The perfect Woman

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Perfection is a perception. For me perfection does not have any defined dimension- She has a golden heart, she carries a diamond personality, she wears wisdom, she smiles just on the perfect line. Her dance moves could not be more adept, 'Oh laila' how could she have such a face, perfectly contoured features, she walks like a gypsy,  she wakes up in perfect poise, even in her lowest mood swings she disperses superlative lingo , her hair stretches in perfect streak at the middle of the night when she turns the other side, she gets off the crowded bus with her eyes radiating sparkle, the symmetry of her kohl rimmed liner stands perfectly in cycle, just "1-inch" below her eye balls  though there had been a few pushes, kick stick movements with fellow passengers while returning back from office.Her Boss would never look at her with his curved eyebrows, he knew she could move mountains perfectly( clients were just mere mortals)

The home  front-It is an  epitome of a perfectly piled up living and non living  species.  She opens the door, she had tucked the clothes in symmetry perfectly buried at the right hand corner of the left hand side of the drawer, none had moved a bit from their lined up position, the books looked at each other from their spacious corridors inside the book shelf, they had a 2 -inch distance amid themselves, they too were perfect in their task of maintaining a perfect decorum. The kitchen was another place- may be it exhibited Godly attributes.

Knock at the door, the kids were home, two little monsters “oops” two perfectly trained little super kids. They came, they conquered the cupboard, the clothes still remain at their perfect settings, the kids know exactly where to find the clothes, the shirt aligned to the right side rests in stoic discipline long after the kids had gone, kids had their meals ‘perfectly’ rejoicing the mother’s recipe “karela “ “ lauki” singing sweet nothings about the health benefits of “karela and lauki”.

Buz, huzz, tuzz, reversed gear, blah blah blah,abra ka dabra... perfection turned upside down, whizzed, sizzed, hush hop, oohlala...I stand there ....perfectly  berserk, ransacked territory on the upper shelves of my head, just below the eyes had kohl rimmed eyelashes, black patches running towards the nose, the kurta was blue, the kurta had been looking for a perfect match but the trouser always betrayed her spirits, yes they were 'blue'. The perfect blend ;)

The metro ride was as heavenly, the pigs even spoke in a better pitch, back home, the house was delighted as ever to find its master who  lost  her way every day just like her clothes , they  yearned to be in perfect alignment with colours or even pairs, lost in the rumble, in their crazy delight they were “perfect”.  Books, they too enjoyed every bit of their romance with playmates, caressing the other pages, sitting over, hugging, indulging here and there free as a "free soul". This was my house.

 I suddenly look at the mirror, I seek perfection but I smile, I laugh, I scream, I fondle my hair and there I say " I still am perfect”. 

 "I love it that way,  I make blunders, I make errors, I scream, I dream, I yell, I shout, I lose, I win, I live,yes I live".

“I am perfect to me “ The mirror yells too "The perfect Woman"