Ira Romanov, The Child-Lady

‘Tick Tock’

Whispers the Old Clock. 

A tale spun from the hands of time, and the cruelty and greed of the rich and the poor taint it red.

But perhaps, there is more than what meets the eye? Delve deeper, read within – perhaps, another tale is yet to be sung.

 

 

 

“Whatever you do, keep your ears and eyes open, child.”

It was a dull, gloomy day that day with grey clouds looming dangerously over the Russian sky. Little Ira, never scared of such frivolous weather, giggled and squealed in excitement whenever the booming thunder echoed through the mansion. For the little lady, it was a good day – there were many people milling around the mansion; all of whom were bowing to her politely. Not to mention the pretty white dress that made her feel like an angel. It was, indeed, a good day for Ira as she skipped around her room with a big grin on her face. She stopped short as the door opened, revealing a strikingly beautiful lady and her most trusted handmaids.

“Mummy!” she gasped before racing to her mother.

“Careful, child. We don’t want your dress getting spoiled.”

Ira giggled. Lady Romanov was quite strange like that. While the little girl was terribly afraid of her father, who happened to be the greatest duke in Russian history, she wasn’t so much of her mother. Despite the lack of loving words, somehow in her childishly mature mind, she believed her mother meant well.

She wasn’t so sure of her father though.

She looked up when she felt her mother stroke her hair and was startled to see tears welled up in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, mummy?” she frowned.

“Nothing, my sweet,” smiled the lady through her tears. Ira frowned further hearing the endearment, before grinning widely.

“I like mummy calling me that!” she exclaimed.

“Really? Then mummy will call you that,” said the lady looking down at her lovingly before her eyes grew sad,”I’m sorry for not doing so all these years, my love.”

“That’s alright, mummy! You can start now.”

“Oh! My child, my poor poor child,” cried the lady, hugging her startled daughter tightly.

After a long minute, Lady Romanov pulled away and looked down at Ira before picking her up gently and setting her in the middle of her bed.

“Listen carefully, my sweet,” she said, kneeling down, “Mummy loves you, you know that, right?”

Little Ira nodded vigorously. Lady Romanov closed her eyes to take a deep breath before beginning.

“Remember that I will always love you,” she began gently, “But some things have come up, my love. Your father and I are struggling and need help. But the only person who can help is you, Ira, and the only way to do so is for you to -”

The mighty lady, on her knees in front of her daughter hesitated before speaking again.

“The only way to help is for you to live with some other people. Will you do that, Ira? Will you help your mummy and daddy?”

“But why do I need to live with other people? Can’t I stay here and help,” whined Idina, making her mother wince at her voice.

“No, my love. That’s impossible. You will have to go there alone to help – ”

“Alone?” Ira exclaimed in alarm, “But won’t you be coming with me?”

“Do not interrupt me, Ira! I have taught you better. You cannot behave like this when you go away. However, to answer your question,” the lady paused to look up as if to seek strength, “Of course I won’t be coming with you. A lady of the manor doesn’t simply leave the manor. That is ridiculous.”

“But I don’t want to go alone,” whispered poor little Ira. She wanted to scream it out, but was afraid of the lady’s wrath.

“Enough!” said Lady Romanov, rising to her full height, “Dry your tears, child. You must look beautiful today.”

Ira touched her plump little cheeks and was surprised to feel that they were indeed  wet with her tears. Her eyes followed her mother who stalked to the big door before pausing.

“Martha!” she barked out.

An old lady appeared seemingly out of nowhere and bowed deeply to the lady.

“Calm her down, fix her hair, get her ready. She has a wedding to attend,” lady said coldly while the mother deep inside her wept uncontrollably. She barely controlled her tears before walking out as swiftly as she had come.

Lightning flashed as Ira stood up at her mother’s words. Ashen-faced, still as a statue, she stared after her mother with an emotion far beyond her age. Besides, age hardly mattered anymore.

She was a ten year old bride after all.

Martha, the old maid walked inside the room slowly, her joints protesting at the movement.

“Come, my angel,” she said cautiously.

Ira snapped out of her reverie and looked at Martha, beside a vanity mirror. Her face, old and wrinkled, but full of warmth and the little girl almost broke down at the kindness of it.

But another lightning flashed and wiped away all traces of weakness from her face. She walked determinedly to the mirror before sitting down in front of it. Old Martha smiled knowingly as she lifted a brush.

“Listen child, this may be difficult and uncomfortable,” she spoke in a rush, “But it is the only way. You must understand that.”

Ira sat with her back straight and tensed, looking every bit the lady she was to be, her eyes boring into the mirror, as Martha brushed her hair softly.

“And whatever you do, keep your ears and eyes open, child.”

The Enchanted Forest of Love

He was an enigma, and she wanted nothing more than to unravel the mystery that he was. But was he really a mystery? Or was he merely uninterested? Did he really not care? How could he never care?

The questions inside her mind throttled her and choked her. It was a pain she had never felt, and a pain that she had never wanted to feel. Yet, here she was, staring at a heart shaped pebble on her palm, underneath the very gazebo where he had given it to her.

“It may look simple, but that’s my heart!” he had exclaimed.

She laughed without humour, looking at the lake beyond, with gentle tears in her eyes, that wanted to rage down her cheeks. Little did he know that it was her heart that was given away. She had given it to him; cautious at first, but willingly all the same, and he had so callously broken it.

There was a time when they were everybody’s envy. Now all that lingered was sadness and emptiness. Was it all worth it in the end? She wiped her tears as the answer dawned on her.

Yes, it was worth it. She would repeat her mistakes again and again for her love was pure and innocent, and she refused to taint it with regret.

Such was her love for him.

The enchanted forest of love catches the innocent deer of hope. The swishing green branches trap the pretty antlers, and the price to free them is the deer’s heart.

This is every bit the letter of love, and every bit the letter of a shattered soul.

 

The Mask

‘This above all: To thine ownself be true.’

Polonius was right in every sense when he uttered these words to his son in the famous Shakespearean play, Hamlet. It is a pity that although these famous words drive our hearts, our mind simply refuses to comply.

Throughout my life, I have betrayed my soul and portrayed myself as someone I am not. It is often someone I’d like to be, and sometimes, it is just to please the person in front. The lies have become so deeply embedded, that the line has blurred, and the same lies have become my truth. The thing about humans though, is that we find it very hard to take off the mask that we have and show our true faces. According to the Japanese, everyone has three faces. The first face, we show to the world. The second face, we show to our close friends, and family. The third face, we never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are, and often the hardest to unveil, even to yourself.

After deep, intense research for a whole of two minutes, I’ve finally realised that the reason why we put on a mask is so that we don’t get hurt or shunned, while world laughs at our expense. This is where all of us have gone wrong.

Little do we know that the same mask that sits so comfortably on our face, cuts through our skin, splattering the floor with drops of blood.

How often have I lied about things that I absolutely don’t have to, only because I was petrified to hear more than what I wanted to? In the end, all of us are more scared of the world than the world is of us. The cruelty of it all makes us want to crawl under a rock, but the responsibilities hold us back.

At the risk of sounding overly philosophical, the point that I want to make is that despite the circumstances, being honest to yourself is the only way to have all that you want in life. Putting on a mask and expecting everything to be black and white henceforth, is a silly way to escape reality.

Excellent books like Harry Potter exist for that purpose.

Although at times, you can’t help but lie, your lies should never become a portal for another world. Before you know it, the portal will close and you will be stuck in your world of lies forever. From personal experiences, telling the truth does result in facing the brunt of your actions, yes, but eventually, the people you love will accept you the way you are. Your failures do not define you. You define yourself.

I did not intend this article to become a motivational speech, worthy of the Prime Minister. I do not expect a lot of people to read it and be inspired. But I do hope it serves as a reminder that being yourself is not a sin.