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Shards of Mind…

August 3, 2009

“And you know, the world is going on normally, quite oblivious to your state of mind. No there arent any reported earthquakes, nor violent volcanoes. The world is not injured because of your personal grief”
I sighed. How can it be so? My world is shattered. I am bereaved. Don’t you listen to that heart thump? Irregular? Quick? And quickening?
“I can only see you gorging Chicken Biryani and you appear to be relishing it”
Yes, and why not? I wanted to indulge. My head’s bursting and I don’t remember when I last had a proper meal. See, the spicy chicken’s fumes are getting into my head and soothing my nerves. My eyes half close in delight. Yes, I wanted to indulge.
Are you sure people are only seeing this? and not within? I enquire with some curiosity.
“No”, he begins, “they seem to be busy with themselves. Why don’t you just eat well and get along? Why do you have to know what people are thinking? It isn’t going to make any difference. At the best you will be given a comfort phrase”
Yes, I know that.
“..and the worst could be that you will have to endure a hearing”, he continues, “of their personal philosophies on life in general”.
Yes, yes. I hastened to add wondering how he is different from the rest.
But what about my grief, my despair?
“We don’t care”, says he with finality and a piercing look.
You don’t care? After knowing all that! and you still don’t care?
“What ‘all that’?”
All that, I sing with a lilt and a sweep of my hands to show all that.
He repeats, “What all that?”
You know I wake up with a start these days and wet my pillow with tears for the rest of the night. You know that, don’t you?
“Yes”, he says calmly.
Oh!..and..and I feel a heaviness in my heart. The subtle sudden despair. Yes, that’s what it is. And you don’t care?
“No”, he maintains.
The noise of the crowded restaurant hits my ear. I start walking back home. But I can’t shake off the thought that such a thing can mean nothing to him. The traffic. The headlights. The honking. You know what I feel like! I feel like burning every little thing around here to cinders.
“You won’t do anything like that”.
Agitated, I avoid his stare and walk briskly. At the door of my flat, fumbling with the keys to unlock the door, staring at the lock with wide-open eyes, blinking frequently to stop the surge of tears, I tell him he will never understand my sorrow. He remains silent. I look away from him when switching on the light. Am not going to give him the pleasure of watching me cry. On a pretext, I rush to the kitchen and then to the bathroom and return washed. I pick a half-read novel and start from somewhere in the middle. He sits by my side, calm and unobtrusive. Why am I cursed? Why don’t I find peace?
“It’s the way you look at it”, he says.
Anyway I look at it I find no hope.
It’s so hard to see a rainbow with glasses thick as these
I find no peace in your counsel. I am bereaved. Why don’t I get what I want?
“Make the most of what you have got”
You talk of these as objects. I despise you.
“By all means, if it helps you”.
Why don’t you leave me alone?
“You cannot hide from your self”
O my tumourous self, please leave me alone!

I switch off the light and stare at the dark roof, with a warm trickle down my cheek onto the pillow.

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