Saturday, June 27, 2009

Autopsy of a broken heart

One day I killed a heart and invited my love specialist friends to perform a post-mortem. I stood over the heart, which was kept on a plate, smiling with mirth and euphoric over my victory. I ripped it open with a knife and all of us bent over it to know – what all a lover's heart contains? All of us had wished that someone dies for us but I was the first to make a heart die for me. What a prized possession it was! Believe me, the joy of having a lover to trample over his feelings, to kill emotionally – inch by inch and to know someone is completely at your disposal, is unparalleled. Call it the vanity of the beloved or whatever but it gives such a high to kill a heart.

I killed that particular heart easily. I kept my eyes open to see, who's the most vulnerable and reliable of the lot and went for the kill. When I saw her coming under my spell, I started ignoring her. It perplexed her and she started pursuing me with all her might. One moment I smiled at her, the other moment I smiled at her rival. I took all favours from her as my right, made her run errands for me, mocked her inability to fulfil my wishes, threw tantrums when it was beyond her means to fulfill those dainty desires. When I saw her completely in my power, I knew it was the time to murder her. I did nothing much, just smiled sweetly and bid 'adieu', stating that I am seeing someone else. That finished her and that's how her heart landed on the plate for a post-mortem. Well, the dissection began. The heart was of a peculiar quality, it was as soft as a new-born babe. I did not dare touch it again with knife. As we stooped to examine the contents, we were too stunned to speak. It was so rich – full of beautiful memories. Like a video-clipping it showed memories of yore. There were so many moments I had seen, but not lived.

It showed the day I first met her, shy and sweet with fluttering lashes. It showed her anger and retort, when others called me a flirt. It showed me her loving care, when I caught cold and sneezed. It showed me, her anticipation of my wants and his attempts to fulfil it beforehand. I saw her preserving those ugly gifts I tossed at her from time-to-time in the name of love. I saw her holding on to my hanky and crying at the time when I had called her names and quarrelled for the first time. I saw her, waiting endlessly for me on chilling nights, when I had chosen to ignore her and hang out with other friends. I saw her, insecure, silent, pathetic, completely at my disposal – a victim of my love game. I saw her gazing at my face for a smile, for approval, for love and what she got was selfish affection. I saw her wincing, her confidence failing, whenever I angrily called her a failure, a stupid loser. The heart showed me her gradual ruin when I shunned her – her lost faith in herself and went into depression. she faltered in studies and became an all-round failure, but one thing revived her even on her deathbed – my name. She would whisper my name in her dreams, sigh and wait for me always.

The day I said I would never come back to her – she died but with smile on her lips and with the hope that I will come back. Something like a tear fell from my eyes on remembering that hollow-eyed familiar face as the heart played another masterpiece - a sweet-sad love symphony. There was also a little love note for me, which said, "Kill me but my love for you will never die." The note was tear-stained. There were other masterpieces also but I could not bear to see them, as my heart was dying. Agitated and guilty, I brutally cut her heart into pieces. But what oozed out was love, love and more love. My friends deserted me on seeing me frenzied and called me a love-maniac. I was left alone with nothing but a dead heart for company. The heart that died painfully was mine; her heart revived and lived, sustained by my tears and memories. I lost all.