Fiction: Deceptive She Is

I was sitting in the pleasant lobby, which didn’t seem pleasant to me –not now anyway. The internal dilemma was never ceased, continuously poking my tear glands; tough battle was going on when she came up to me. That typical mocking smile of hers,
 'So the coward is sitting here. Hiding herself! You are such a perfect epitome of good-for-nothing.' 

Criticism and mockery is what I’ve got always, and honestly, I've become immune to many things but this! Everytime I get criticized or mocked, it hurts more than ever.

'You are demoralizing me!' My voice shaking, 'I can't.. I just can't..' The battle came to an end and I broke down sobbing.

‘See see! This is what I call a perfect coward! Afraid-of-everything. What are you afraid of I don’t even know!’

'Them! Its them I’m afraid of! What will they say? What will he think? How is she gonna react? No, I’m better off a coward!'  My sobbing fastened. As gradually as I was realizing every word to be absolutely true –my heart was sinking deeper, the pain was getting intense. I was flooded with tears, and my breathing was getting shallow; shallower.

‘Oh ofcourse! Haha, your they are just amazing. See, baby you are! You started with minor deception and look here, how brutally self deceptive you have become!’

'Whats wrong in that? Not knowing is better than –'

‘Are you serious? You don’t know? You really don’t know?! Hahah! Deceptive! This is what I call deceptive. Could you do anything? Anything? I doubt that honey. You just sit here, make your own philosophical theories and weep.’

I got control. A little. Every word of her was hardening me in a soft way, because I was realizing. Realization with a soothing pain. I knew I was being deceptive, and I had my reasons. But here, to this person, I didn’t want to explain anything. All this while, whenever I opened up to people, they failed to understand. They failed to figure out. And theres noway she could understand. The feeling was piercing enough to provoke a whole new tsunami of tears. I sighed, and the tears went back to where they came from.

 'Absolutely.' I answered with severe tolerance.

No more I had the strength to take any more mockery. I was fine with my decision. Never walking up, never accepting. This wasn’t my time, and for the first time in my life, I knew right. For the first time in my life, I was right; or sort of right.

*   *   *   *   *
And standing here, under the open sky, sea before me, the despair crawled up and again occupied my chest..

Sometimes, its better to keep it to yourself, better to hide. Its better to close your eyes.. I know that I should know, but then could I un-know? -No. 

The pain of not knowing is tenderly better than the pain of knowing. Deception is my way of living.

I see nothing before me now and I feel nothing within me now; except the thorny feeling that nobody, nobody could ever know....

The retreating waves in their thrilling voice, whispered to me ‘think no more; just dream, dreamer.’

I sighed.

Fiction; Abandoned

And here I was standing on the open road trying to repeat and make sense of the break up line I just heard from my sunshine. My legs began to ache, the world seemed to wobble and I collapsed on the concrete road; my knees injured; but the pain was nothing compared to the agony my heart was tormented with!

Funny, how just yesterday I wished life to be long, and now the only desire that I could find within was of death; death, the only way which could provide me escape from this misery. Yes, miserable was what I wasn’t and miserable was the only thing I was.

No more was I the heroin, no more did I have the right to dream for a happy ending, no more was I allowed to smile to myself –what I thought to be a doubt turned out to be real, and what seemed real was absolute delusion; an absolutely beautiful dream which ended.

I rolled on my side, too numb to get up. The summer sky which was clear an hour ago was now trapped behind the heavy grey clouds, blocking the sunlight –it so significantly described my life; this sun of summer was definitely coming back again, my sun was never coming back again. My sun was gone, leaving me in this dark abyss; abandoning me.

As anticipated, it started to rain heavily. In no time I was all drenched, the numbness and despair was saturated. I was lying still on the road, no sound but the low soothing swish of rain. Waiting as I was in the hope to either die or to wake up from this horrible dream –I knew of course, I’m deceiving myself. Again. I was going to live; live to suffer, live to thoroughly go through the torturous sting of the piercing shattered pieces of my dreams, live to die. I was going to live.

She was warned. Yes she was. But Its always too late when realization struck; not that she’d die. But absolutism is what she would want and absolutism is what she wouldn’t ever get.

My Love for Heathcliff and Catherine Revived

How I came across 1992 movie Adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

 

Two days ago, I was looking on you tube for the movie adaptation of Far from the Madding crowd written by Thomas Hardy. Its a good novel, and that is why I desired to watch its movie adaptation.
I came across four-five movie versions. To be very honest, i didn't really like any of it -1967 version was better regardless of various flaws.

I lost interest.

Just as I was about to leave, I saw a link on the right side of screen, Wuthering Heights. And instantly i was drawn to view it! -I've been in love with Wuthering heights since the first day i read it, though I was in sixth grade then, but I remember how grieved I was. And it is to this novel that I started loving and reading classic literature novels-

It was the 1992 version. Ralph Fiennes as Heathcliff and Juliette Binoche as Catherine Earnshaw.
 
Saying that I was carried away wouldn't do justice to what my condition really was.
I was laughing along with their mischievous giggles, I was feeling the delight. I thought I was there myself, wandering at the moors; watching Heathcliff and Catherine and their pleasure of togetherness..

 








Saying that I cried hard at the death of Catherine, at the misery of Heathcliff, would be a straight understatement. No I didn't cry hard, I cried bitterly. 

I read almost all the comments, by critics criticizing this 1992 version. Though I was pleased that no one dared to point Ralph as unsuitable to be Heathcliff - I was glad. But disappointed to see Juliette remarked as unfit to be Catherine. I think She has done justice to the role of Catherin Earnshaw just like Ralph as Heathcliff.

The director, Peter Kosminsky has so beautifully - I don't have words to praise his talent and perfection - directed the movie, exactly like I imagined when I first read Wuthering Heights. The setting, location, atmosphere; every single thing was taken in notice; evidently studied thoroughly.

The death scene of Catherine and Heathcliff's last meeting with her. At first, Oh yes I was sobbing like anything- But the next time, keeping my emotions in control, I concentrated; concentrated hard to catch at-least a single error. but no, I failed. The scene is perfect. The dialogue delivery, the expressions - more credit to Ralph - The essence of novel is remarkably maintained.

 
Then approached another piercingly sad scene; Heathcliff's absolutely wild act of emotionality with Catherine's corpse. The difference was evident. Edgar's gentle and calm act of touching his wife's hand and leaving without really weeping loud; and Heathcliff's passionate act of agony by taking Catherine's corpse in his arms and crying like a weary man who has lost the purpose of living ..

Catherine completed him. He was human with Catherine, only.

A person like me who have intense emotions and strong imagination CANNOT watch these scenes without crying loud, as it were Me myself crying and going through the pain of loosing the other half of My soul!

The other melancholic scene where Heathcliff is standing alone with the most agonized expression at the same moors where once He along with his other part Cathy used to wander in joy-   For that one second, I thought it was I experiencing the pain.  It was like hot despair being poured in my heart, piercing and incurable. Excellent shooting. Excellent acting.

One thing which added intensity to all these scenes was the music.

The music in this movie, is the soul of every single scene. The main theme of Wutherin Heights is given by Ryuichi Sakamoto.
I have never heard any symphony this melancholic- 

Link to the Theme Music of Wuthering Heights

Listen to this and with no difficulty you could imagine the loneliness of Heathcliff, feel the pain of their separation. You could picture the moors where young Heathcliff and Catherine used to wander, wild and glad. Fearless.

The final moments, that is the reunion of Heathcliff's soul with Catherine's is an epic scene.

My heavy heart which was filled with grief and sympathy for Heathcliff was satisfied when i saw them reuniting, at last. Heathcliff's misery was over. He was finally back again with his other half. Catherine.

This movie, 1992 version is the original Wuthering Heights. Ralph is the real Heathcliff, Juliette is the real Catherine and Janet McTeer is the real Nelly Dean.

This movie made me read Wuthering Heights again, all over. This time, my imagination was even rich.

Wuthering Heights is a black romantic tragedy. Portray of true passionate love. Portray of wildness and madness. Portray of intense tragedy and melancholy. Portray of eternal reunion and completeness.

To all those critics who criticize this version, are probably less imaginative and insensitive to the glowing, radiating emotions that are clearly to be seen, to be felt in every single part of this movie.

I rate it 10/10.

Also; Hats off to the writer of this devastatingly amazing novel. Emily Bronte. Who has so smoothly woven the human emotions. Described them so naturally.

Such type of a master piece could be produced even today -
No. No writer could touch the perfection of Emily Bronte. She is above the extreme limits of extra ordinary.