Ziddi

He beamed as he held her hands in his and looked at them..'An artist she really is..' he thought as he delved into the details of the fine curves and the crisp maroon-red lines running across..

Her hands were not as soft nor as delicate.She knew that he was distasteful of her hands..an aversion he had for they never looked as beautiful as her face. The too many lines that cris-crossed made them look almost ugly and old..but,she'd thought they were warm.Warm enough.

She could see he was happy with her hands..Today that her hands were colored.

'Put them all the time' he said and with childish pleasure,he looked out for all the letters their names had hidden in the geometry of lines.
In a Disguise the lines would not look as bad..
He was too occupied to take notice of her.A tear welled up and rolled down her cheek and She looked away.
                                                  
                                                        ----

Back home,she scrubs her hands.Harder each time.
They are adamant. Some song sings in her mind..
Ziddi hai armaan.Ziddi hai toofaan.
Ziddi hum bhi yahaan.

The color only fades a li'l..But,she knows that when it fades completely,it will be gone forever..and not a trace will it leave of its existence..much unlike the scars - deep and dark..