Mirror O Mirror

For the first time in months, I am by myself in this 2 BHK flat for the weekend. My brother went to Delhi on a surprise visit for our father's birthday. My room mate has went to his grandparents' native place. We've been staying together for 6 months now. Before that, I stayed alone in a 1 BHK flat for one and a half years.

I stand before the mirror to look at myself.

I look at my head. The hair are cropped quite short, a hairstyle I opted because it could hide my receding hairline. It didn't succeed. The inverted W gets more prominent every time when I look at the mirror.
There's a pustule on my forehead, a little right to where a woman might wear a bindi.
My eyes have sunk a little back, and the skin beneath my eyes is strikingly darker. I wasn't aware of this until my parents and my colleagues pointed this out. You don't notice these small changes that happen to you.
Both my ears feel warm. The liberal hair growth on my body hasn't spared the lower edges of my ears.
A little right to my nose, an inch below my right eye, there's a pustule which is breathing it's last. It will be gone in a day or two.
My upper lip, which looks slight greyish-pink, reminds me of smokers. I don't smoke.
My lower lip is chapped in a few places, near the centre and the centre right. In the centre, there's a small black mark. It's from the dried blood from yesterday. Towards the right, it's comparatively fresher.
There's another pustule at the right corner of my lips, almost touching the lower lip. It burst earlier in the day.
Below the cheek bone, I have a beard that is two weeks old. Above that, it's just two days old.
A few chest hairs are springing out from the collar of my shirt.
I am wearing a black t-shirt. I am wearing army pyjamas which have have US Army written over the knee pockets. I've been wearing it for over 10 years now. The once stark blacks and whites are now fading. The threads of the stitches are finally getting free. Anything that is fed to the right pocket is vomited to the ground.

I am sweating a little since the fan is switched off.
I am not willing to trade the comfort of the fan with the killing of the silence.
The silence makes me more aware.


  1. It is in silence that I find myself, love the creation and bask in the glory of my being.


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