Silent Witness

I’m a pentagonal piece of glass bound inside a floral, wooden frame. A recorder of changing moods, a silent witness of her daily activities. I’m a part of her dressing table – THE MIRROR. I knew my little mistress’s family even before she was born. I have seen her mother dancing before me, with the newborn baby cuddled in her arms. I have seen my mistress, learning to walk with her father. The teenager took her first steps in the room where I reside.


Years passed gradually. She came and went past me with the moving phases of life. I no longer touch a reflection of that little fairy in the white frock. I don’t see an eight year old happily skipping in front of me. I don’t capture the image of two little braids swinging with the rhythm of the times table. I don’t see a pair of rosy pink lips kissing Barbie dolls.


Instead, a seventeen-year-old Aphrodite appears before me nowadays. The ebony black hair dyed into a bright, golden shade. Those killing, dark brown eyes hidden behind thick, black glasses. She has got a terrible addiction towards gold jewelry. The golden tint matches with her pinkish complexion perfectly.


At times when she gets tired of leafing through the recent issue of The Reader’s Digest, she stands in front of her all time companion – ME.

“Mirror, can you tell me what to do now?” She asks.


I know I’m a non living thing; still, I can’t help sighing at her helpless look. As beauty blossomed into her, the world began closing. A dark cloud of depression took over a bright, intelligent girl. She’s not even allowed to stand in the verandah.
“Someone might cast an evil eye on my little darling.” Her grandma keeps on chanting. Going out? NO! Duh! These over- protective elders!
She did have loving parents. Yet, she had a silent craving for a sibling. “Life would be much easier with a sister around," she often told me.


Talking with a mirror might symbolize a mental disorder, but what else can one do?
Success is the bridge that connects me to the other side of my beautiful mistress. She swings with pleasure polished all over that fair face. She displays her academic certificates to me with great enthusiasm. She is an extremely attentive student. According to her, the only way out of loneliness was books. She sometimes took refuge to her reading table, when she got tired of the computer or television.


Once in a blue moon, the teenager went shopping with her mother. Beauty overflowed her body then. It seemed as if someone had sprinkled water on a newly budded rose. She never wanted to be a lonely wealthy princess in her palace. The girl loved to listen to the calls of the outside world.
Glittering gold and shiny money could not satisfy my mistress. She wanted a simple life. She wanted to stroll through the shopping malls, picking up little things. Her mother danced to her grandma’s tunes. The mother could do nothing save heaving sighs of sorrow.


As she put a new coat of glass cleaner on me, an invisible tear dropped from my eyes. Dear friend, I’ve been watching you for the past seventeen years. I don’t know how much I could do to make you happy. I wish some day you’ll be able to see a new dawn.
Till then,
YOUR MIRROR.