Take A Chill Pill

"Take a chill pill," he said, and extended a hand with a palmfull of mushrooms.

The red or the blue? Who knows? Who cares? The mushrooms live for this reason alone, and hell if life is transient enough for anyone to give a fuck.

Enough with the problems, the equatorial divide between two people with world views varying enough to connect two never meeting black holes. Just take a drag and forget about this world.

Raw emotions only lead to poetry. That's bad enough as it is. You don't need goals and ambitions to add to the mix. Why live another person's sorrow when you can "take a chill pill".

" Smooth," he said, "so smooth, man."

There is no need for punctuation or lunch when it's like that. The mushrooms make the short lives you live feel like they may have been worth something. And then you realize that it's a bunch of bullshit you don't need to think about, if only you "take a chill pill".

Life's good. It may be serious and mundane or even one-dimensional. Who fucking cares? Does anyone even read this shit? Lulz. Dream on, bitches. "Take a chill pill".

It's annoying enough that the line seems right out of a Bollywood ass-flick. But hey man, live it up, lose some stress yo! That's the way to go.

You might live to be a hundred. Or your guts might get spilled during an unfortunate roadkill early morning tomorrow. Doesn't matter now, does it? No arrogance here believing that you're worth an ounce of shite.

Live it up. Live it out. Live on.

" Take a chill pill."

The Athiest

“Well it looks like you’re surprised, young man…”

“You tell me. Should I not be?”

“I suppose an ‘I should have believed my mother’ is of the order.”

“Not really. She never told me about anything of this sort.”

“Oh? That’s strange! I thought all mothers did. At least that’s what they’re supposed to do. Let me check my files…”

“Files? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Oh it’s nothing to get astounded about. Where do you think your lot got the idea from?”

“And you alliterate as well. What a surprise!”

“Tsk. Tsk. Ah yes, there they are! Why, you’re right! She never did, God bless her, if I may say so myself! She was quite the liberal, that one… My, my —”

“I’m sorry, but I honestly don’t see how my mother and my being here are related.”

“But my dear boy, they are! And even if I do take your poor instruction in these matters into account, the fact remains that you stayed a sceptic.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! Don’t I have a right to believe and disbelieve what I want?”

“And look where that got you. Frankly, my boy, you are, as the younger lot downstairs say, quite screwed.”

“And you’re supposedly just and fair.”

“To those who believe, my child.”

“Well that’s quite convenient, isn’t it? If you ask me, it’s just some sort of a mechanism to lionize yourself. It’s only the sycophants and yes-men that appeal to your taste.”

“Hmm. I’d never thought of it that way… perhaps I should start punishing you now.”

“Oh please! Now I see why the world runs the same way. If you’re the architect, it couldn’t have been otherwise, could it?”

“How outrageous! You should be grateful that I haven’t already packed you off to my dear friend Luci! He has a special fondness for roasting fresh meat.”

“ Threats. So utterly predictable! Tell me one thing, then… if you’ve created everything, and there’s a reason behind everything being the way it is, then why would you need to punish disbelievers? You obviously made them that way — every piece of art of yours is purportedly perfect.”

“That’s enough out of you, Mister! Believe you me — you will be punished for your insolence.”

“Of course. Even though my being the way I am is your doing in the first place.”

“Hey Pete! Go fetch me the meta data on this loser here! I can’t believe I even let him into the system!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Ah, you boss around your lackeys too… That’s interesting. Know what? This place of yours is no different from where I came from.”

“Hurry Pete!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“It’s an interesting concept actually. You’ve modelled your creations based on your own self and inadvertently incorporated all your own flaws into them. However, to still keep the upper hand, you pretend that there is such a thing as free will and get pleasure out of persecuting those who represent your own so-called shortcomings, and blatantly favour those who agree to whatever you say. Blimey, it’s good business all around!”

“Silence! Oh, right here, Pete, yes. Be off now! Right then, let me see —”

“It does make me wonder though... You are insecure, aren’t you? Was it a traumatic childhood experience? Or wait! Did you even have a childhood, or did you simply burst into being?”

“I knew that a day would come when I’d regret making Freud and his ilk.”

“But seriously, why do you constantly need praise and adoration? Is it to fulfil some deep-seated emotional need? Are you a virgin? But then again, you can’t be!”

“Aren’t you missing something here, lad? I exist. You were wrong. Period.”

“That reminds me! Why did you make women get —”

“I’m going to stop you right there, son. I see that you were a lawyer down below. Damn it, I hate lawyers!”

“You swore! That’s actually cool. But won’t the Devil get you now?”

“Who? Luci? He and I are friends, more than friends, actually. We like giving each other space.”

“Wow! Now that was something I’d never have expected.”

“Honestly, son, you really think you humans came up with everything?  What blasphemy! Besides, it’s not even like we have fixed forms... pronouns don’t apply to us, you see. So it’s all cool.”

“Ugh. Wren and Martin’s –”

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just remembered something.”

“Now really! Do you think they call me omniscient for nothing? Don’t lie to me, son, you’ve dug quite a grave for yourself already... Oh dear me! Dug a grave! I do crack myself up, ha ha!”

“So this is why bad puns are so popular...”

“Hey! I heard that! Tsk, tsk. Such insolence! But no matter, I’m the one scanning your file at the moment – I’d watch my mouth if I were you. My my! I believe (oh dear me, I made a funny! Ehehehe!) your manner of transition was one of the funniest I have ever executed! Oh look, another one! I am on a roll tonight, ha ha ha!”

“Er, is there even night here? Seriously, you are very strange. Could you just hurry up and decide on what is to become of me?”

“Keep that up and I’m going to tie you up and spank you. I get bored so often here – the kinky stuff cheers me up!”

“Heavens!”

“Excellent! Now we’re on the same page! Since you have indeed acknowledged me (finally!) I feel that I could be a tad bit generous with you. After all, you did slip on a banana, fall flat on your cute little bottom and have a stray hammer fall five storeys upon your skull.”

“Ah. That’s certainly very kind of you.”

“Was that sarcasm, you saucy solicitor? I feel as though I may change my mind... Oi, Pete! Come here!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“What should I do with this doddering disbelieving dodo?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Oh never mind, I forgot I was as asking a Yes-Man. No matter. Hmm, your file is rather interesting. I had almost forgotten all about you, otherwise I’m sure I’d have sent you more ‘friendly’ reminders of my existence. Still, oh dear! You’re actually a decent person, and a lawyer too, how ghastly! It is sure to egg on the other atheists, oh my! Hmm – no, I’m not liking this one bit...”

“Okay! What terrible things did I do?”

“Well, it’s more like the terrible things that you did not do, in spite of being an awfully arrogant atheist! You work for the UN too, damnations! Seems like I don’t really have cause to punish you – apart from the crime of being a disbeliever, of course. But then, sadly, it says here that in the latest Divine Conference I ruled in favour of not harassing such people should they redeem themselves otherwise. Now what would make me do such a thing? Ah! That was the day the absinthe – oh, never mind!”

“Okay! So, er, what is the prognosis?”

“Hmm, as much as it pains me to say this, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know!?”

“I don’t! There’s never been a precedent for your case. The system I designed cannot deal with such an anomaly.”

“Anomaly!”

“Of course, I could always send you back with a splitting headache or disfigured for life... Now that would be fun! And it would also give me, er, I mean, you, more chances to make mistakes. Oh yes! That’s absolutely juicy!”

“What!”

“Yes, yes, I’ll just get Pete to do the paperwork. Here – you need to bleed a drop in this space.”

“No way am I going to go back disfigured! You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can. You do realise who you’re talking to, right? I’ll just get Pete to forge, I mean, clone a copy in your stead.”

“That’s it. I’ve had enough! You’re such a dogmatic autocratic despotic –”

“I’m bored of you already. Off you go then! Bye bye”

“—overbearing –”

“See you in a few decades!”

FIN

PS: Not meant to be taken seriously, with all due respect to Mr. Kapil Sibal and his ilk.

Fait accompli - Part I

My hands were shaking again... I had to find a place to sit. The searing pain in my chest shot well beyond my ribs and blinded me to everything else.

‘It’s happening again,’ I thought, as I stumbled chaotically and collapsed into my seat. The one-foot long journey had seemed like miles. As I lay in a dead faint my cell-phone began to vibrate. Schen was calling.

‘I can’t talk to him like this!’ I panicked as the phone kept on shuffling closer and closer to the edge of my table. Finally, after the world stopped spinning, all was still.

I felt too weak to move but there was work to be done and I couldn’t have anyone finding out about the attack, especially Schen. I turned softly and looked around the room and through the tinted glass that separated me from the rest of them.

‘Good, no one was around.’

Very gingerly, I tried moving my feet. When I saw that I could move them, I carefully hoisted myself up, using the table as a support.

‘So far, so good!’

It took tremendous willpower to keep myself up, but I didn’t have a choice. If the others found out what had happened just now, I’d certainly be packed off home. Probably forever.

‘No, I have to finish this.’

It seemed like hours, but I managed to go back to the shelf I’d been examining, get all the documents I needed and resume work.

The rest of the evening passed rather tamely. I took a cab home, not wanting to risk driving. Thankfully, it was Schen’s evening with the car. I was back just in time to shower, warm dinner and take a short nap to recuperate before he returned. By then, at least I was looking less like a corpse.

“Hey! How was your day?” I asked Schen, greeting him with a warm smile as his tired face managed to muster one upon seeing me.

“Oh, you know. It’s been a hard couple of weeks. But it’ll pass,” he answered, kissing me.

“Well, I’m sure dinner will take your mind off it for a while!” I replied as I took his hand and led him to the dining table.

“It’s your favourite,” I smiled as I handed him a plateful of pasta soaked in creamy cheese.

‘It’s a good thing he’s so tired, otherwise he’d ask about the call,’ I thought.

“So how come you didn’t answer my call earlier?” he asked in between mouthfuls.

“Oh. Oh! You’d called? Sorry, I got so caught up with work that I forgot all about my phone!” I recovered quickly.

He shook his head, tapped my nose with his finger and smiled.

“You’ll never change.”

‘Phew,’ thought I, ‘At least he didn’t ask further.’

“I’d called to ask if you wanted to go out for drinks later tonight. You know, Zeo and Ren are in town! It’s been ages...”

“Yes, yes it has! Oh, I wish I’d seen your call! How’re their kids doing? What did you tell them?”

“Calm down, calm down!” he laughed, “I hadn’t made any plans with them. I heard they were in town and wanted to talk it over with you first.”

“Ah,” I said sheepishly, “I should really stop getting worked up so easily.”

“Yes you should! It’s bad for your heart. By the way, have you, uh, has it –?”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question and I felt absolutely wretched as I said, “Oh no! It’s been peachy! I haven’t felt better in months!”

He gave me a curious look but then didn’t pursue the matter further.

Later that night as Schen was fast asleep, I kept going over what had happened. It was the second time in two months and I knew that it couldn’t be ignored any further.

‘But what am I to do? When it's only a matter of time...’

We were still so young! It pained me terribly to think of what he’d go through if I –

‘No! I can’t think that way’ I scolded myself.

But that didn’t stop the tears from slipping silently through the eyelids determined to keep them reigned in.

~ * ~

So, what say? Should I continue with this? Lemme know!

Agony

So picturesque was the Durney house and the scenery before it that onlookers felt as though nothing bad could ever happen there. 

The Durneys were a family of three — a pair of working parents and their angelic little son. So sweet was his face and so cherubic his temperament that Nature felt it to be an abomination for him to dwell anywhere but in Heaven. The Durneys, however, spent ten whole years without any knowledge of this.

The wind would whisper loving words to the treetops it caressed and miniature dust-storms would waltz silently for the watching fronds, and yet, the joy and peace of the Durney home lay undisturbed, much to the envy of their neighbours.

“Oh, they are the luckiest people living!” Mrs. Rahn would exclaim, observing the Durney homestead as she did her dishes. “Have you seen their darling little boy? He’s a constant source of pride to them!”

And yes, little Tuval certainly made his mother proud. This sensitive little boy had the soul of a ripened poet trapped inside his small frame. He saw vivid beauty in the most commonplace of sunsets and his mind would soar high and free with every breath of life he drew in. He took whatever he saw and created poetry with colours. Perhaps, deep down he felt the insistent pull of life calling upon his soul to live deeply in the moments it could stay earthbound. It is a pull that so many of us, jaded by the harshness of life, have become impervious to. Yet, for Tuval, it was what let bright wide eyes stare out in wonder and delight at what they saw everyday.

“Come now, Tuval,” his mother would coax, “You must show me what you painted today!”

The boy, brimming with the modesty becoming of a bashful bride, would lower his eyes and curl his lower lip before shyly pulling out his latest masterpiece. His mother would smile widely at him, and this small symbol of motherly commendation would be enough inspiration for another day.

Leaves would change their colours and their abode, from branches to a dusty ground, and Tuval would paint their changing expressions for his beloved mother.

However, Nature preys upon the innocent, and none can save such from its unyielding grasp. Tuval Durney had not long before Nature added his soul to its collection.

It broke his parents’ hearts, especially his mother’s. A child can know only so much love, but with Time snatching the hours away, Tuval’s parents showered an anguished burning love that only a soul smoldering with sorrow could understand.

Raindrops worked their magic weaving coloured lines across the sky. Sunlight filtered through leaves making little rivulets shimmer and dance. Spectacular sunsets graced the evening horizon. Birds flew back and forth, chirping with the urgency of life — the life that cancer stole from Tuval. And the boy, who loved the world more than the world could ever love him, was too weak to hold a brush.

His mother sat by him through those long dark hours. She would cradle his frail frame and hold his head against her heart, wishing desperately that there was something she could do to lessen his pain. Sometimes, when Tuval’s breathing evened out, she would let a tear or two slip through her tight defence. The time she had to shower a mother’s love upon her precious child was limited and so she would spend all of what she was given filling his days with the sweetness she had hoped to endow all her life.

Night had fallen and the darkness had surprised them with its early arrival. The soft but still audible beating of Tuval’s heart was the only sound that could be heard. Mrs. Durney had been resting against Tuval’s bed, when she was suddenly stirred into speaking.

Tuval had awoken and was staring intently at her. The child’s body, already being devoured from within had taken further beating from all the strong medicines and futile surgeries. There was a turn for the worse that evening and his father had gone off in search of the nearest doctor.

“Mother?” he asked.

“Yes, my love? Is there something I can do?”

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

“Tell me, darling!”

“I’m ... scared. Hold my hand please? I think — I think it’s time.”

The dawn found Mrs. Durney standing near their boundary gate, staring blankly through tearless eyes. It was here that Mrs. Rahn found her when she stepped out for her morning walk.

“Lara! What happened?” she asked, worriedly. “Is Roy back yet?”

“My baby... my baby...” was all Mrs. Durney could murmur.

Duty

The clock read 4 o’ clock. Lei put down her book and got up. It was time to go. She drove to the hospital, her mind unnaturally calm, unexpectedly clear. It was ironic, perhaps that a dying man, who deserved nothing but the loneliest of deaths would have the one person he hurt the most during his lifetime by his deathbed. But that was how life was to be and Lei had learnt a long time ago to stop questioning why things happened the way they did.

It did not take her long. It was as though Fate had cleared up her path to that final chance of a confrontation.

The old man was lying sunken and shriveled in bed. It was almost as though the bed had begun its task of swallowing him whole but had decided that he was unpalatable at the last moment. And yet, the sight of his broken body, already halfway there on its journey into the next world, was enough to make Lei hesitate for a moment and compose herself before she walked into the room.

Her father stirred at the sound of feet which were driven by his blood.

“You’ve come,” he stated simply.

“You had asked for me,” she replied.

“Yes, I had. But I never expected you,” spoke Lei’s father, snubbing her even with his last few breaths.

It took all the composure and resistance built up over the years for Lei to not react. She had expected as much. The old man had never bothered with much affection in her case, reserving all his love for her younger brother. Again, she ignored the irony of her brother canceling at the last minute saying that he had to stay home to make his son study for tests – the same brother whom the old man doted upon, and spent all his evenings teaching.

“You had asked for me,” she repeated, a little louder this time.

“Well, you will have to do,” he said.

“I guess I will,” said Lei.

The old man sighed with all the strength left in his lungs and said, “I’m dying.”

Lei kept her voice as steady as she could when she said, “I know” although her eyes almost betrayed her.

“I may not even last the night.”

The doctors had told her as much. They had even added how the cancer that had spread from her father’s lungs to almost all his major organs, had miraculously spared his brain, leaving him lucid enough to speak and endure all the pain. Yet, he did not have much time. All those years of smoking had ruined his body and it was fed up of putting up with the abuse.

“But you are here, so sit by my bed. Sit by your dying father.”

Lei was already there before he had asked. Perhaps it was the haze brought on by all the morphine in his system, or perhaps it was only that he was blind to all that Lei did, but he seemed to not have noticed. His first born held his frail hand firmly but gently in hers. It was how he had held her when she was born, but the roles were now reversed and his life was at its end and not beginning.

She stayed silently sitting while her mind returned to the past. She tried not to, but she kept thinking of the times when the old man had blamed her harshly for the most trivial of things. He had called her the worst person imaginable, a selfish and despicable human being when she, as a ‘responsible’ nineteen-year-old had given in to temptation one day and single-handedly finished that chocolate bar in the fridge, meant for the whole family. Her brother, on the other hand, had been let off with the gentlest of rebukes when he had stolen the money given to him to buy medicines for his mother.

Her father would always make his displeasure known whenever she, back when she was financially dependent on him, had to spend his money. He even disapproved of her spending the money that she earned the way she wished to. He had refused to speak to her on the day she had moved out of the house. She had lost the phone-number that he had asked her to write down – an act which could only have shown how disrespectful she was of him, and he had been upset. 

Her father had always denied the possibility that he, who was always fair and always just, could ever have hurt her in any way. And after all those years of steadily weakening ties, Lei had learnt to live without his love and with the hurt. 

But for all the times she had vowed not to be there when her father died, here she was, holding his hand, waiting for the end to come.

“Why was I never good enough for you? Why did you hurt me so much?” quivered Lei, when the silence became unbearable.

“Why! That’s not possible. You were always hurting me!” he croaked.

And those were his last words to her.

Her husband was waiting for her at the hospital entrance. She was pale and wan and he only had to look at her to know that the old man had passed on. They were both quiet as he drove her back home.

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, once home.

“It was something I had to do,” she said.

“But I would have gone with you!” he insisted.

“No. I needed to do this on my own.”

He did not question her further, but held her close. It wasn’t long before she was weeping copiously.

Lost Goodbye

Anya watched as she saw her grandfather being carried away in a stretcher, and she wondered if she would ever see him again. She also wondered if she would miss him if he weren’t to return.

Anya had been crying herself to sleep when she was stirred awake by the sounds. There was a lot of movement in the house. All the grown-ups had the same look on their faces — they looked worried and looked like they were trying to hide it. She had heard about widows, and had heard people talk sympathetically about them. Her six year old mind could not understand what all the fuss was about. She certainly never wanted to be one. But today, she wondered whether she would find her grandmother draped in white sooner than she’d thought.

Her grandfather had grunted feebly while being helped into the stretcher. He had also been strapped, so that he didn’t fall off, her father said. Still, the constraints disturbed Anya and she wondered again whether they would make her grandfather not wish to return.

She wanted to get back to sleep, get back to the time when she pulled her teddy-bears by their ears and dragged them across the floor. And she certainly did not like the grim, quiet pallor that had descended upon everyone’s faces. Within all the commotion, she knew, and she was okay with her grandfather not coming back. She had decided that she wouldn’t miss him after all, especially since he never stopped her grandmother from kicking the baby in a fit of rage or sending a plateful of food flying to the floor in a hasty tantrum. Such men were not to be depended upon, she thought.

Anya wanted to slip away quietly without anyone noticing. But she didn’t notice the old French window left wide open beside her. With one small footstep towards her left, she tumbled, and never returned.

Reflected Glow

I awoke to a dream of fireworks. Resplendent colours flashed across the sky and their patterns, reflected by the still waters of the lake cast many spells on my widening eyes. I had been flying again. Yet, all the vast stretches that I traversed, from the greens forgotten by man to cobwebbed shelves left dusty in the dark for all their loneliness, did not appeal much to my tears.

I had been following the lights. They seemed elusive at first, almost shy, but when one bright ball of assembled sparks shot up into the night it was only a visual symphony waiting to unfold. The colours assembled themselves and twirled lyrically to the sky’s delight. And mine. They zoomed towards the horizon, teased the waters to smile radiantly and mesmerized two small, dark orbs which seemed so much duller in contrast.

Since when had the night been dark enough to present the perfect stage? Since when had moonlight been dimmed in defeat to brighter bursts? No sounds emerged from the thicket nearby. Not a whisper from the wind, no rustling of tired leaves. The ground was set for the dazzling hues to set the night on fire.

And I watched to my heart’s content and flew along as I could. But the kaleidoscope always seemed just a heartbeat away. I could follow all I wanted, but I’d never be one with the lights. The closest I came to blending with the colours was when I left a kiss that rippled into the lake mirroring that glorious glow. The lights fled, however, as dawn approached, leaving a yearning soul dissatisfied, looking achingly towards east. That was as far as a mirror would go.

Lull

Spring flowers had said their goodbyes long back. Their fragile petals had been withered by the harshness in the air. Now, all that was left was a barren expanse where dust gathered gleefully only to give way to frigidity at night. Stepping into this dustbowl, the sudden chill would freeze your steps instantly and awaken you with an electric jolt down your spine.

Merr would go there every night. Dressed sparsely, he would walk up the slope to reach his panoramic vantage point. Once there, the world would swivel and swirl before him to take him away from his grief. It was an idyllic setting, with the stars dancing in their heavenly niches, mocking the death in the lands below and far away from the numbing touch of the North wind that blew across it carrying the stench of more death in its wake.

He had been going there since he survived. Ever since the frolicking Fates decided to let him live with memories of his family’s demise. Ever since he found himself alive, while his wife had an iron rod pierce through her head, and his young children lost their teeth and their lives. He needed perspective to keep himself from driving rashly down the very slope that almost took his life, but didn’t, leaving him far worse than dead instead. And so, he religiously haunted his deserted domain night after night.

All alone, he would stand and watch the lights dim in the valley before him, as people would slow down with waning strength and sunlight and then retire to bed. He would watch the stars above him and wonder why he could still see them. He was never a believer and did not see smiling faces of his family look down beatifically upon him from above. He now had no hearth to return to. He only felt left behind. His mind reeked of the broken promise of always sticking to his folks. And he felt lonelier than ever.

He would not speak of the accident to any of the people down below. It felt to him as though memories were his and his alone, now that nothing else was left behind. People would come and go, offering kind words of sympathy but their condolences went over his head. He was the feather that is undisturbed by a breeze when it has been displaced and shaken by a storm. His nightly ritual of torture was meant only to cleanse himself of the guilt of being alive. Bathing himself in winter and all its cold darkness was his way of suspending time. It would be years before spring would arrive again.

Till that time when the warmth of sunlight would make its presence felt on his soul and thaw his frozen spirit, Merr would let the cold make him forget death and all that he once knew of life.

Sunset

Winter silently crept upon us both as we were awakening to the summer of our lives. The stillness and stealth with which our lives were enshrouded in the cold still takes me by surprise. It was not foreseen — it could not have been foreseen. Not even the most renowned oracle could have predicted the flurry of events, each leading to the other, and presented our future believably before our eyes.

I digress, however, when it comes to recounting the story in its essence. We were two young people maddened by the joy of discovering each other. There was work, yes, and we both took our jobs with great seriousness. Yet, each day ended with that walk along the beach, breathing in the charms of the gentle evening breeze and charting the path of the stars across the sky, all the while being grateful for the time ahead of us. But, honestly, if the iron hand of Time were to hold your struggling form firmly in its grasp and carry it ominously towards the guillotine, is there anyone or anything that can save you?


The jolt in our hitherto happy lives arrived without us even noticing its significance. I worked in a Genetics lab that experimented with viruses, in particular. In our modern age, far removed from both Alzheimer’s and AIDS we were confronted by a new problem. The virus, which till the end of the twenty first century was thought to cause conjunctivitis alone, was showing some startling new phenotypes much different from its wild type strain. My lab-mates and I were studying this to determine whether it had actually mutated to a different species. Viruses, with their constant mutations are difficult enough to study, in spite of the technological advances of the present, but what we encountered was novel for even those who’d grown up learning the Baltimore Classification and other historical landmarks in science along with their A-B-Cs.

We needed human tests, and although the ethics of it were debatable even in the Age of Learning, we quickly sanctioned a few. It was easy enough seeing that it was a moderately harmless virus and only those in the project would be involved. No outsiders and laymen meant less paperwork and our pre-testing health checkups were conducted quickly enough.

The day my All-Clear letter arrived, Kew and I had spent an evening at the beach overlooking our home, celebrating with champagne, a rare delicacy these days, dried fruits and cheese. I remember how the sultry breeze stared in our faces as we walked across the warm bleached sands, bare-feet and a little tipsy. We moved with an unhurried pace, reminiscent of the leisureliness that retirement confers upon the old. The next few days for Kew, would be spent rushing back and forth from the lab, visiting, as I would be in quarantine. We weren’t in any hurry for tomorrow to arrive.


Tomorrow did arrive, however and it washed away our hopes with the force of breakers crashing into a rocky shore. We were mistaken about the potency of the virus. It did much more than just cause conjunctivitis. It entered normal body cells and wreaked havoc in the metabolic pathways leading to rapid cellular disintegration. And it was highly contagious, spreading by merely breathing the same air as an infected patient. From what we could study with dread weighing down heavily upon our hearts, a person barely had months. And, Kew was infected too.

I spent many sleepless nights left to me wondering what would have happened if we had waited longer. What if the Advisory Board had ruled out the experiment calling it too dangerous? What if we had been more prudent and waited for more results? But no, we were arrogantly riding upon the successes we accomplished by taking innovative risks. We weren’t about to be deterred by an eye infection!


Kew and I visited the beach more often. There was nothing else to do. Work was no longer a haven to immerse sullen spirits in. We would spend hours sitting on a stray boulder by the shore watching the chafing waters. Sometimes, I’d tell Kew that I could hear the waters wailing. Kew would give me a quiet smile and then look at me with an odd expression on his face. He wouldn’t speak much at these moments, but would clasp my hand a little tighter than usual. And then we would gaze at the waters together and a strange calm would settle upon us both, as we would find ourselves surprisingly content with the quietude that emanated from the waves crashing into the rocks. If water could be resigned to its fate, so could we.

The breeze would only get colder with each passing day. I don’t know if it was our condition affecting our senses or whether winter had really decided one morning that it would visit us early. The day had started out chillier than usual and the cold intuitive shiver that ran down my spine made me look upon it with apprehension. Both of us were in a bad state by then. The sparseness of hair, weakening of muscles and shortness of breath were nothing compared to the weariness of spirit. We were ready, and extremely tired.

Kew’s last sunset saw the sky being conquered by a blaze of fiery orange. The horizon stayed a defiant red long after the sun had said goodbye. We stayed very quiet. The pale and diminishing light of life seeped out of our eyes as we spent our last moments by the sea. I sat on the boulder that had felt many silent tears when no one was looking. Kew lay on the sand with his head in my lap and arms around my waist. We felt the moment come when his arms tightened a little only to slacken a while later. I stayed the same, my hands playing with his hair, my fingers tracing the contours of his face, and watched the darkening horizon. Somehow I’d always known that I’d be the last to go.

Bruises

Date: 23.07.2008
Time: 9:10 p.m.

Bruises are meant to be laughed at. Perhaps, run fingers over, or fingered at perversely to prick them into bleeding, but never to be caressed gently with the intention of caring for them, until they were healed. At least, that was what she’d grown up believing. Of course she’d beat up anyone who told her otherwise, and if it were a boy, she’d be especially mocking, and taunt the poor soul, accompanying her piercing words with wiggling eyebrows and rude finger gestures.

It had never occurred to her in all her fifteen years that there was such a thing called softness. Be tough. It was what kept her falling prey to the cliques surrounding her everywhere. She turned a tough hide on all the failings around her, as though trying her best to distance herself from a disease-dripped dressing of an adjacent inmate at a hospital she was unwillingly forced to live in. She began to shun herself the moment she noticed herself wrapped up in the very bandages she abhorred on her fellow human beings.

But then, bruises were always something she’d enjoy. It was a sort of pleasure to test her limits with pain, and the prolonged throbbing of her body every time she ensured an injury to herself. It made her cry out with joy – a feeling that was cloaked with a slight sense of guilt, as there were moments when she believed that she went against the very laws of nature, which told the living to recoil from what caused pain. She didn’t understand how anyone could turn away from the exhilaration of a wound, the rush that accompanied the sensation of agonising pain which could take control of her senses as easily as a gifted thespian holds an audience in awe.

It took effort, she told herself, to get to the point that she’d feel it, for she’d found out early in life that it took her longer to have physical sensations seep beyond her skin into the nerves that let her know that she lived. One day, when one of her peers had extended a hand to help her to her feet after a fall from a high wall, she’d scowled angrily, shaken the bewildered hand off and stalked off into the distance, her scraped knees bleeding, her limbs pulsating with painful bruises she’d worked so hard to get, and her pride wounded at being thought of as an object of pity – as a person who needed ‘help’.

And so, while she was lying on the crowded street, bleeding out before pedestrians shocked speechless by the sight of her mangled body, she felt the happiest she had been since she was born. She knew she wouldn’t die from it… that had never been her intention. It had been a stroke of luck to have been at that very spot in the first place. However, the thrill that choked her and made her deaf to the sounds of sirens blaring away as they made their growing closeness known and giving hope to those un-empathetic passers-by who wished to rob her of her pleasure, escalated her ecstasy to epic proportions. She revelled in her increased heartbeat, her shallow attempts as gasping for air, the tantalising splintered bone that stayed connected to her by a mere fraction of an inch, the searing pain in her abdomen as her body struggled to cope with displaced viscera and the mounting tension swelling within her as she tried to imagine the sight of herself.

The only thing that kept her from laughing out loud was having the wind knocked out of her by the impact that left her motionless on the street. The sound of the ambulance morphed into a high-pitched wail when she finally blacked out.

End: 9:50 p.m.