When the drama had unfolded, Kekda Man tried speaking. But his words failed him. All imperative alphabets seemed to have been replaced by underscores. What was left behind looked like a crossword puzzle somebody had tried solving. And failed at gloriously. Rendered quite helpless thus, he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Chirkut Lady just looked on in another direction, the lights failing to light up the emotions in her eyes, as if an invisible veil had been drawn over them. With a start, Kekda gets up.
“You wrote all this in a week? I would take ages!” he was genuinely surprised. And perhaps a little jealous. Green was always the colour that came most easily to him. The details of another revelation were almost lost on him. Or perhaps this was just a crude distraction.
“I don't need time to write,” pat came the reply. The very next second, she hesitated a little, as if checking herself from saying something even more scandalous. Embarrassed by his own question, Kekda smiled in wonder at her vanity. Perhaps she saw through him, for she did not know whether to smile or keep a straight face. As he walked back, he shook his head in silent amazement. How accurate was her own appraisal of herself! Even if it were pride, so true. So true.
