By Raima Ghosh
PART I
I woke up smelling chicken curry. As I drowsily sat up trying to place my memories, I realized Little Women had lulled me to sleep. Over-sleep, rather. I could feel an acute throbbing in my forehead, as if a liliput was beating my skull with a tiny hammer. It was annoying; but easier to bear than the disgruntled feeling rising throughout myself. I became angry, hot temper surged through me like toxic mercury. I usually loved chicken but the aroma, now spreading through the house made me nauseated. I knew it was about 4:00, I could tell by the sky. Blinding-yellow rays of the scalding, bright afternoon, came in through the curtain gaps and had been burning my feet till now. I pulled myself and sat up straight. I sat still for a moment. “What now?” asked a voice, I could not answer it. I did not know what I would do now, I hadn’t any idea. I picked up the book from beside my pillow. It was open at a random page, above the left page, in small miniscule letters were written-‘The Valley of Shadow’I flipped through the book and read random pages. This book had been my anchor in difficult times; yet I did not find as much comfort in it, as I hoped. Parts of it swam before my mental eye, portions and lines that I’d pasted on my pasteboard. I climbed out of bed and hunched over the window sill. The sky was a vibrant lemon-yellow, with faded streaks of red and pink. The sun was near the periphery of the horizon, still very difficult to distinguish from its whorl of sunlight. The huge tree outside, rustled its leaves. I became dazed, staring blankly at the picture. “What am I going to do now?” the voice was irritating, but it was mine. I realized I’d just lost another day. I couldn’t get it back now. It was over, out of my life. I sighed. This was the hardest part of the day; the repentance, the regret. Every evening I promised myself “tomorrow will be different”, but it was the same. The days seemed to replicate themselves, the hours flitted by without notice. I could not even tell what was different between yesterday and today.I meekly paced about the room, wondering about the same question in my head. There were a million things I could do, more importantly there were a million things I had to do, but…I did not know where to begin. I peeped outside the room Yes, the kitchen lights were on. I could hear the distinctive clank of metal. “He’s preparing something” I thought in despair. I could not tell if I was happy. The thought of the curry made my intestines churn. Perhaps by dinnertime my uneasiness would be gone, my appetite did not usually resist chicken curry.I might’ve gone out, asked and argued. I knew mamma would be displeased when she came home; she would be angry. Grandpa always did this. The kitchen would be a mess and she would not be able to swallow the food. He, in turn, would also be angry, disappointed, sad. I could not help it even though I wanted to. I understood mamma, even I had difficulty, at times, eating food prepared by him. So, I could barge in now, but I didn’t. I knew exactly what would happen. Grandpa, right now sweating and exhausted would shout and ask me to leave. I knew there was no saving what he had already done.I kept pacing around the room. My headache had increased. I could complete my geography homework, or perhaps dust the room? Or practice my guitar? Or sit to study? …I tried them all, but not one could I stick to. I tried to study, but the text was uninteresting, tedious. My brain shifted from plains and plateaus. I began doing what I had been doing all day, all week, all year. I began to imagine fragilely absurd things. I went deep inside one of my old school days, blended it with fantasy…It was like watching television, except one could reverse the scenes, and focus on the scenes which ever way one wanted. One could know everything that went on in the people’s minds, one could put emotions inside characters. I could imagine things…things, I knew would never really happen…I imagined myself to be famous and powerful…
PART II
I sat up straight. Yes…I did want to become famous and powerful. Vain, as that may sound…I did want it. My phone rang suddenly, I leapt out of my chair to reach it across the table. The screen glowed a neon pink, mamma was calling. I did not want to answer it, but I did-“hello” “Hi…what are you doing?”“I’m…talking to you” I said, although I knew what she would say next, I hoped she would not say it. She said it.“I-I was just reading…a bit…” I replied quickly. I never knew if she knew, I felt guilty when I said that. I didn’t want to say that, but I did not have any other answer. I could not tell her that I’d done nothing, that I’d wasted the day blaring loud music to shut out reality. “It isn’t really a lie…its just…” I sighed. It just wasn’t the complete truth either.“…oh by the way, I went in for the leave today and…” The call hadn’t ended, mamma was still speaking.“…so, did you write anything?”“No”“Why?”
“I-I just didn’t feel like…”“Hmm…okay well bye now. It will take me some time to get home…please start studying, please.”“Okay bye”“Please start…with any subject you like…ok, bye then.”“Bye, bye.” I cut the call. I sat down at the edge of my bed. My thoughts were bungled. For a moment, I sat there quietly…then the tears came…I cried. I cried for a long time. Tears rushed down with a strong force. It felt as if they had been held back too long. “Why is this so difficult?” I shuddered and croaked as I cried “Why is this so difficult? …Why did everything happen at once?” It was overwhelming, difficult. There was too much to do. “Well, it’s your fault you let it mound up.” Yes, I did, but I could not help it…maybe I could, but I did not want to.It was easier…far easier, to waste time, to escape into fiction, into absurdities, which ultimately…did not let you escape. The work was same as before. Study, prepare for exams, practice guitar, practice music…yet, it was no longer occupying. To work was the simple solution, I knew, but it was easier said, than done.I rubbed my eyes and nose dry, on my arms. The mucus felt sticky on my skin. The outburst had not helped me much, but I felt better. I felt relieved, in a way, as if I’d wanted to cry from a long time, but never got the chance.It was still overwhelming to think of what to do… Perhaps I could write? But what would I write about? Life felt empty; stagnant…I felt caged…nothing happened all day…so, what could I write? I stared outside my window. The sky had turned a dark purple without my notice. I could write a story, but…I dropped the pen down…It was wrong, but I didn’t want to write a story. I knew the story…my story…the one I’d planned on writing since last year…since I read about Jo March.
‘I shall be great or nothing, I had said those words too many times, but it felt exhausting now…to create something great. Not everything one wrote was marvelous…it felt terrible when something you created, was regarded as ‘not really that good’ by people. As I sat thinking about it…I became more reluctant. Writers say ‘You have to fail a hundred times before you succeed’ …but, how could I write aiming for success, when it was so greatly established, one had to be a failure first? How could I hope of applause and appreciation, when I already knew my hopes were, most likely, to be crushed and smashed mercilessly?I did not think anymore…I did not want to do anything else. I turned on the music box, closed the curtains completely, separating myself from the evening sky and began to blare loud tones.
PART III
“…So, what did you really do today?”“I-I just …wrote a bit and read…”“What did you read?”“N-Nothing in particular…just randomly…”“So…basically… you did nothing”“I-I…” Mamma stopped scrolling her phone and looked at me, I knew didn’t have to answer the question. She unlocked her gaze and started scrolling again.
“I-I just…” I tried to snuggle closer to her, to squeeze myself between her arms, she didn’t let me. We sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say…what could I say? I knew she was angry with me, she knew I had done nothing all day, except jump about the room. Tears slid down the corners of my eyes. The lump in my throat, hurt too much, as if I’d somehow got a pebble stuck in my food pipe. I wasn’t prepared for this conversation tonight. “P-please don’t d-do that” my voice shook, but I managed to get the words out. Mamma did not respond, her face remained unchanged. I pulled her hand and tugged at her bangles…“Pp-please d-don’t do that, p-please…” My voice shook harder this time, the stream of tears increased, I sniffed loudly in hollow tones…“d-don’t do that, don’t- d-don’t lose f-faith in me p-please” “Let go of my hand” mamma said sharply “ It’s your future…” she said shaking my hand away “…if you choose to ruin it, if you choose to work as a lowly-paid servant in others houses, if you choose to be mistreated by everyone around you, it’s not my fault.” “I Its NOT MY FAULT!” I screamed. A hot surge of anger, like an electric charge, suddenly infiltrated me. “Y-You h-have n-no i-idea…” I broke down. Tears came spurting from my eyes. “Y-you…Y-you have n-n-no i-idea…” I said again. I tried to stop crying, but I couldn’t. I cried and cried. I put my head down on mamma’s lap, she did not resist.
“I-I tr-try…” I tried to say, as I sniffed uncontrollably “…b-b-but I c-ant. I-I fe-feel s-so tr-trapped”My voice sounded muffled even to myself. I cried my heart out, loudly and noisily, soaking mamma’s kurta wet. She didn’t seem to mind that, she stroked my head, and the roughly cut ends of my hair. I don’t know, how long I cried, but when I stopped, mamma hugged me tightly and kissed my cheeks. I knew she wasn’t angry anymore.“I- I just…I just feel so trapped, and… there is ABSOLUTELY nothing that happens all day long…It is just so…”“ That’s alright…” mamma wiped the last drops of water from my eyes “…but you see, there is no getting out of this. This is the new normal, like it or not…”“ I know…but I-I just don’t feel like doing anything…”“I know…I don’t feel very delighted either…” she said, suddenly looking tired and wistful “…to have to drag myself to office everyday…to wear a mask all through out. You are still lucky…” she said “You have grandpa at home, with you…there are so many children…even people at my office…who have children…who live home alone all day…or live with house maids…I know grandpa doesn’t talk much, but at least you have him, than a complete stranger.”“I know” I sighed “you’re right…I’m sorry…I know I’m lucky…its…its just very hard to remember that…at times”“I know.” mamma smiled…“Good night” I said, as she finally turned off the lights. “Good night baby. Sweet dreams.” “I will try to be good from tomorrow…” I said as I turned to my side of the bed. The last thing I remembered, before I fell asleep, was the feeling of peace, the delicacy of feeling and calm and quite within oneself. The tree outside was still rustling its leaves, I could hear it. I remembered what I’d just said… I would try…yes…I would have to…but…would I succeed? …I didn’t know…maybe I would. I closed my eyes…I knew only one thing…trying was better…I knew… I would try.
By Raima Ghosh
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