Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Moving past the 'taboo'

'What is a taboo?'

'A taboo is something you want but can't have'

'...something that makes people uncomfortable'

'....something we are not ready for'

I wanted to be unapologetic about the dream. In a way, I was. In reality, I was yet to feel the fierce force of desire. In the dream, the bus was trudging through the mountains, accompanied by the dark clouds above, guiding us through the meandering ways.

We were seated in two of the front-row seats, the rest of the passenger sat interspersed, making the bus look oddly empty.

I don't know what I was thinking. But I was awfully lonely and cold. I wanted validation. That I wasn't this pesky writer, whose only job was to reflect inwards and produce voluminous literary works out of experiences she never had. 

At times, maybe I was too picky about the company I wanted around me, the food I ate, the drinks I refused and the men I dated. It was a conscious decision to not let someone peek into my soul. Even during moments of disarray I was selective about the information I gave out to the people; especially the ones closest to me.

I didn't ask them if I looked fat in my ugly dress. 

I assumed the answers instead. 

The protagonists of my book were strong heady women who made men crave for them. For whom love was pragmatic; almost like a business transaction were the pro's and cons need to be weighed before signing a deal. In my head, I constantly envied them for their confidence. 

But today the only thing on my mind was this man sitting beside me, looking outside the window, humming faintly. It was quite distracting.

After some time he turned to look at me.

'Could you please tell me the time?'

'It's almost four.'

His eyes were of a curious shade of hazel, I noticed.

'Thanks,' he said barely opening his mouth.

As the bus moved along, those travelling with family took turns sleeping and guarding their hefty belongings. But not both of us. He just had his back-pack and I, a tote. 

Around six, for some reason (also maybe because it was a dream) most of the passengers were in various stages of their afternoon nap. Some snoring vigorously, mumbling incoherent words or being ominously silent.

I was writing in my diary, phrases mostly about the journey and what I had observed so far.

My neighbour's existence didn't matter to me till then. But the next five seconds would change everything. 

"Sorry I don't meant to intrude, but I have read all your books. I found them quite intriguing."

It wasn't the first time someone told me that they like what I write. But his words engulfed me, with a fatal realisation that all this while I have been too hard on myself, unknowingly imposing restrictions on myself; when all I wanted, was to be free.

"Also," he added.

"I think you're much more beautiful in real life. Not that you don't look good in your photos and in interviews..."


My mouth was on his. Breathing heavily. He was surprised but he complied to my sudden whim, cupping my face, removing the hair from my face; which was flushed in an instant. 

I pushed him to the window and kept kissing him, hot tears flowing down my face. He pulled me closer to him and unbuttoned my sweater.

"Are you sure you want this?"

I nodded.

Standing awkwardly against the window, I felt the first thrust in all its absolution. Several others followed soon after. I clutched his jacket and let out a slight moan. My inner thighs were wet with blood and instead of cleaning it up straightaway, I chose to sit for a while, regaling in its glory.

He smiled at me. I muttered a 'thank you'.

He guffawed. 'Anytime.'

And then, I woke up.

Taboo, an author writes, is something we are not ready for. But when we are ready; it pushes us to dive of the cliff and let go. When we are ready, it sets us free.

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