyes. Her glasses protected her
eyes. Not from winds or dust, but from the briefest looks others tried to toss at her so frequently. Her
glasses were her veil.
Her eyes were the window of the outside world that opened into her. But access required her to look at
the observer as well. She did not need to shut her eyes, she moved them away. She allowed just her feet
and probably her sandals to peek into her, when she walked. Sometimes even the feet were not lucky
enough: she used to stare at the air between her eyes and her feet. One glance by a stranger could have
assaulted her to destruction. Such was the burden carried by her eyes. When in the class, she did not
look at the instructor, it was not required. When the instructor tried to look at the screen behind
himself, she used to give the screen a chance to see her, to know what was deep inside her. But the eyes
were faithfully back, staring again at nothing between her notebook and her glasses within moments.
She never looked much and that is a mystery. Perhaps she did not want the world around to spoil her
perfection by sharing looks: her looks were her most prized possessions. When talking to a friend sitting
aside, looking was not necessary, and besides, there was a fear of a look being stolen by a stranger as
her sight traveled past half the front part of the hall to get fixed at her friend sitting just beside her.
Everything else about her had to keep up to her eyes, her eyes were the only parts controlled
consciously by her. All other parts seemed to take orders from her eyes and confirm to them as strictly
as anyone could possibly be when alive. Her principles were like those of a dead human, resting in its
coffin. Her eyes had their own standards. They did not let others around to get a peek into her. They
were selfish of the creature inside and proud as well, because they belonged to such a human who was
the closest anybody could be to absolute perfection. Perfection in anything and everything: her gait, her
pace, her posture, her sternness, her breath, her voice and her movements. Probably also about her
decisions, her thoughts and her reason. But that is another mystery.
Her voice was the faintest that could be. It seemed as if they came out of multiple voice boxes and
underwent in an interference that cancelled each other out at locations past the ears they were hissed
at. No one passing by could have any idea of the words she uttered. They were precious too. For the
entire first year I noticed her, they were meant to be only for two other creatures in the campus: her
two friends. Both of them were girls themselves and I also believe that they were the luckiest ones ever.
Well to an extent, I was lucky too. But like anybody other than the two girls, I did not complete a glance
at her. Her stubborn eyes were too proud to check out the guy who was a real and possibly the only real
admirer among all of them around. I tried to catch a view of them when I had a chance, but like the tall
buildings and the dancing leaves, I failed too.
In the lecture hall, she used to sit on the same chair every time in the same manner, in every class. It
was like a rule to be followed, just like anything else about her, polished to perfection. Every move was
synchronized when she sat, like a rehearsed orchestra. Her hand with the bag moved forward with the
same elegance that her feet took position and her legs bent. She occupied the minimum portion of the
chair necessary for balance. Her spine stood straight, but her head remained buried, now in the
concrete below her chair, if not the constellations of stars on the opposite side of the planet. Her book
appeared on her desk eventually and her eyes took their position: in the air between her glasses and her
The discovery I have disclosed is a result of my most sincere attempts at understanding the creature
who is the subject of this note. Like other people that existed in the other reality, I was out of her story:
her eyes were the fort that guarded her being from any approach. I had aimed at them at times, hoping
for good luck but to no effect. I used to take my position in a fixed place too, towards her right side
behind her and quite away from her. That was the closest I could be. I tried to keep that constant. Her
presence had made my classes to have a reason. I attended most of them. She attended all. When I
started off from my hostel, I knew she would be there, in the same seat today as any other day. I also
remembered about her fort that guarded her and the stern with which they guarded her identity. I had
to come to the classes. She was the reason for some days that I attended classes.
During the lectures, with her books, her glasses and the air in between, a pen used to dance between
her fingers. Sometimes it used to jot things that made sense. Most of the time, they moved in repeated
circles to make some shapes that hardly made sense to me. Though I could not make out the shapes
distinctly from the distance, I noticed her pen in mischief as other students did their own affairs around.
But her pen held up always: no one could notice her not making complete notes, even though they were
not really mandatory. The weird shapes came out on the back of the book though. I used to wonder in
astonishment why she did not make complete notes. She used to write a line or two at times but it was
in surges. Her not having interest in lectures was quite obvious. What was not obvious was the fact that
she still attended each of them. Not attending would have attracted attention too, by the way. Deviating
from any norm would have caused a spur and would have attracted attention. Lectures were meant to
be attended, so she attended them.
Her pen, books and the bag were the only things that caused imperfection to her exhibition. Her eyes
could not help when once her pen played mischief with its owner. The pen had remained faithful until it
crossed limits and it committed the sin. Before she could notice it, there was ink all over her fingers and
her hand. When her eyes discovered the attack attempt, they were infuriated. Nothing had ever tried to
disobey their commands. The pen had cheated on it. However, it was too late and the pen had done its
job. Her fingers were stained ink blue. The back of her hands were also spoiled all over. She had to do
something and hide it. She tore off some sheets of paper from the back of her book and rubbed her
hands to wipe off the dirty ink. She did it with regret as well as anger. Regret for not noticing it few
moments earlier and anger for the cheating by a mere pen. One sheet after another, the ink on her
fingers muffled from dark spots to a uniform tone and covered her entire palm of both her hands.
Rubbing her bright fingers caused the red of the beneath to peek from between the blue all over. She
could not prevent the flush on her face either. Her eyes grew vigilant. It was no less than a military
attack on the empire she used to carry.
We had attended lectures just during the first year at college, after which our paths differentiated; she
belonged to a different department than mine. During the lucky one year, there used to be weeks when
I did not notice her, but the realization came too late: when the next time my eyes caught her sight. This
was since she had done her best in not making her presence felt. One could be easily deceived about her
presence. It was not unlike her absence. She left no signs and clues of her movements and activities. Her
chores were carried out behind the disguise of obviousness, as perfectly as a task one does not do! It
was indeed the perfection associated with an undone task, an abandoned, neglected and comfortably
I had later realized that it was sad those eyes did not allow anybody in. What if someday she would have
to surrender to someone her eyes did not approve of? It would be difficult! I had myself dreamt of
participating in her perfection, in a manner she would approve. But probably the guards of her fort had
indicated that I was not up to the mark. I did not deserve a look from her. i had to explain this to my
eyes, saying a look could be completed only when it was returned, which needed to fulfill some
requirements. Thus, I had not really looked at her, since she never returned back a look! Moreover, I
myself accepted the fact that perfect things like her were only to be admired from a distance. Of course,
would you like to hug the mighty Sun?