My Dance With Life

By Dwaipayan Bhattacharjee

If happiness was a cake, I never yearned for the entire confection, nor even for a generous slice. But I question my God every day, for I fail to comprehend why, after everyone in this world was granted their share, I was left to clean the plate? Why was I only allowed to savor the aroma, but left wanting for its taste?

Umeed had done everything in his life by the book. He called it ‘My dance with life’. A book whose pages were written at times by people he called his family but mostly, by total strangers. Pages, signed by him upon completion, now stared at him meaninglessly, as if the ink had been dropped by a toddler during one of his many games, without any reasoning. Words that held a lot of meaning in the past danced illegibly before his eyes, plucking at the strings of his aching heart, creating an ominous melody for the dance of eternal torment. Letters, with switched positions, would have led to an unknown path, but one made for him. But instead, they were weaved together to follow the Pied Piper’s dance.

Umeed stared at himself on his phone screen, a phantom of a young, confident artist, now only a lost and lonely effigy.

I can, can’t I?

No! You can’t.

I have never hurt anyone in my life. 

Well, at least your conscience hasn’t. 

I am not hurting anyone, am I?

Pain balances itself equally on each finger.

Umeed released his hammer grip from the knife and allowed it to dance on his index finger.

Good balance! Now smile.

Tell that to the mirror. Make him smile.

I am smiling, ain’t I?

Where did it all go wrong? 

You got tangled in a complex web of knots.

What web? What Knots? 

You have everything but you want none of it.

Everything?

Nothing!

Umeed, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts, sat staring at the cake in front of him with blank, sunken eyes. The sound of a Happy Birthday chorus, sung by his family, jolted him out of his trance. He shifted his gaze from his wife, who was leading the chorus with gusto, to his mother, clapping her hands in joy, her face radiating pride. His brother stood next to her, recording everything on his cellphone, his expression a curious mix of amusement and nostalgia. Umeed's eyes met those of his sister’s, who was standing at a distance with his niece, smiling. He nodded at her, cut a slice from the cake, and bit into it. The sweetness of the cake danced on his tongue, but it could not dispel the bitterness that had hardened into a fortress in his heart. His brother cut a slice and the rest of the family followed suit, their mouths full of cake and their faces plastered with smiles.

Umeed disconnected the call and looked at himself in the reflection of his knife. His eyes were bleary, and the smile was gone. He brought the knife closer to his face, and through the veil of cake, he saw his phantom again.

I can’t.

Funny you say that now.

What about my sister?

She is a big girl.

“I need some tea”, Umeed screamed and padded towards the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the tiled floor. He grated a knob of ginger, poured a cup of water into a pan, and set it on the stove. As the water boiled, he drifted to the window and stared out.

Employees streamed home from work, weary but relieved. Groups of friends gathered, ready to drown their sorrows or celebrate their successes. Families strolled by hand in hand, children skipping ahead. Lovers held hands, kissed, and laughed, their joy palpable. The community lived its many lives in full view, a vibrant tapestry of human experience. 

Across the street, at The Jorhat, young dreamers gathered, their jubilant faces illuminated by the warm glow of the cafe. They sipped tea, coffee, or craft beer, their laughter mingling with the live music, creating a symphony of joy.

He poured a teaspoon of tea leaves into the pan of boiling water, stirred the mixture gently, and then passed it through a sieve into a cup. He closed the window and paused for a while next to the stove. 

Time to embrace peace.

Now?

Umeed was fighting battles at multiple fronts in his mind and his hand moved involuntarily towards the stove. One by one, he turned on the gas on his stove from all four outlets and walked back to the hall, the cup of tea cradled in his hand.

Umeed savored his tea, sip by sip, his eyes fixed on the kitchen, his nostrils straining to catch the scent of Ethyl Mercaptan. He sat alone in the hall of his studio apartment, ruminating on the choices that had led him to this moment. He had an unlit cigarette dangling from between his fingers. He let the gas waft over him like a cozy blanket on a chilly winter morning. The smell of deep sleep promised by his alter ego cupped his lungs as he relaxed back on the sofa, his head resting on a cloud of emotions, his right hand tapping the armrest with a cigarette lighter. The proud name of the country, engraved in black on a sea of red, stared at him with disgust.

He reclined, sipping, and resting the cup on his left thigh in a rhythmic cadence. A slurp followed by a clink, sonically blending with the tapping of the lighter that conjured an intoxicating melody, navigating through the labyrinthine paths of his subconsciousness. He was at his own concert, a shadowy one with butane and propane for the dry ice fog. He slowly started to feel the needles piercing his lung and with each breath, his heart, once filled with love, now fueled by anger, raced to win a lost battle. He finished the last sip of his tea and abruptly stood up, dropping the cup to the floor, like the last hit of the cymbal as he screamed at his soul, stretching the letter “a” like a wake-up cry to end, or perhaps add vocals to, his song, ‘My dance with life’.

It’s time.

Right Now?

It won’t be as bad as it is now.

Maybe.

Trust me.

Ok! But first, “I need more tea.”

Umeed staggered towards the kitchen; his mind clouded by smoke inhalation. Flashbacks of the past five years flitted through his vision, but his gaze remained fixed on the window. His choices had led him to this point. His lungs burned, a reminder that his current state was his own doing. But was there a way out?

He took a few labored steps forward, his mind torn between the flashbacks of his choices and the choice he had to make now. All he had to do was open the window for some fresh air. Air that would fill his lungs with oxygen and the room with the sounds of the outside world. Sounds that symbolize life and its many struggles. It was that easy, just unlocking the latch.

Umeed's mind stalled as his feet carried him towards the latch. He could almost feel the cool breeze on his face, the taste of freedom on his tongue. But would he live to fight another day?

He hesitated as he entered the kitchen, his gaze drawn to the stove and the gas lighter next to it.

Just light it up and you'll be free.

The window frees me too.

Is that what you want?

I want to feel one wave of fresh air. I want to fight.

But you've already lost the battle.

Umeed snatched the gas lighter from the kitchen counter and strode towards the window. Time was running out, and his judgment was as clogged as his lungs. He could hear the kids from the neighborhood playing baseball outside, and the sounds brought back a flood of memories of his childhood from back home, playing cricket with his friends. A sudden cough wracked his chest, reminding him of his current predicament. He raised the lighter and rested his arm on the windowsill, his fingers poised to flick the switch. The choice between life and death was inches away, but in his mind, it felt like miles.

Light it up!

I want to unlock the latch!

Light it up, you coward little prick!

………….

Umeed emerged from the elevator, his footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. He crossed the threshold and stepped out into the night, breathing in the cool air. The street was bustling with activity, but Umeed felt detached from it all. He was lost in his own thoughts, haunted by the events of the day.

He crossed the road and made his way to The Jorhat, his usual haunt, a place where he could come to relax and unwind. But tonight, he was seeking more than just a drink. He was seeking solace. The bar was lit up like a carnival, but Umeed could not see the lights. The guitarist was playing Sweet Child O' Mine, but he could not hear the music. He sat down at the counter next to Rishi, the bartender.

Rishi looked at Umeed and saw a man who was broken. He poured Umeed a glass of whiskey and waited for him to speak. Umeed finished the drink in one gulp, winced and closed his eyes. He saw his sister's face, her eyes filled with fear. He saw his niece's face, her eyes filled with sadness. He saw his own face, his eyes filled with rage and despair.

"Umeed, what's up?" Rishi asked, pouring him another drink. "You look like you've been through the wringer."

Umeed sighed. "It's been a long day," he said. "And it's not over yet."

"Did you get the funding?" Rishi asked.

Umeed shook his head. "No," he said. "The investor backed out at the last minute."

Rishi cursed under his breath. "That's a bummer, man," he said. "I'm really sorry."

Umeed nodded. "Thanks".

He finished his whiskey and ordered another. He was on his seventh glass when Rishi came over to talk to him again.

"Are you sure you're okay, Umeed?" Rishi asked. "You're not usually like this."

Umeed sighed. "I'm not okay," he said. "I'm scared."

"Scared of what?" Rishi asked.

"Of failing," Umeed said. "Of letting my sister down."

Rishi put a hand on Umeed's shoulder. "You won't let her down," he said. "She knows how hard you're trying."

Umeed shook his head. "I'm not sure she does," he said. "I'm not sure anyone does."

He took another sip of his whiskey and closed his eyes. He could feel the world spinning around him, but he did not care. He just wanted to forget.

"Don't you dare! You saved her life!" Rishi shouted.

Umeed gritted his teeth. "Did I have an option? Should I have just let her husband beat her? I told you before, I had no intention of hitting him, but he should not have sent my sister to our place with a bruised face, cracked ribs, and a broken arm."

"But you saved her, Umeed," Rishi said. "She's happy now and fighting her battles."

"No buts, Rishi," Umeed said, his voice rising. "I pushed them towards a divorce and she's been alone ever since. And... and Riya..." His voice broke.

"Riya is growing up without a father, and it's all my fault." Umeed hung his head and downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. "Pour me another."

"You've had enough."

"Come on, Rishi," Umeed said. "Have you ever seen me like this before? Let me drown what's burning inside me. I miss my father."

Rishi sighed. "Okay, one last one."

Umeed took a big gulp and continued. "No, no, no. I don't miss him. He spoiled my life. We grew up watching him abuse my mother. I will never forget the sound of her getting hit, trying to muffle her cries so we wouldn't hear her pain. But I felt it, Rishi, every blow she took. I felt it in her controlled sobs. I felt it in the black and blue marks on her face that she tried to hide from us." Umeed finished his drink with an even larger gulp.

"He left us," he said. "He left us without love, without money, without any support to fight this evil world. That is why I'm here. That is why I'm working a job and trying to build my own business. But this world doesn't let a nobody make it big."

Rishi offered him a cigarette. "I know it's tough, Umeed," he said. "But you're not a nobody. You are a survivor. And you're going to make it."

"So, what happened to the investors?" Rishi asked, trying to change the subject.

Umeed took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, his breath forming a cloud in the smoky air of the bar. "They backed out at the last minute, saying they didn't think I have what it takes."

Rishi frowned. "But I thought you had it all sewn up."

Umeed sighed, "I know.”

“Pour me another,” Umeed begged.

 "But this is your last one and don't worry about the bill," Rishi said. "The band is taking a break and I'll play a song for you to rap on. Consider it my payment."

Umeed smiled. "Thanks, Rishi," he said. "That means a lot."

Rishi nodded and walked over to the stage as Umeed devoured his drink. Rishi picked up a guitar and started strumming. Umeed took a deep breath and stepped into the spotlight.

"Yo," he said. "Listen up."

Rishi’s tune blanketed the room in a cozy embrace, and Umeed continued,

Ain’t scared to die, I will kiss my fate tonight.

Antagonize everyone who’s on my side.

Stop the war in mind.

Let me breathe O2 tonight.

I just want me to smile, find my ride, feel alive.

I tried to chide the kid inside, push him hard to fight my fights.

When he is tired and he hides, I see my demons in my rhymes.

Sanitized, I don’t like the sight.

If I frame my life, I see a war with my frame of mind.

Pay to pay, today from yesterday, I live in the night, slog through the day.

Pave the way to break the barricade, fire in my mind, hot renegade.

Ain’t scared to die, I will kiss my fate tonight.

Antagonize everyone who’s on my side.

Stop the war in mind.

Let me breathe O2 tonight.

I just want me to smile, find my ride, feel alive.

Me and you through the night.

Dancing to.. My dance with life.

Me and you through the night.

Dancing to.. My dance with life.

Umeed stepped down from the dais to a thunderous applause. Rishi stood up beaming with pride.

"Make some noise for my friend, Umeed!" Rishi shouted to the crowd.

Umeed laughed. He laughed like a child, with a carefree abandon that he rarely allowed himself. He bowed his head and waved to the crowd before making his way back to the bar.

"Thanks for doing this,” he said. “I now have the strength to fight another day," he said.

"A birthday gift for my friend," Rishi replied.

Umeed stepped outside, stood on the pavement, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. He looked up at his apartment building, its lights twinkling in the distance. He placed a cigarette between his lips for a long-deserved drag.

Umeed lit his cigarette, but before he could take a drag, there was a deafening explosion from his apartment building. He dropped the cigarette and stared in disbelief. The other patrons of the bar burst outside; their faces etched with panic.

People were crying and screaming, their faces lit by the flickering flames. A man next to Umeed called 911, while others milled about in confusion and fear.

Umeed looked up at his apartment window and saw a charred face struggling to open the latch.

"That’s Rishi!" Umeed screamed. 

“Come on, man! Open it and jump!" someone shouted.

"Rishi!" Umeed screamed in despair. "Rishi!"

Umeed's scream echoed through the night air, a primal cry of despair. He looked up at the burning building, his eyes fixed on the window where Rishi stood.

"Help!" Rishi choked on that word. "Help!".

But then Umeed saw something that made his blood run cold. 

Umeed saw Rishi screaming and running past him towards the burning building, "That's my friend's apartment! Let me through!", but he was suddenly stopped by the crowd that had gathered.

Umeed looked back at his apartment and at the window, he saw a face. It was his own face.

A smiling face.

A regretful face.

Umeed's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at himself in the window. He could not believe what he was seeing but he understood as he locked eyes with himself, feeling the agony in his heart.

Umeed helplessly endured the pain, intensifying every second, from the pavement. The pain of choosing the smell of burnt flesh over the smell of freshly cut grass, the pain of forfeiting the war upon losing a few battles, the pain of starting but leaving the fight behind for the weaker members of his family, the pain of shame, the pain of defeat, the pain of despair, the pain of seeking forgiveness that was never to be granted.

Umeed turned and walked away, leaving the burning apartment to consume his name, his legacy, like a hungry beast. He hummed under his breath, a haunting melody that echoed the pain and regret in his heart.

Me and you through the night.

Dancing to.. My dance with life.

Me and you through the night.

Dancing to.. My dance with life.

By Dwaipayan Bhattacharjee