Char Bagh The sixth sense Steven was mesmerized, as her name boomed from the microphone.

Agnes never ceased to amaze him with her grace. Wearing a long, blue ‘gown’; a blue deep enough to have the depth of the sea and light enough to not look wispy; She walked to the stage holding her escort’s hand, her gait trembling a little, her frame lean and tall, pensive eyes that shone, one could maybe spot a tear as she slowly stepped down the stage after her speech. “Mrs. Watson, how did it all start?.... Ma’am you’re a Noble Laureate now, how does it feel?” hHis firm hand held her wrinkled, delicate hand gently. His arm holding her around the shoulders led her away to their car above the buzzing questions of the reporters. “Water, grandma?” She nodded. Steven offered her a small bottle of water and Agnes drank deeply, content as always with the drink of life. Steven smiled, she looked young again. He had seen her old man’s photograph. He knew there they had to fall in love. There was no other way with her. “It started at Char Bagh”, her voice quivered. “Char Bagh?” Her wrinkles quivered as she began with a deep seated excitement he never believed there could exist in a woman this age. But then, who knew all about her? “I began writing at a young age Steven. But it wasn’t unless I saw the wall statue of five senses that I realized what writing, or for that matter any art meant”. He listened intently. “I knew the theory, I knew from reading that I should indulge my readers’ senses, but not how to do it until...” 7001189130 Anupama Garg

“Until” ? “Until that assignment, when I had to depict tall pillars, the scent of grassy soil, a cold, wet, winter day. The fountain, the grid of the roof, hanging vines, green quarters and fountain with stone benches. It was so much and I just didn’t know what to write for a week”. “And then, Gods must have smiled”, she chuckled.”I managed 5 senses. Forgave myself for not doing the 6th”, her quivering gentle voice sounded sad and distant suddenly, or did he imagine? She suddenly gasped for breath to startle him. “Rob. Hospital. Now!!!”, he shouted. The car screeched through the road, running to the nearest hospital. His tall, muscular, strong frame suddenly hunched, tears rolling down freely, remembering her last words, “I managed the sixth too, son. I met your old man. Love is all that was missing in my writing”. “Forty years have gone by. I found love, and I love my art”, Steven smiled to his grand daughter. The car halted. They were home.


Anupama Garg

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