The little girl in me was most gratified when I could reflect myself over the shadow of the moon. As a child, anybody would cherish doing it with great sense of accomplishment, no matter how often they do it. Never would that girl in me have thought she had to undergo pains to get over those differently shaped , demon-like shadows of her life.Haunted by these shadows, I lost my peace of mind, my freedom to speak and act, my freedom to think , I lost myself. Finally, I decided to have only my shadow left, reflecting it on things, not otherwise. That very thought gave me goosebumps, for a while I lost again to myself wondering how marvellous it would be when I , the girl in me, the lady in me and ultimately , the woman in me can leave my shadow on still things and on floating objects.
It’s not easy for a woman to dispatch her shadow. Even after her death, the shadow hesitates to move on. Shadows do not haunt a man as much as it haunts a woman. At a later stage in his life he will have a shadow, of his own, which he would want to be reflected on others. My decision to get rid of the numerous shadows wasn’t planned well in advance. Just an accidental decision it was. When the woman in me could not watch on the puppet shows happening around , she thought, that decision would save her from casualties. But then she didn’t know how. There was nobody whom she could have approached, at a stage she attempted for that too, but everyone around her thought it wise to be part of such shows. A woman must cope with such situations, for her sake, for the family’s sake, they said. For the norms of the society doesn’t allow her to be out of the periphery of the shadow encircling her.
She clang to her decision. Every effort of distancing the shadow had a counter reaction. When reactions had counter reactions, she arrived at easy solutions. Reflections ceased to chase her. Gradually she found her own reflection. The first sight of her reflection wasn’t as beautiful as her attitude, she started liking it still.When she coloured it with different shades of valour, its beauty reflected onto herself. She relished the sight of it. The shadow made several attempts to come back strongly, but she didn’t yield. She brought her kids up not allowing them chase any shadows, taught them to make one on their own.
Years later when she looks back presuming to have killed her shadow, she had questions again. She has perpetually succeeded in chasing away those phantoms, but the women around? Plenty of them live in cocoons built by conventions, people and the like shadows. When do they take the sublime step? Do they even plan? As there is a saying,
There’s but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous…don’t flip.