In the garden of Eden
"Care for some music?", Sandhya asked breezily not really waiting for me to answer, as she opened the CD draw and chose a disc at random. I nodded in appreciation but it really didn't matter to me - I wasn't supposed to be here; I was supposed to have dinner with my wife, probably walk along the river after that, talking of sweet nothings and catching up on 4 years that we had missed out on her operations, meetings and obstinate patients. Yet another dream was caught and trashed down the hospital drain and I saw them floating by the lane as torn pieces of paper. It was a lovely evening; a gentle wind with a dash of impending's winter chill caressed us through the open roof of the convertible. My colleague hummed along with the song, didn't bother herself with small talk, and left me to sort my thoughts.
I wasn't sure if it was the right decision - the right thing would have been to have thanked her for the time, walked back home and dozed off in the couch waiting for my wife to return. Simple and clear. But, after doing this 7 days a week, for months together in a year, there does come a point where the restlessness culminates and pushes one down from the edge of reason - into a pub for example. I don't drink and I hate the smoke of the cigarrette. But, when a muffusal-town-bred son of a god-fearing mother, whose world view was packaged and delivered as a 24 page vanilla flavored newspaper, decides to revolt and do something outrageous these dim-lit pubs mark the extreme frontiers of adventure, a door to live out pent up fantasies but still with enough leeway to convince the scruples of conscience, a rendezvous with the darker soul where standing with a glass of coke in the fringes of the dance floor was so momentous that one goes back home and writes about it in diaries and talks to colleagues under the moon-lit sky about how one was so close to walking out with that girl for the rest of his life, while those colleagues go back home and tell their wives how their friend's losing "it" while silently fantasising while in beds with their wives, about the girl in the tank top who could have been theirs.
She seemed to know many of them there, and soon dissolved into an array of colors, costumes and heads. I picked my glass of coke and seated myself in the corner seat wondering what I should tell my wife if she called up now. Not that there was even a remote possibility of that happening - I was contemplating whether I should give her a call and talk to her. But one more time, she probably can buy those leather collars, tie it around my neck and start calling me Jimmy. I was not even thirty and I was already sick with life - 5 years into marriage and I already feel like an yellow couch in my wife's life. An unattractive, useful utilty that's been there for so long that it doesn't exist anymore. I thought about my little daughter, who god hasn't still dreamt of. But I know how exactly she will look like - right from her eyes to the huge highway right in between her teeth when she'll be five. But my wife didn't have the time nor the inclination for a baby now. She is in that point of her career now when things are getting interesting - she's been there for the last 4 years. We have tried talking about it. But, I have never been a doctor - I will never understand.
I finished the drink in a gulp and was playing with the empty glass, laughing to myself at how my life's turned out. I have lived with this sense of resignation for quite sometime now, in my damp living room, drowning them in the noise of meaningless soaps trying hard not to think about it. But today, it seemed different - the glitz, the jazz and the light (or the lack thereof) were stirring feelings deep down and I was involuntarily moving with the loud music, getting angrier with every passing minute, at my wife and at the entire dim shadow of life that I am sleep walking through. I stared at those flimsily dressed women in the middle of the floor, at the irremediable distance between us and at everything my life could have been - It was then something snapped. Before I realized, I was in the middle of a frenzy - a whole human population climaxing over a crescendo, forming bonds with beads of sweat merging into a long winding rope that stuck them together, screaming - till I found my legs entwined with a stranger's. We caught eachother's stare and continued gyrating round and round in the room - and as the music reached its climax, she gasped and shrieked. I swore.
The cold wind had a soothing effect on my senses, but my head was getting pounded from all directions. I knew I had to sit down somewhere before I slump and faint or worse still, throw up in the middle of the road. I didn't know what the time was and frankly, I didn't want to. I felt as if some fundamental law of physics about my life had just been disproved leaving me with an entire world of chances, so much that the mere thought of it filled me with a rush of blood and I screamed right there, on top of the bridge, at the top of my voice - and felt it span the entire lonely road and every wave that extended till the horizon. "Feeling good?" Sandhya asked, smiling but still staring at eternity. I nodded in agreement. The street light in the corner gave her an almost angelical silhouette that I so badly wanted to kiss her. "Really", she seemed amused, "Why because I have suddenly become so attractive or because you have started hating your wife so much?". There was no sarcasm in her voice; She was just being as a matter of fact. I stared at the boundless sea, not wanting to answer the question to myself. She didn't insist.
I came back, quickly undressed and settled in my bed. My head was still pounding but it was getting better. I switched off the lights and stared into the darkness, waiting for Anshu to arrive. She did and walked like a cat trying not to wake me up. Normally, I pretend to sleep rather than listen to her medical stories in the middle of the night afraid another argument would break out. But today, I wanted to talk to her probably even tell her about the pub. "Oh you are awake. What happened? You look like a mess". And before I could answer, without a prelude or prologue, she started off with her stories at the hospital as she picked her nightgown, went and changed in the bathroom, her voice getting drowned in the noise of water filling the bucket. It didn't matter - I wasn't listening anyway. In ten minutes, she was done and by then had cuddled up next to me. I pushed the strand of hair, took her face in my palms and kissed her fully in her lips. "Not tonight sweetheart. I am too tired tonight". She stroked my head as she dozed off to sleep. I lay there, smiling to myself, wondering who is this woman sharing my bed, wondering if I had ever known her. Deep in the darkness, I saw my entire life collapsing around me and strangely, I felt excited.
I wasn't sure if it was the right decision - the right thing would have been to have thanked her for the time, walked back home and dozed off in the couch waiting for my wife to return. Simple and clear. But, after doing this 7 days a week, for months together in a year, there does come a point where the restlessness culminates and pushes one down from the edge of reason - into a pub for example. I don't drink and I hate the smoke of the cigarrette. But, when a muffusal-town-bred son of a god-fearing mother, whose world view was packaged and delivered as a 24 page vanilla flavored newspaper, decides to revolt and do something outrageous these dim-lit pubs mark the extreme frontiers of adventure, a door to live out pent up fantasies but still with enough leeway to convince the scruples of conscience, a rendezvous with the darker soul where standing with a glass of coke in the fringes of the dance floor was so momentous that one goes back home and writes about it in diaries and talks to colleagues under the moon-lit sky about how one was so close to walking out with that girl for the rest of his life, while those colleagues go back home and tell their wives how their friend's losing "it" while silently fantasising while in beds with their wives, about the girl in the tank top who could have been theirs.
She seemed to know many of them there, and soon dissolved into an array of colors, costumes and heads. I picked my glass of coke and seated myself in the corner seat wondering what I should tell my wife if she called up now. Not that there was even a remote possibility of that happening - I was contemplating whether I should give her a call and talk to her. But one more time, she probably can buy those leather collars, tie it around my neck and start calling me Jimmy. I was not even thirty and I was already sick with life - 5 years into marriage and I already feel like an yellow couch in my wife's life. An unattractive, useful utilty that's been there for so long that it doesn't exist anymore. I thought about my little daughter, who god hasn't still dreamt of. But I know how exactly she will look like - right from her eyes to the huge highway right in between her teeth when she'll be five. But my wife didn't have the time nor the inclination for a baby now. She is in that point of her career now when things are getting interesting - she's been there for the last 4 years. We have tried talking about it. But, I have never been a doctor - I will never understand.
I finished the drink in a gulp and was playing with the empty glass, laughing to myself at how my life's turned out. I have lived with this sense of resignation for quite sometime now, in my damp living room, drowning them in the noise of meaningless soaps trying hard not to think about it. But today, it seemed different - the glitz, the jazz and the light (or the lack thereof) were stirring feelings deep down and I was involuntarily moving with the loud music, getting angrier with every passing minute, at my wife and at the entire dim shadow of life that I am sleep walking through. I stared at those flimsily dressed women in the middle of the floor, at the irremediable distance between us and at everything my life could have been - It was then something snapped. Before I realized, I was in the middle of a frenzy - a whole human population climaxing over a crescendo, forming bonds with beads of sweat merging into a long winding rope that stuck them together, screaming - till I found my legs entwined with a stranger's. We caught eachother's stare and continued gyrating round and round in the room - and as the music reached its climax, she gasped and shrieked. I swore.
The cold wind had a soothing effect on my senses, but my head was getting pounded from all directions. I knew I had to sit down somewhere before I slump and faint or worse still, throw up in the middle of the road. I didn't know what the time was and frankly, I didn't want to. I felt as if some fundamental law of physics about my life had just been disproved leaving me with an entire world of chances, so much that the mere thought of it filled me with a rush of blood and I screamed right there, on top of the bridge, at the top of my voice - and felt it span the entire lonely road and every wave that extended till the horizon. "Feeling good?" Sandhya asked, smiling but still staring at eternity. I nodded in agreement. The street light in the corner gave her an almost angelical silhouette that I so badly wanted to kiss her. "Really", she seemed amused, "Why because I have suddenly become so attractive or because you have started hating your wife so much?". There was no sarcasm in her voice; She was just being as a matter of fact. I stared at the boundless sea, not wanting to answer the question to myself. She didn't insist.
I came back, quickly undressed and settled in my bed. My head was still pounding but it was getting better. I switched off the lights and stared into the darkness, waiting for Anshu to arrive. She did and walked like a cat trying not to wake me up. Normally, I pretend to sleep rather than listen to her medical stories in the middle of the night afraid another argument would break out. But today, I wanted to talk to her probably even tell her about the pub. "Oh you are awake. What happened? You look like a mess". And before I could answer, without a prelude or prologue, she started off with her stories at the hospital as she picked her nightgown, went and changed in the bathroom, her voice getting drowned in the noise of water filling the bucket. It didn't matter - I wasn't listening anyway. In ten minutes, she was done and by then had cuddled up next to me. I pushed the strand of hair, took her face in my palms and kissed her fully in her lips. "Not tonight sweetheart. I am too tired tonight". She stroked my head as she dozed off to sleep. I lay there, smiling to myself, wondering who is this woman sharing my bed, wondering if I had ever known her. Deep in the darkness, I saw my entire life collapsing around me and strangely, I felt excited.
posted by Rathish at 9:07 AM
3 Comments:
notwithstanding the chances of sounding corny i will still say - "i liked the cimax".
"But, when a muffusal-town-bred son of a god-fearing mother, whose world view was packaged and delivered as a 24 page vanilla flavored newspaper, decides to revolt and do something outrageous these dim-lit pubs mark the extreme frontiers of adventure, a door to live out pent up fantasies but still with enough leeway to convince the scruples of conscience, a rendezvous with the darker soul where standing with a glass of coke in the fringes of the dance floor was so momentous that one goes back home and writes about it in diaries and talks to colleagues under the moon-lit sky about how one was so close to walking out with that girl for the rest of his life, while those colleagues go back home and tell their wives how their friend's losing "it" while silently fantasising while in beds with their wives, about the girl in the tank top who could have been theirs.".............
GOODIE!!!!a whole paragraph without A FULL STOP!!!!
as i gasp for breath trying to assimilate it, iam remembered of my school days when there was a guy called ~S ,whom the english teacher asked to write an article with minimum sentences, which he decided to cleverly accompolish by connecting all the sentences of a one-page article with "ands" and hence ended up with A messy funny "sentence" with maximum number of "ands" i have ever seen, and was lauded by friends for snubbing the teacher whom they hated most .period. !!
(owww is it...maaa...thalaivar baani!!)
:) that long one was intended. anyways, i have a strange feeling I know who this is coming from ;)
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