He sat on the chair for a long time. He had placed the chair right in front of the mirror so he could see himself sitting idly on it, doing nothing. He wanted to see his facial expressions when he thought of his greatest passion. He wanted to see his face remain untwitched at the mention of his beloved in his mind. He stared at his own image. He thought of her. He thought of how she looked at him when she was proud of him, when she admired him for his brilliance, when she encouraged him to do what he wished to do in his life, when she looked at him reproachfully as he went on compromising on his principles one by one. He imitated her expressions, all he could remember, absently. He didn't notice that not a single imitation suited his face. That his face was unique and compatible to only his own expressions, motivated only by his thoughts. He smiled. He didn't have any reason to smile at, except that he wanted to see himself look happy. He dropped the smile. He kept his face expressionless. He looked dark and
handsome. He widened his eyes. He gritted his teeth. He swelled his nostrils. He looked terrible. He didn't care. He kept that pose for a while. No, he thought, he wasn't cruel. He was not the villain. He just could not be. He looked at the image of his hands. He looked at the fat vein bulging out of the skin of his forehand and bicep. He streched his fingers and looked at them through the mirror. They were long and thin. Yet they weren't what one would call bony. The image somehow showed them smaller to him than they actually were. Yet he felt the strength in them when he stretched them to their full capacity. He looked at his chest. He was wearing a T-shirt with a silly quote on it. He didn't believe in that quote. It just did not apply to him. He had bought that T shirt because he found it comfortable to wear. He took it off. He was now looking at a very lean and slim man with cuts in every part of his torso, ribs silhouetting out of the thin layer of fat, almost tearing out from the skin. He streched the muscles of his torso, and he was pleased to see that some muscles remained well toned, at least. His abs had grown hair on them.
The eight of them flashed themselves proudly as he sat straight, torso out and exhaled stiffly. He looked at himself. 'All is not lost' he thought, 'not yet' he added to his thought. He smiled, this time, meaningfully. He leaned back on his chair, sitting comfortably and watching his relaxed image. He looked malnourished, he thought. After all, he knew he was twenty five kilos underweight. He looked at his legs. He wore trousers, belt tightened. His undergarment peeped out from all sides. He folded his pants from below upto his knee, like he would at the time of crossing a knee-deep pond or river. He looked at the strong bones and the small amount of fat that covered them. He looked at the many veins just as he had looked at the ones on his hands. These ones looked weaker. He stiffened his right leg. The vein looked tightened, seemed stronger to him. He looked at all the hair covering his legs, all of them meant to flaunt themselves on a healthier and stronger structure, he thought. He looked at his feet. There were marks and scars of small bruises - some vanishing, some permanent. He saw
dirt in the corners of his toenails. He tried to scratch them off with other toes. He lifted his left foot and saw its base in the mirror. It looked like a really big foot to him. He was pleased. 'I am meant to take big steps when I take them. Bigger than many others.' The mention of 'others' in his thought disturbed him. He thought of his acquaintances, of his friends, of people he loved, of people he loathed, of people he was jealous of, of people he pittied. He looked at his body again. He looked at his hands, his biceps, his torso and the ribs, his legs wearing hair, his neck showing a cut he got while shaving, his face which was handsome a while ago but now looked ugly to him. He looked at a man in the mirror and thought how ugly that man was. How impertinent. That man stared at him. How dare he? He looked at that man angrily. He glared at him with cold eyes. He found himself focusing on the man's right eye. It looked angry. He kept the glare. He felt a yawn emerging from inside. He suppressed it. He didn't want the man in the mirror to see that he was tired. He found the right eye of the man becoming tearful. He blinked. The
trace of water was now gone. But recognition was now clear. 'However I am,' he thought, 'whatever I am, I have to live with it. I will try and keep trying to improve to the best of my ability and will, and never feel disappointed again.'
He got up from the chair.
handsome. He widened his eyes. He gritted his teeth. He swelled his nostrils. He looked terrible. He didn't care. He kept that pose for a while. No, he thought, he wasn't cruel. He was not the villain. He just could not be. He looked at the image of his hands. He looked at the fat vein bulging out of the skin of his forehand and bicep. He streched his fingers and looked at them through the mirror. They were long and thin. Yet they weren't what one would call bony. The image somehow showed them smaller to him than they actually were. Yet he felt the strength in them when he stretched them to their full capacity. He looked at his chest. He was wearing a T-shirt with a silly quote on it. He didn't believe in that quote. It just did not apply to him. He had bought that T shirt because he found it comfortable to wear. He took it off. He was now looking at a very lean and slim man with cuts in every part of his torso, ribs silhouetting out of the thin layer of fat, almost tearing out from the skin. He streched the muscles of his torso, and he was pleased to see that some muscles remained well toned, at least. His abs had grown hair on them.
The eight of them flashed themselves proudly as he sat straight, torso out and exhaled stiffly. He looked at himself. 'All is not lost' he thought, 'not yet' he added to his thought. He smiled, this time, meaningfully. He leaned back on his chair, sitting comfortably and watching his relaxed image. He looked malnourished, he thought. After all, he knew he was twenty five kilos underweight. He looked at his legs. He wore trousers, belt tightened. His undergarment peeped out from all sides. He folded his pants from below upto his knee, like he would at the time of crossing a knee-deep pond or river. He looked at the strong bones and the small amount of fat that covered them. He looked at the many veins just as he had looked at the ones on his hands. These ones looked weaker. He stiffened his right leg. The vein looked tightened, seemed stronger to him. He looked at all the hair covering his legs, all of them meant to flaunt themselves on a healthier and stronger structure, he thought. He looked at his feet. There were marks and scars of small bruises - some vanishing, some permanent. He saw
dirt in the corners of his toenails. He tried to scratch them off with other toes. He lifted his left foot and saw its base in the mirror. It looked like a really big foot to him. He was pleased. 'I am meant to take big steps when I take them. Bigger than many others.' The mention of 'others' in his thought disturbed him. He thought of his acquaintances, of his friends, of people he loved, of people he loathed, of people he was jealous of, of people he pittied. He looked at his body again. He looked at his hands, his biceps, his torso and the ribs, his legs wearing hair, his neck showing a cut he got while shaving, his face which was handsome a while ago but now looked ugly to him. He looked at a man in the mirror and thought how ugly that man was. How impertinent. That man stared at him. How dare he? He looked at that man angrily. He glared at him with cold eyes. He found himself focusing on the man's right eye. It looked angry. He kept the glare. He felt a yawn emerging from inside. He suppressed it. He didn't want the man in the mirror to see that he was tired. He found the right eye of the man becoming tearful. He blinked. The
trace of water was now gone. But recognition was now clear. 'However I am,' he thought, 'whatever I am, I have to live with it. I will try and keep trying to improve to the best of my ability and will, and never feel disappointed again.'
He got up from the chair.
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