THE ESTRANGEMENT OF MEMORY

He watched her retreating figure. There were emotions he was trying to keep in check. He knew he should be strong, at least for her sake. She was sceptical and sorrowful at having to leave and the world wouldn’t know but he was her ally in grief.

It was she who was going to enter an alien land and yet, the nervousness struck him deep. He couldn’t explain that he was sick with worry not at the thought of her apprehensions and fears rather at how lonely he’d be without her. International calls were sure to cost him a fortune and yet he couldn’t bear the thought of not talking to her as often as he did then. It’s not as if he loved her, they just happened to be the best of friends.

It was hateful how life demanded so many compromises out of them. That when he wanted to eat his favourite mutton korma and she was willing to make it for him, the distance would shame their plans, laugh at its elaborateness and incongruousness….

He wondered how he would fill in the gaps created by endless phone conversations, by constant words of encouragement and advice when he was in the pits of gloom. He started at the realization that he couldn’t wholly succumb to a person without inhibitions. She’d be too far away for that- to hear winding descriptions of his day at work or to hear how he ruined his coffee by adding the extra spoonful of sugar. And it was harder still to know that the memories wouldn’t go off in a hurry.

For the next couple of days, he made sure he reached work on time. There were no issues. And his coffee was just right.

IN ECSTASY

At home he was the only child….he still wore clothes bought by his mother and watched TV for most part of the day. He was not an athlete at all; he detested sports. Often, late in the night, he’d be fiddling with his fondest possession-the Rubik’s cube. Not that he was a genius of sorts; he was just genuinely interested in these things. At the breakfast table when his mum would keep a bowl of cornflakes and milk in front of him, he ate it willingly. Even at that age of sixteen, he rarely rebelled, unlike his school mates who had already become carful enough to start sporting Levi’s and Nike sweatshirts. When they got free periods in school, they hung out in clusters; some playing football or flocking the cafeteria while he preferred to get some work done in the library.

The first time he did it was when the guys in class teased him about being ‘pansy’….he didn’t even know what the word meant way back then. For the first time he realized there was something different about him. He felt as if he wasn’t one of them.

And therefore, even without having to resort to blue movies he fell into the habit of shagging. He was only aware of a wonderfully different sensation when his hands wandered down to his groin. He waited with a new desperation for his parents to leave home and fell back on the bed moaning and sighing with pleasure while his hands moved swiftly on his penis. For the first time he experienced a completely different kind of pleasure, an erotic charm.

While that phase of addiction was on he even resorted to it in school- in the library or even under trees in the open. He made sure he maneuvered his hands in a way that no one could spot him.

Surprisingly enough, when someone did see, he was labeled a man. And he wished he’d known earlier.

IN LIEU OF A WIFE

She goes out in the balcony to water the little basil plant they have kept. One of those absolute necessities found in most Indian households. She is clad in a sari but in an unkempt way, sort of like a young girl would drape it….uncaringly.

As and when she sees a stray passer-by, she quickly fiddles with the sari making sure it covers the unceremonious marks on her body. The red colour has now changed to a bluish-green, standing out clearly on her fair skin. On most nights, she goes to bed with her heart beating in fear. It’s become a perpetual routine now…..she screams herself hoarse, yearns for old times and desperately tries to protect a sleeping Arjun. In a fit of rage, she even dares to throw away alcohol bottles that are sometimes shoved into cabinets in the most clandestine way possible. It doesn’t help. She only gets more bruises on her body.

When she calls up her mother every night, she sounds eerily farcical. But she must….her mother will worry; her father is already bed-ridden. She talks to them of happy days, long drives and the bright future that lies ahead of Arjun. Inside her heart though, she fears that these days will leave an indelible mark upon him. A mark that she fears will be too late to erase. She’s sure he’s already beginning to sense how different his home environment is.

She feels helpless. Sometimes she wants to give up, but she continues….she is the woman. They’re her family after all. Their lives are centred on her. And even if she will have no one to go to, they will all come back to her.

The sun has risen fully. She must get back inside. Plenty of chores await her. She will wait for them to leave; maybe then she can unwind. But she will not escape.

DESIRE

She awaited the great day with tremendous anxiety. She was elated, however, she must contain the spring in her step. She dreamt of Cerelac packets, of Johnson’s Baby Cream and soap and jars of dairy creamers. At nights she abstained from the wholesomeness of making love. She would toss and turn those last few nights trying her best to get sleep while her stomach ached from time to time. Her diet comprised mostly Horlicks; surprisingly enough, she didn’t get pickle and chutney cravings. She was still as sweet toothed as ever.

When she crawled into bed at night her husband often put his hand over her belly….in whispers they talked about the future while he lovingly held her. She was almost blissful….

And suddenly it was day. Stark white walls white sheets and numerous tear streaked faces. It took just a second for truth to dawn.

For her, day had brought with it night.

SOUL

Long colour pencils,

A feeble attempt to sketch

To fill the void with colours

To do something constructive,

As the perfect deck of cards

Tumbles one after another…

The threads of a perfect seam,

Split at the edges

To give way to ruin.



Scattered seeds of a half eaten apple,

Dregs of a cold cup of tea,

Crumbles of biscuits,

And little bits of flour…

Till even the remnants

Begin to conceal and deceive

Leave me wondering,

Leave me wanting…