A Black Affair
I knew it was time to get ready; the guests would be arriving soon. I really hated the crowds, but these dinner parties were a part of our life style. I looked out of the window, today was ‘Amavasya’ or ‘The No Moon Night’; my favourite time of the month, no moon to light up the dark black night sky. The twinkling stars in all their glory and endless stories the night held in my imagination. This moonless night came once a month as my close friend shared all my secrets and hid them in its darkness.
The clock chimed, drawing my attention back to the party at hand. By the eighth chime I had already reached my closet, opened the doors and started looking at my options. I had a huge collection of clothes, arranged according to the colour, and type. The Indian wear and the western wear. But today I knew what I would pick from, I went straight to the biggest section in my cupboard, the black section, and picked up a bag that had the clothes I purchased yesterday. I took out both the black Dress and the Saree. I was conflicted about what to wear.
Since, the occasion was rather formal, I picked the Black Saree, my favourite outfit. “Nothing can compare to the beauty of a saree and a black one is the best kind of a saree. And as a plus Black always make you look rather thin and chic.” This was my general motto for chosing clothes. I had all kinds of Black Sarees, the silk one with golden border, the plain Chiffon one with beadwork, and the Georgette one with embroidery. The one I picked was a black net one, with a two line black pearl work at the border. I removed the black satin petticoat and the simple black blouse to go with it.
Once I was dressed it was time to do make-up and hair. First I put on my accessories and applied a bit of black Khol under my eyes. I loved Khol. That being the only make up I ever did. Simple and elegant, just the way I liked it. Now it was time to do my hair. I just loved my Long Black hair, all my life I kept my hair long and black. “It is a sign of youth, isn’t it?” I would always ask my mother.
She would laugh and say, “Yes! Nobody asks the age of a person with black hair. You always look young.”
And I have never let anyone cut my hair, I have always worn it long. As I moved the brush through the hair, I decided to tie it up in a loose bun. As I put the last pin in place, the door to the room opened and Sunil walked in. “Ah! Simple, elegant and perfect for the night, my beautiful Wife. Of course you are always as exquisite and lovely as this rare thing,” saying that he held in his hand a perfect Black Rose.
It is a rare flower, and is black yet that flower is so beautiful. I love black roses and everything it stands for. It is an exquisite symbol of beauty and takes a lot of care and precision to grow. To me the gift of a black rose symbolises a love so deep, the colour of love cannot get any darker than black. I smiled and as I took the rose and walked up to the table to put it in the vase, Sunil said that he is going to get ready. While waiting for him, I looked at all the beautiful blackness around me and was inspired. I picked up my black fountain pen and began writing. Well a Writer loves her pens and to me the black fountain pen with black ink held a different kind of charm and elegance. The words flowed,
The black that surrounds me,
Is not darkness that scares,
But the blackness of beauty, and
Little joys so many,
The black night that comforts me,
And is my best friend,
The rose so black, its redder than red
The tender care, it holds, emotions so deep,
The elegant black drape,
The long black hair,
Beauty and youth it shows,
Forever, young and austere,
From the nib flows,
This thick black liquid,
Squiggles and lines, it forms words,
Expressions and emotions captured on paper.
I share with you today,
My pretty black affair,
Black does not always repulse,
Sometimes black captures the heart.