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She stood at the edge of the pond for a long time, quietly letting the swarm of tropical mosquitoes settle over her calves. Wet weeds pressed around her ankles and a bunch of tall stalks caressed her neck and face. The water hyacinth crowded across the surface of the pond, a solid carpet that almost tempted her to step forward. The light was fading fast and the unkempt garden was being shrouded in that vague lacy darkness that marks the witching hour. And that is what made her believe that if she did step onto that floating green carpet she would be able to walk right across.
To be perfectly honest with herself, she didn’t mind if that bloom of waxy floating leaves didn’t hold her up. She was as willing to slip through them and go under as the water rippled around her and rearranged the leaves to cover it all up. No one was there, disappeared without a trace as if no one named Megha had ever been there. Eyes closing and feet almost slipping in the wet mud, her extremities were on the verge of giving up all structure and control. And then it came.
A streak of bright blue cut through the heavy violet, illuminating a thin swathe of the pond. The light settled on the surface of the water hyacinth bloom, without causing a single ripple. It was a dragonfly, iridescent, jewel-toned and unlike any she had ever seen. It was bigger than most dragonflies, and as the light dimmed a little she could see its glistening body. First, it reflected the purple skies above. And then not.
She could see her father in the reflection now, playing with a 5-year-old her at the beach. Sandcastles for a beat, and then a 25-year-old her sitting by the window in the bus that went from Ernakulam to Wayanad. An 18-year old her sitting at the college canteen and Mayur sitting down opposite her and introducing himself, his curls bobbing around his face and the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled and extended his hand. The smell of chicken curry hit her even before she saw her 10-year-old self sitting down at the dinner table as her mother ladled the light and flavourful curry onto her plate, telling her that she could swim in that much curry.
She kept staring at the dragonfly, thinking about blue-green mountains outside her hotel window and spoonfuls of curd and sugar eaten in a rush before leaving for her 10th boards. She tasted that in her mouth, and then felt the tears running down her face. And then she felt the desire to smile for the first time in months, the sensation strange against her lips. Wispy tendrils of something akin to joy floated through her, like the faint happiness that comes from re-discovering a favorite song after years of having forgotten about it.
The dragonfly was now reflecting a dark, star-studded sky. Megha turned and walked through the tall grass, back home.
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