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From Animosity to Goodwill

Medini is a writer with a huge passion for poetry. She has been writing poems for more than 10 years, with many of them published.

Aditi smiled, content. Her grandchildren would be here any minute.
“Look who’s here!” came a voice, startling her. The voice chuckled. “I hope you remember me?”
Aditi gasped. She would recognize that nefarious cackle anywhere. “Divya”
To her astonishment, a ghostly apparition of her former colleague appeared before her. She looked just as Aditi remembered. She had been twenty when a tragic accident ended her days.

“Well, Aditi. How are you? As you can see, I was transformed into a ghost. For a few years, I spent time with my family, consoling them. I am now spending my afterlife terrorizing all those who perturbed me in any way. Only then shall my soul attain peace.”

She paused, and Aditi seized the opportunity to say, “What did I do?”
“First things first, Where’s Anil?’’ said Divya, seating herself on a couch; or rather, floating above it. “Well,” Aditi reminisced her cheerful husband. “We aren’t together anymore. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good, I don’t want to hear about It.” shrugged Divya with her usual indifference. She surveyed Aditi’s sari critically. “What an awful dress! Here, try this.” She snapped her fingers, replacing the sari with a grey gown.
“It looks ghastly,” observed Aditi.
“That’s because it’s on you. It was one of my best creations.”

Aditi sighed. Alongside working in a designing company, Divya had managed a struggling fashion line.
“Well, back to my objective.” said Divya, “You remember the 1972 Spring Festival?”
Aditi recollected the famed rendezvous, the design for which was fashioned by Aditi’s company. Aditi had been appointed as the leader of their team. She handed out jobs to everyone save Divya, due to a rather childish quarrel.
Everything had been sorted out in the end, leaving no hard feelings, or so Aditi presumed. Apparently, Divya still harboured vengeance.

Divya smirked. “I am here to avenge my humiliation. For the next few days, your life shall be purgatory. Starting now.”
Having said that, she snapped her fingers again, and all the china on Aditi’s shelf came crashing down. Aditi said nothing but sat down calmly. Confusion flickered on Divya’s face. “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” replied Aditi, angering Divya further. She broke a beautiful glass vase, upturned the sofa and shattered a painting. Throughout this, Aditi remained serene.
Divya positively glowered. “You are so infuriating! I-I will- “
“By all means, go on destroying my possessions. I daresay I have too many.”
Divya sighed, defeated.

“Never hold grudges, Divya,” said Aditi softly, sounding extremely wise to the bewildered girl. “Holding on to anger resembles drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”
“I’m sorry,” said Divya humbly. “How do I make it up to you?”
Aditi mused. “Well…”

Two days later…
“Divya Sharma!” announced Aditi, as Divya entered, covering her entire body with a sari to hide her ghostly form.
Divya beamed, the applause gratifying her ears, as she read the sign at the door.
‘Spring Festival, 2020. Designer- Divya Sharma’.

-Medini Rajan

© 2020 Medini Rajan

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