The watch....

He sat there. His chin resting on the palm of his right hand while his elbow rested on the knees, the other hand laid across his lap. The beach wasn’t rocky. There were no rocks to be seen around except for the one he sat on. It was big enough to sit on but small enough so you didn’t have to climb. His hair though normally dark took a strange red dye from the glow of the dying sun that now bathed this part of the world with his calm resignation, tired but content in the knowledge that this wasn’t the end. It would fight yet and it would fight till one day it can’t fight no more and then it would but consume this world like many others have been consumed in the fury of destruction. The dark may win but only ruins of what it fought for. Fragments of the universe broken into pieces, shredded into non existence. He held on to the watch in his left hand, holding it in his palm while his thumb traced mysterious patterns on the glass dial. An absent minded gesture of a man lost in his thoughts, his gaze directed towards the waves that didn’t come crashing but rather sneaked in on to the beach. Silent but for the murmured apologies they offered to the small crabs as they filled up every hole the little creatures dug in the sand, first with water and then with sand as they retreated to join the ocean, pregnant with earth. It was a strange battle to watch. The crabs dug holes with ease in the wet sand. The waves filled them up without effort. And the crabs surfaced as each wave passed and dug themselves a new one. “You don’t build a house on sand” murmured the waves each time. The crabs didn’t mind the lesson. They just went on digging. And while this battle of ages raged he sat watching. But he didn’t have eyes for the crabs, or ears for the murmuring waves. Oblivious to the gulls cackling in the sky and unmindful of the sea breeze that ruffled his hair, he sat watching her. These sights didn’t hold his interest anymore. He had become used of this environment. The serenity was gone, the peace lost, this place had turned into a painting on his wall. It used to mesmerize him once; the brush strokes brilliant, the colors bold, awe inspiring and he sat and watched it for an eternity. The canvas was still untouched but rusting under his gaze the brushstrokes went limp, the colors faded, the inspiration shrunk into nothingness. If anything, he learnt this. That one grows accustomed to everything. No matter the beauty or bliss, no matter the hideousness or sorrow. Man grows accustomed to his environment. Give him time, give him patience and his senses grow numb to what once prevailed upon his existence. It’s always a matter of time. Who could claim to know this better than him, or her? And now he gazed at her, resting in her movements, despairing at every step she took. Watching her 

He kept her with an intense gaze as she walked towards the waves. Slow in her strides but each step sure. She didn’t look around. Neither did she look back. He wished she would. It had been so long since he had seen her face. Beautiful but expressionless. And that was a moment so long gone that he now couldn’t even recall the color of her eyes. They were a strange brown. Or were they hazel? He couldn’t be sure of it now. He couldn’t even recall or count the number of years either, he realized with a smile. How old was he now. He was 27 the first time he had sat here, watching her. Many times he had tried to will her into looking back at him. In the hope that this strange moment they both shared must have linked them somehow. But she didn’t. Or maybe there was no connection at all. Maybe he was just someone she had chanced to meet while on her way to death. He wondered if she ever thought of him. She must have. Long evenings he had spent mulling over similar thoughts. He watched her now as she walked towards the sea, her small feet crushing the water laden sand with ease. Not studying her as she moved. His gaze didn’t bounce off her curves, didn’t linger on the swell of her breasts, nor got entangled in her auburn hair flowing with the wind. It tried to penetrate more than her clothes. It tried to peel off the skin, the appearance in an effort to solve the puzzle of her existence. Short lived as it was. His gaze held on to her till the very end. Watching every step she took, as slowly her ankles and then her knees disappeared underwater. The waves were soon lashing around her waist. Her tunic bunched around her now floating in the water leaving her naked for the sea to ravish. He kept watching as slowly only her head remained over water, never turning away to look at the wave that suddenly rose large and crashed on her. His gaze held on to her till the last moment, when suddenly the sea tried to pull the last strands of her hair away from him. He let go, so she could sink. She didn’t struggle, she never did. She just went underwater as if she were a fish. Letting go of her breath and swallowing the saline water willingly, letting the sea claim her for her own.

“Just like the last time” he thought. Nothing changed. He could play the scene in his mind now, having watched it time and time again. He always came back here, choosing to start from the start. And every time he’d start again he would watch her, repeatedly. She always died and he always watched.

                                                                     

She sat on the chair, rocking it with her feet. The motion soothed her, comforted her, and reminded her of him. She had spent uncountable evenings sitting in his lap while he sat on the chair reading stories to her, while her hands played with his beard. The stories used to fascinate her, as did his beard. But that had been long ago. The books were here but the voice was gone, along with the grey beard and the comfortable lap. Burnt to ashes and scattered in river. She had held him in a brass pot. The last time she had held him she couldn’t even grasp his hand with hers. He was a big man, but death had reduced his existence to nothingness, fire had claimed his person and all that was left were bony fragments of the lap she had grown up in. She had reached to see the fire dead and then waited for embers to die out. She had waited as they picked the ash for his remains. She wasn’t allowed to do it. And when they collected his ashes and poured them into the brass pot, few bones that hadn’t burnt clanked against the brass. They had then handed over her grand dad to her. She sighed at the recollection and looked around in an effort to stop her tears. The chair sat opposite the window. From here she had a clear view of road. She watched the traffic and wondered how many evenings he had spent waiting here, watching for a familiar vehicle to drive up to the porch. It was the first floor of the two storey house and a perfect place to keep an eye out for visitors. 10 years, 10 long years with only letters, emails, phone calls and an occasional video chat. 10 years of waiting for the only family he had to come and see him. He never asked her to come. He simply asked what her plans were. His affection was nonchalant but strong. He would never inquire too much or become emotional. He was more like a fond friend then a grandfather. He seemed strangely detached from life. Even as a child she was able to sense that. He would let her sit in his lap and read stories to her if she asked, but never would he do it on his own accord. Left to himself he would sit and write. She had once asked him what he was writing. “Oh! I’m simply trying to remember all the lives I’ve lived” he had said smiling at her. He would write no more she thought, and she would never ask him that question. The thought brought back the memories of his funeral. It had been too much for her. And she had cried. The memory made her chest constrict. She couldn’t breathe. The room overwhelmed her. She tried to stem the tears and breathe but couldn’t. Her lungs grew tighter and her vision clouded. She surrendered herself to the waves of sorrow that crashed within her and a cry of anguish escaped her lips as she exhaled and tears started flowing from her eyes. It lasted a few minutes and she lost all consciousness of her surroundings. When she came to she realized she was breathing heavy. She let out a sigh and tried to compose herself. She realized she was clutching the box with both her hands. Once her breathing became regular she glanced at it. She wanted to open it and see what he had left her. But it made her feel bad. She loathed herself for being selfish.