I had just come out of the room when I heard a loud thud. Inquisitively I walked back in. There, what met my sight was unbelievable! Thousands of tiny pieces strewn all across the room, some heaped onto each other as if swept by a powerful force, some flung far isolatedly into the corners. The floor, the mattress, the carpets all shimmered by the agonizing presence over them of these shiny little particles. I froze at the entrance because from there to the far corner of the room, it resembled a mine-studded battlefield. The impact of the scene on me was harder than the thud. Unthinkable! Unbelievable! Never in my wildest imagination, had I conceived such a possibility.

I gaped at it in a stunned state and then at the almirah door. The wooden sliding door looked beautiful but empty. The white plastic hinges at its corners that had held the mirror to its surface spilled the beans. They were broken. How could it happen! Weren’t they fixed properly by the carpenter or the glass fixer whoever was it? Or was it the force with which I had closed the door before walking out which had loosened the hinges? I did frequently opened this almirah on which the huge full-size mirror was fixed, to mix my face pack with rosewater, apply it looking in the mirror, put the little bowl in again, and close the door. Or did I slam it hard? Did I take the holding capacity of the hinges for granted? To be true I had never paid attention to it because for me it was there fixed firmly (or supposedly so) on the almirah, and there it was supposed to remain- forever. But reality had proven otherwise.

As the impact of the shock settled in, emotions swelled. The full-size mirror the lack of which we had felt in our previous home and which was so thoughtfully fixed at this prime location in the living room of our new home by me and my mother, the mirror to which I rushed every time I wore a new dress or got ready to deliver my motivational talks, the mirror which each time so sincerely obliged me with a head to toe view that it bolstered my self-esteem or at times made up my mind to change into something better until my loyal friend who always cared for me before him (him?)….. before it and was content to show only my reflection, approved of it, saying, “Yes! You look beautiful!” That mirror, my friend, my companion was no more there. Even more cruel was that it lay there- broken into innumerable tiny pieces. Not my usual symbol of strength and support but a mere helpless, shattered object. How could it happen! What a loss!

As if the grief wasn’t enough, there sprang a pang of guilt in my heart. What would mother say? The glass was very expensive. Moreover, to fix a new mirror, she would not only have to bear the financial burden but also would have to take the entire trouble of calling the glass dealer, who would send his boys home to take measurement, but not before a minimum of two three reminders from mom. After measurement, the glass would be prepared, then more reminders before the boys come and fix it on the door again. Merely imagining the whole drill made me sadder. To add to my mom’s chores and accompanying tension was the last thing I wished to do but that’s exactly what I ended up doing ever so frequently.

The enormity, the unexpectedness of it, and the sense of loss left me paralysed for a few moments. What to do? How could I even clean it? There were three or four big chunks and the rest was shattered into pieces, scattered all over. For a moment, a weird idea flashed in my mind.

“Should I just let it be like this and do nothing about it?”
“But, what if you need to get across to get something?” the inner voice countered. Hmm, this can’t be. Even mom was supposed to come home the day after.

How I wished Nanke, our watchman-cum-house aid could do it on my behalf! I even visualized giving him instructions to be careful and clean it properly. But no, he had gone to his village to take care of his fields and wouldn’t be here before at least a month. There was no escaping this situation. “It’s me who will have to do, like it or not”.

The moment I stopped looking for an easy exit and decided to take charge, I felt something transformed in me. A wave of quiet determination, a renewed belief in my capabilities, and a hope of something better. The worst had already happened. I went through the other room to the courtyard and fetched a broom, a dustpan, and a dustbin. These were my arsenals, my new support. But I still didn’t know where to start. It was all so messy. So, I simply focused on what I could handle easily and segregated the bigger chunks to one side. One of them though broken, still showed my reflection. I looked disheveled, pale, alarmed, and sad. But it still brought a sweet memory back and soothed my nerves. To make it easier to sweep, I first removed the cushion from the chair kept near the entrance and then brought the chair itself out. That gave me enough maneuvering space. Now, as I swept and gathered the tiny pieces together, pushed those further onto the dustpan and into the dustbin, the synonymity of the situation with our own lives stuck me.

At some point or other we have all found ourselves in a similar state; where something or someone we loved and had believed to be there till eternity had unexpectedly broken, where our own heart resembled the shattered pieces of glass strewn all over, each piece emanating an excruciating streak of pain…where what had just happened left us numb, shaken and at a loss for what to do….where everything around seemed an agonizing mess. A loving relationship got over. How was it possible! A career built so assiduously lying in ruins...How could it happen! And all we could do was wonder what went wrong? Sinking into gnawing guilt, all that whirled in our mind was, “could I have done it better, handled it more softly, wisely, maturely, professionally etc. etc.” When the thought of our loved ones’ impending hurt at our doing tormented us simultaneously, pushing us deeper into the well of misery. When the frightful and uncertain scenario of what would happen next; how would I live without him/her/it had haunted us constantly.

But what is the choice? Continue staring at it and wallow in the pit of self-pity? Runaway through the nearest door, jump out of the window? But for how long? The only option is to steady yourself, fetch a bloom and start clearing the mess. Sooner or later you will have to do it. So, let that be NOW!

Easier said than done. As I carefully but determinedly swept, the magnitude of the task and the effort it took kept shocking me. Over the bedsheet, under the bedsheet margins, on the cushion, behind the cushion, under the furniture, stuck in the carpet frills, even behind the other closed door, where weren’t they present- the broken fragments of my darling mirror. Every time I discovered one hidden shiny piece, it reminded me of its erstwhile magical beauty, our special bond, and the care with which I used to wipe any imaginary or real dust particles off it to keep it smiling brightly at me. It broke my heart to see a tiny part of it peeping from beneath the carpet, half visible, half-hidden. Well, whatever. Despite the enormous vortex of emotions, it generated in me, I did clean it and shoved it all into the dustbin, except the bigger chunks which couldn’t fit in.

I held the biggest broken piece. It smiled at me. I admired it for a while, feeling its texture beneath my fingers, and still amazed at its sparkling clean reflective ability. Then I walked to an open unused plot in front of our house and carefully placed the glass against the wall, its reflective side hidden from sight. Goodbye, my friend! Perhaps some waste disposal guy would pick you up and put you to some use. Farewell buddy! You treated me well and I never meant to harm you. Good luck with your journey whatever that may be. We all have our destinies to fulfil.

My room shone clear and clean, except for the dustbin which was still placed there. As I lifted it, it felt heavy- very heavy. But it had to go, and so it did. I put the chair and the cushion back in and did a final inspection for any remaining pieces. There seemed none. Where I had stood frozen a few minutes ago, afraid of stepping into, due to the fear of being hurt by the glass, there now lay a clean pathway, inviting and open to walk freely upon. My eyes fell on the almirah door, its beautiful wooden ply, and the broken white hinges. A sigh escaped my lips but in my mind, there was already a new mirror being fitted there, this time more firmly and I would take better care of it.
Not to say that the events of past half an hour could be forgotten so easily. They had been so profound that it was hard to contain it within, pretend as if nothing had happened, and carry on as usual. So, I rushed to my diary and scribbled-

“It is possible to clear the mess, however messy it is!” and thus was born the first story of a series called The Fountain of Hope. Whenever something ends, something else is born. Isn’t that the law of life?

“Oh yes! It very well is.”

About the author- Squadron Leader Toolika Rani is a former Indian Air Force Officer, Mountaineer, Motivational Speaker, Writer, and Research Scholar. She has done 23 mountaineering and trekking expeditions around the globe including Mt. Everest. She has delivered 80 motivational talks including TEDx. She can be contacted at tulich83@gmail.com, FB Page: Toolika Rani, Instagram: @toolika_14)