Sometimes, She Becomes A Human Too


You would always find her eyes uncovered; rarely blinking. Those otherworldly orbs, on display for the world to see. Sheer blackness in them, in contrast to all the colors that actually formed her. You should be, and maybe you unknowingly would be grateful that her gaze flutters everywhere but to your eyes. No blitz of thunder at your heart to strike.

Sometimes you would find her on the streets, walking hand in hand one day in one’s company, another day in another’s. A realm of angelic grace she would be. Calmly, easily, vigilantly would she take her steps, as if time itself sought refuge under her unseen kingdom – and who knew, maybe it did… You would also find bewitched strangers, hustling and making way for her to pass on as if she were royalty. A feathery thank you would roll out on her tongue and she would walk on, hand in hand, turning a blind eye to everyone… Unaware as to how baffled had she left those faces behind.

Some miracle was she. This girl, Safa – innocent, demure. Extracting joy in even the most mundane of tasks. Like all of a sudden she would stand on her feet, would raise both her arms up, hoping to accidentally touch the ceiling, without even realizing that she had become an immediate cynosure in the room. Then would giggle shyly lowering her vision as her cheeks heated up – when would be informed that everybody was watching her. Some descended fairy Safa was.

You would find her to be the breaker of worldly trends. Not only everyone but everything loved Safa. The sky especially. On some days, in her mind, skies would turn lilac with yellow stars; the shy sun would first hesitate, then refuse to come out altogether, hence the mornings would be dominated by the crispy moon. She would picture the sky bursting in mulberry gradients at other times – though unaware what the shade mulberry actually looked like – and festooned with juicy clouds that hovered heavily. Despite Safa’s absurd imaginations, the sky would never, could never curse her, nor release showers over her. She would somehow always get a predilection for rain. Always.

The way she smiled, ah! That was real – those curves and stretches of her lips that resembled smiles of a migrated traveller returning home decades later. And Safa’s would make the winds gallop, tripping over themselves for a fleeting sight of her. The whole world and everything in it pampered her…

And yet at times, unbelievably, she would turn into a human too…

… So naturally that you wouldn’t believe your eyes. One second she would be sitting over there – waiting – staring with glazed eyes at a wall, then gradually would fall under the spell of sleep; her celestial disguise slipping, like the evanescence of a dream. Her head would be leaning against the rest, her dark mane a messy nest, her mouth ajar; a string of drool leaking from its corner. How mundane, how ordinary would Safa seem.

There would similarly be days when Safa would be found ransacking her knapsack, feeling her hands around for something she cannot find. Frustated then, she would cuss indecently under her breath. If you would be lucky enough to hear that, you would find her so earthly in that moment; so mortal. An angel fallen from grace.

… You would also realize that only she could make those words sound cute. But that acknowledgement would come second – for obvious reasons.

Lights illumined with dignity, would ballet in Safa’s vicinity. If you really possessed eyes, you could watch the lights in the room desperately writhe and burn, performing arabesques and whatnot. All of that, just to grasp her attention, and yet they would fail. She had not, eyes for the ordinary. What Safa saw, others did not; could not…

And nor could she see the things others did see. Yet she would seem so accustomed to the revolving world, navigating with such ease that you would never learn at first glance, of her destitution of sight… Her blindness Safa carried not as a burden, not as a source of pity, but as a debt of this universe to her. Its wondrous compensations she accepted heartily; blissfully.

… But that never meant she wouldn’t give anything within a blink of an eye to watch the sky just one more time.


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