And there she was. Tiny and little, wrapped in sheets and held closely by the lady behind her birth. The lady admired the little baby’s fingers and the little one instantly caught her mother’s fingers and gripped them tight. Tears of happiness crept from the lady’s bright eyes as she looked at her offspring sleeping peacefully. She kissed the baby’s little fingers as she looked at me. She loved the moment and apparently was overwhelmed by the motherhood factor. Oh and I was happy to be what I was-the mirror in the wall.

A year later, there came my angel again. She was wearing a fluffy white frock on the eve of her first birthday, trying her best to walk with those tiny legs of hers. She tripped and fell and her mother caught her just in time. Her eyes were brimming with tears but got distracted by me. She was amazed by me. She came up to me and tried touching me. She could see her on the other side doing the same thing. She smiled and the other girl staring back at her smiled. She clapped her hands, and so did the other girl. She rejoiced it and from then on, every other day, she was found playing with me. Oh and I was happy to be what I was- the mirror in her wall!


Days flew past and my little doll had learnt to speak and fondly called me ‘Miro’. She always smiled at me only to see her smiling back at her. The big day had arrived and my baby doll was all dressed. It was her first day to school and she was staring at me all through the time her mother dressed her up. At the end of the exercise, the output was the most adorable little child with two little ponies that had been softly put up on the either sides of her head with flashy bands. She carried a little bag and a water bottle and had a handkerchief pinned to her uniform. My darling left to school and I missed her already. But I was happy to be what I was-the mirror in her wall!

I witnessed her growth. From a little doll to the teenager she was. I saw brilliance replace the innocence in her light-toned face. I saw the change happening right in front of me. I witnessed her in the best of all her moods. One day she was all excited because her friend was coming for a sleepover and the next day she cried because her parents had scolded her. I saw the excitement (of owning her first mobile phone), giving a pink blush to her cheeks, I also saw her cheeks turn red when she was fighting with her parents. She admired her slender figure in front of me every day and I can assure you, she was the most beautiful girl you would have ever come across. I was indeed happy to be what I was-her mirror in her wall.

The days of despair crept in. She was hardly at home. She was working and she now had a guy in her life. She had someone to be admired more than her. She was stunning with the gown she wore to her first date. The string of pearls around her neck only added on to the shine in her pretty face. And then came the big day of my girl’s life- the day of her marriage. The to-be bride stood in front of me and I knew instantly that her man was the luckiest person in the world. I also knew that seeing her henceforth would be an infrequent phenomenon. I was only half happy at being what I was- the mirror no more in her wall.

She visited me once in a while. I was happy to see her. She soon had a bump in her tummy and the day came when she, looked identically like how her mother once did. She had a baby in her hand and was enjoying motherhood, exactly like her own mother did. I was overwhelmed at the sight of her and I knew I would soon witness the growth of another angel in this world. Yet I missed my darling and was not all that happy at being what I was- the mirror away from her.

Time raced past and before I could realize, she had worn out. She had wrinkles creeping in on the sides of her eyes. She disliked looking at me because I did not show her what she wanted. I no more reflected to her, the same beautiful and perfect woman. I now happened to reflect a woman with creases of worry lining her forehead, wrinkles crawling on her skin, untold misery reflecting in her eyes. She had lost both her parents. She had shifted to this house with her daughter and the no-longer-caring husband. She was haunted by the memories of her parents and gobbled by the worries of her marriage and concerns over her daughter’s attitude. She had no time to look at me and one fine day when she did, she was disgusted at the sight that she witnessed and never returned to me thereafter. That is when realization dawned on me. I was no more happy being a mirror. I was not loved anymore because I was not tricky. I did not know to appease her.

For, no human would love to be always told what they are. I could only reflect what I saw. What I reflected at a point, was what she loved and today what I reflect seems to be disliked by her. I am unbiased in any manner whatsoever and I do not know to manipulate. I cannot echo her thoughts. I cannot produce the output one wants. All I can do is stay the same – straightforward as always- but that does not seem to augur well anymore.

Fabrication seems to be the order of the day


-The Mirror
that stands dumped today in a waste,
still reflecting the ugly looks of the bin.