DANCING IN THE DARK (ONE MINUTE READ)
By Neel Anil Panicker
The child in her was still born; never did she knew the everyday unalloyed pleasures of frolicking with her seven siblings and their gang of neighbourhood kiddies, not for her the squeals and the laughter; the serpentine anxieties and the meaningless worries; the ubiquitous peccadilloes and the near endless pangs of regret thereafter that are the calling card of teens straining at the cusps of youth.
Instead, she preferred the solitude of the dark, choosing pitch dark bunker like stony walls as her bosom friends in whose benign company she flowered and revelled while they stood by in monk like silence__silent appreciative sentinels__ while she practised her pyrotechnics, honing her skills for hours together until perfection became her calling card.
A decade later when she burst onto the dance scene like a rare meteor, taking centrestage in the most rarefied of environs all over the world, it took a while for her to bask in the full blown glory of the spotlight, acclimatised as she were to a lifetime of dancing in the dark.
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Three Line Tales, Week 120