To the longing Sahara, she was the lusty Nile,

I was a short step, she was a long mile.

I was made of molten lead,
she was colder than the dead,
but I wasnt a necrophile.

That Shadow in blue

- Anuja Shukla
If I were to personify time, I could only call it a
decomposer. It is continuously ending- things and itself.
And endings are famous for being nasty. Its only through
time that raw becomes ripe and gradually, ripe becomes
rotten. Everything shows changes through the course of
time and everyone is the picture of Dorian Gray. It is our
omnipotent master.
The ripening time of anything is like a mans orgasm. It is
also the time of vulnerability, when things are the most
disaster prone.
It was Alis 32nd birthday. He could hear the people
clamoring, and judging by its frequency, he concluded
there must be at least forty people gathered in the hall. He
let out a nervous sigh, and leaned back to take one last
look at himself before he went out. Lara had asked him to
wear his tuxedo, and gel up his wild hair. How should he
tell her, that when he dolls himself up and is piled over
with presents, he feels nothing more than a Christmas
tree. Such attention only made him nervous and
embarrassed, but he had no choice. He was well aware
that Laras temporal lobe was out of service.
2
Ali identified parties by nothing else but their sound,
similar to a thousand buzzing bees. Even though he stood
right in the middle of the party, the surroundings were too
homogenous and smudged to focus on anything in
particular. His eyes rested finally on Lara, and how
beautiful she looked in that blue dresslike a lily-of-the-

Nile. Blue suited her well.

Hed had too much wine and so, he sprawled on the couch
and fell fast asleep.
Soon, he was dreaming. It was the party in the hall. Only it
wasnt his. There were people all around, standing in
groups, and he found it hard to breathe in that space.
Unable to find a door, he sat on the couch. He felt so lost
in this crowd. Where was Lara? His eyes circled around the
room frantically looking for her, but she was probably not
even there. He looked harder and none of the faces looked
familiar to him. He felt strangely frightened and stood up
to move out when suddenly, his eyes met a mans,
standing aloof from the crowd. He was wearing a midnight
blue gabardine suit, and was staring right at him. He tried
hard to identify him but he couldnt. He had never seen
this guy before. Who could he be? Was he a friend from his
school? Or perhaps a very distant relative... While Ali was
thinking of all the options about this mans relation to
himself, the man stared at him as frozen as a photograph.
His gaze was uncomfortable, yet so engaging, Ali found it
impossible to look elsewhere. Slowly, the people around
began to fade, as did the man in blue and he woke up.
The dream was disturbing. He hated attention, and the
mans dead gaze had exhausted him. He couldnt
remember his face; it was so distant and unclear, but he
distinctly remembered the blue in his suit. He was still lost
in thought, when Laras voice broke his focus- Morning
honey, She chirped. Wasnt the party just splendid
yesterday? I told you it would be nice to have people
around. Its always good to have a little change in the
routine.
He smiled. He remembered how much he had longed for
her in that dream.
3
The long, fatiguing day took Alis leave. He snuggled
under the sheets with Lara and soon was heard snoring.
He was awakened by Laras voice. Are you alright? Whats
happening, she said.
I...dont know... whats happening? he sounded

perplexed.
You were almost howling. Is everything ok? A bad
dream?
He stared at her. Just like yesterday, he vividly
remembered the whole dream.
Lara, I have been dreaming about a man in a blue suit for
two days now. Yesterday, he was at a party, and today, I
dreamt he was walking a dog in the park, his gaze glued
to me. I dont know this man either in dreams or waking
life. Yet, his gaze disturbs me hard enough to stay in my
mind for the rest of the day.
I guess its just stress. Let me get you some warm milk.
May be thatll help, said Lara and left.
4
The third night, it happened again. He was in a crowded
room. The lights were dim and accompanied with smoke;
the vision was very hazy. When the smoke before him
cleared, he found the guy sitting right opposite. He was
choked and too startled to let out a cry. With each passing
dream, the proximity between the two decreased, and Ali
remembered nothing but the color blue in his coat. He was
intrigued by these dreams. Wherever he looked,
whomever he met, he tried to find a hint of this man and a
few answers. What does he want? Why does he stare? May
be the story would unravel only through another chapter
of a dream.
The following night he slept, certain to dream again, and
he dreamt indeed.
The man has been religious with blue. Thats the only way
to recognize him. Today, he stands closer than hes ever
been. Close enough for Ali to notice his gray hair among
the dark. They had been running sideways forming
alternate locks, much like... Sontags...or...a squirrels
back...or like Laras. Yes, Lara has very similar. Slowly, the
man lets out a hand for Ali to hold, but the latter was
reluctant.
Doesnt seem like he is going to withdraw his hand. Not
knowing what to do, Ali decided to hold it and unravel
another chapter of this relationship.

Where are you taking me? said Ali, but why does he
have a womanly voice? And long nails, painted red,
thinner feminine fingers...porcelain hands...
Ali is a woman in this dream! His entire history as a female
flashed in his head like a dying persons. There were
random fragments of him playing dollhouse with his girl
friends. He remembered getting ready for his
engagement. Oh how he struggled with the heels. A year
later, they got married. All these little, but significant
segments were enough to convince him that he was a girl,
and not an effeminate guy in the dream. He couldnt sleep
again.
5
Ali was as much intrigued, as he was repelled by this
dream. He hadnt slept in two days to keep dreaming at
bay.
He sat on the couch flipping through T.V. channels. Next
thing he knew, was that the dream continued...
She was looking at her image in the mirror, when it was
joined by the figure in blue. She turned back to look at
him. What are you doing here, my pretty maid? He said.
Come, its time to go home.
Home? She questioned.
Yes. Were already running late and...just look at you!
Now why would you do that to yourself? Why on earth
would you wear this vomitus piece of rag? He pointed at
the blue silk scarf. Now I know you like this too much, but
honey...this scarf stinks. This shade of blue...you cant pull
this off
But...I...really like it...
Hearing this, his face reddened. He came closer than a
foots distance, looked straight into her eyes, and in a
voice too close to a whisper, said, you. wont. wear. this.
Clear enough?
She grew pale.
On reaching home, they found the house full. They were
late and the party had begun without the host. He didnt
look pleased.
Hey youre here!! a friend chirped. He then addressed
the crowd, Everyone! Our great Gatsbys here. and the

crowd swarmed towards the host.

Her job was to attend the guests carefully with a fake wide
smile. Any error was impossible; his fixed gaze on her
made it sure. Even though he stood right in the middle of
his guests, he never took his eyes off her; he was too
bothered by the ugliness of his wife and her blue scarf.
A lean lady walked towards her, and complimenting her
fajitas, demanded more of those. She smiled and went in
to get them.
She came near the Gatsby to ask the guests if they
needed something, when she heard a voice saying Oh
this blue scarf smothered towards the end. She turned
back, and she saw people giggling, their hands on their
mouths. Mr. Gatsby was laughing too.
She felt naked. No one had ever bothered to listen to what
she had to say; no one ever spoke to her. They only looked
at her, like they looked at a street prostitute. The only
difference was the prostitute had the power to shoo them
away. Prostitutes are powerful people, they have made
people fall in love with them and they have known how to
move on. They have suffered the curse of a beautiful body
and they have used it to survive. On the other hand, she
was the wife of Mr. Gatsby and was still being judged for
the way she looked. Her thoughts had known no existence
for anyone.
With every beat her heart let out the sound of enough.
Marriage was not her idea, and beauty was not her asset.
She was neither a trophy to be shown off, nor a joke to be
shamed. She was going to show them that.
6
She gracefully attended the rest of the party and bid her
guests a warm goodbye. She then quietly came to her
room and waited for the man.
Finally he came.
He stood in front of her, gazing as always. He seized the
scarf from her neck, which started throttling her. Her face
showed signs of no pain, but anger. With one blow, she slit
that hand that grabbed her blue silk scarf. His jaw dropped
in shock and before he could recover, she jammed the

knife into the mouth that had laughed at her, and then
into the eyes that were always staring. He fell on the floor,
desperately trying to grab something, and she left him just
the way he was.
7
She laid her head on the table and stared at the scarf. She
thought about how it wasnt just a scarf anymore, but a
coffin of the shallow notions, the disgusting doll-house,
and the pretty engagement ringshe fell fast asleep on
the table. Soon, she was dreaminga lively woman clad in
blue silk was calling on her, Ali, how do I look?
Like Lily-of-the-Nile, he smiled back.
________________________