The silence in the dimly lit foyer was interrupted by her footsteps as she entered the living room. The clock on the living room wall was about to strike 11 PM. As quietly as she could, she hung her key ring on the key holder behind the entrance door and tiptoed into the living room.
“Welcome home sweetheart. So, was it Chinese or Mughlai tonight? “, he said without turning the wheelchair around to face her.
“Oh. I thought you had fallen asleep”, she said as she turned on the light switch.
“In case you forgot, invalids like me usually prefer to be helped into their beds“.
The wheelchair swirled around to reveal a handsome square face.
She was exhausted after a long day especially when she had spent a major chunk of the evening on the road jostling her way through the city traffic. She wondered if she could put up with another shot of sarcasm.
“You look like you are in a bad mood today... angry with me?” she smiled in a feeble effort to dispel the gloom in the air. “I was just about to leave when they set up a conference call with the clients in Maryland and asked me to join. And then by the time it got over I...”
“Forget it. I don’t want to know... you must be tired. I had dinner. There’s some iced tea in the fridge in case you feel like having one.”
“Did Bimla Tai make koftas in the afternoon today? I asked her to before I left this morning.”
“I’ll keep the television volume down so you can sleep. Just keep the bedroom door closed.” He reached out for the television remote.
“Why are you doing this? Can we sit and talk for a while? I mean, without the television on?” she walked over to the couch adjacent to the wheelchair.
He did not answer.
“I brought some almond and fig ice-cream, your favourite, right? Lets...”
“There is Hitler’s Biography at eleven on the History channel that I do not want to miss. Besides, you seem to have caught a bad cold already. Icecream is a bad idea under the circumstances.”
“What is it with you! This was never your idea of spending time together.” She got up feeling exasperated. She was a little bit of everything – hurt, angry, disappointed, and guilty.
“You don’t want to know my idea of spending time together.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll never understand it.” He turned his wheelchair around and started adjusting some books lying around in a pile on the table on the side.
She stood there a while, waiting for him to turn back and look into her eyes that were brimming with tears. But his hands continued to linger around on the items on the table trying to quench some kind of wanderlust long after the books were standing at the edge of the table in a neat pile.
If there is one thing that I have come to believe about men I have known in my life, it is that they are baffled, dumbfounded little travelers on the vast emotional plane of life – completely ill-equipped with the right travelling kits. I have to admit that there have been aplenty estrogen-laden moments when I have taken the unfair liberty to generalize and declare all men to be completely devoid of sensitivity and emotion. But after the rise and fall of many strong emotions when I have succumbed to my only friend and only enemy whose name is Reality, I have observed that men act the way they do because they are afraid of catching themselves under the grip of any emotion whatsoever. If they cannot become invisible, they start treating others as invisible – thus ironically making fear the most predominant emotion in their lives.
On the other hand, women who take a self-proclaimed and in my opinion somewhat foolish, pride in their capacity to withstand a lot of pain admit that the hardest to bear is the pain of indifference. It can make the strongest of women crumble under its sting. It leaves them angry, exposed and vulnerable to more hurt. I believe the reason for this is that the only armour needed for indifference is indifference itself and I am yet to meet a woman who has been able to equip herself with it.
“Yes. You are right. I won’t understand. I spend the entire day doing things I had never planned in my life. I no longer understand what anyone wants... or for that matter what I want.”
The tender thread of patience that held a rein on her temper had snapped. Her frustrations and the ache in her body flowed out in a rapid stream of angry words.
“I am sorry you have to work so hard and I am sorry you have to look at a husband who is half paralyzed from waist to toe every single day. I wish I could help you by vanishing into thin air but unfortunately I am helplessly incapacitated to do that.”
“You can help me by being a little less rude.”
“Try saying this to someone who has been staring at the freaking door for four hours, waiting to hear it creak open. It’s not every day I look forward to...”
“I told you I was...”
“Can you please not tell me anymore about how indispensible you are at work, especially because I haven’t exactly felt that way in a long time?”
“So this is what it is all about? Let me tell you something here, I didn’t exactly choose to be where I am today. I am doing this because one of us has to... and that one is me at the moment.”
Realizing that she had been too sarcastic, she mellowed down and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
”C’mon... it’s been more than a year... don’t be so harsh on yourself and on me.”
“Yeah... I’m sorry about ending a perfectly wonderful evening of yours on this note. Hope you have a pleasant sleep. Good night.” The wheelchair moved on leaving a cold, bitter cloud of air around her.
“What is it with you? I’m sorry you had to wait...” she said in a flustered tone.
“I don’t want to talk about anything”
“Why don’t you let all this bitterness out once and for all?”
“There is no bitterness. I’m just fed up. And I said I don’t want to talk.”
“Why? Why don’t you ever want to talk about it?”
“Talk about, what? Losing one half of my body in a freaking car accident, losing a lucrative job, a promising career? Losing my four year old son and watching my beautiful wife turn into a workaholic machine? Watching everything I loved about my life being torn apart in a matter of minutes... “, emotions that simmered in his heart like white fire, flared up again.
“You lost this, you lost that... it’s always about you, right? I was happy too... with the home loan finally paid off; I was ready to settle into full time motherhood... live the life I always wanted to... finish my paintings... enjoy life with Akash and you... and a baby on her way...“ she gasped for breath and her voice softened as she continued.
“...we decided we’d name her Avani… you were so sure it was a daughter... and I remember you said how they would both form the two ends of the spectrum of our lives... the earth and the sky...” She stared at the ceiling as tears outlined her face.
“Can you please go to bed? I said good night.”
“Sure...”
She was so angry; she shook as she fumbled for words.
“And yes, you should definitely be sorry. It may have been a perfectly wonderful evening that you just ruined. Good night. I have a long day tomorrow.”
She threw her handbag on the sofa and stormed into the bedroom closing the door behind her with a loud bang.
Just then a small brown packet slipped out of the handbag and fell at his feet.
*
She caught sight of it when she lifted her head from the pillow. She had been crying only a few minutes but it seemed like an eternity had passed. She wiped her tears and picked herself up. On her side of the bed lay a pink rose and a packet wrapped in a pale blue gift paper. She untied the pearl white ribbon and tore open the gift wrapper. It was a book titled “Wildflowers under the willows” by Sushant Mehta. On the first page it read, “Dedicated to my beautiful wife”.
*
The remote control lay still and the television never got switched on. The clock on the living room wall broke the dead stillness of the room as it struck half past eleven. The tall frame that sat huddled in a wheelchair looked like it had been frozen in time except for the occasional tear that left a trail on the back of his hand. Clasped in his hands lay a book titled, “Wildflowers under the willows” which he held close to his heart.
A note from the book had fallen on the floor. It read:
“For my dearest husband.
The light in your eyes as you hold the first print of your book in your hands is the greatest gift I could give myself.”
The prints had come out only that afternoon. While he had telephoned the publisher to send him the first print of the book as a surprise for her, it was a two hour drive from her office to the publishers’ and a three hour drive back home.
Just then the bedroom door opened and she rushed out into the living room. She walked up to the wheelchair, sat down on the floor besides it and placed her head in his lap. He gently caressed her hair as he whispered, “Happy anniversary”. She looked up at the face of the man she loved more than anyone else in the world and said in a voice muffled with tears, “Happy anniversary, darling”.
The darkest hour of the night came alive as a stream of moonlight fell through the living room window on two souls who had lost themselves and found each other again.
“I’m starving.”
“So am I. Now that you reminded me, mughlai not such a bad idea...”
“It’s midnight madam. All restaurants are closed. May I have the pleasure of serving Maggi noodles to the young lady?”
“Sounds yum....with nimbupaani on the rocks?”
“It’s a deal.”
The willows had come alive with wildflowers.
8 comments:
Good attempt. Could have been better. The flaw in the story is that the writer seems to have been herself swept up in the rush of emotions of her characters. The story seems to be written in a great hurry....and goes past the reader like a whirlwind. It needs a few lines of....I don't know what to call it....but surely something that lends a little stability to it.
Submitted humbly for consideration.
Nice story...but a story none the less. If only all arguments could end this way.
I don't have words to thank you for the time and effort you put in giving me feedback on my writings. I feel really honoured. Truly. I must have done something really really good to deserve this. Thanks so much!
I agree with your points. Now that I read it again, everything you say makes sense. And yes, it was written in a great hurry - the problem is that I had this situation playing in my mind for months and I got a few hours' window to put it down on paper. I was in somewhat of a rush to get it out of my system. I don't know if it is a good or a bad thing but any story I have in my mind continues to trouble me till I let it out. This one has not been baked enough. The idea I wanted to convey was this - even in the greatest of conflicts, love finds it's way...most often we do not acknowledge it's presence in our lives and keep waiting for it to come... most of the time it is all around us when we least expect it, just like wildflowers that grow in the most unlikely of places... that was the idea behind the title - but I guess I failed to bring it out.
I will try to re-do it keeping in mind the points you mentioned and share again. And if I still can't get it right, I will seek your help. I do hope I can.
For Anonymous: I'd really like to know who you are. I wish I could...
Loved it.
The insertion of a paragraph from the author in the first person brings the story to life. Good work Smita.
In spite of being a man, it is amazing to get an insight into a man's psyche from a woman....of fear being the predominant emotion in a man's life. Wonderfully understood and expressed. Accept my congratulations for a deep look inside the other gender.
However, on a personal note, I will not like to agree with the line, "...the only armour needed for indifference is indifference". It is a sentence with vengeance. It is like saying, "If you shoot me, I will shoot you in return and let us all kill each other".
My observation about men is that with all the raging testerone, they find it hard to stay put. They are mostly active, assertive and energetic. To be indifferent to something means therefore, to be a lesser man (that is one of the fears in a man's mind too). Men are usually more active than passive and indifference is a passive way of life. Yes, some of them could be indifferent and cold but that is more of an exception than the rule. And yes, some revengeful types may practice indifference actively. It could be a conscious, wilfull act. But when it is wilfull, it is not passive.
In any case, even if we allow men to be indifferent (which they might be wilfully or habitually), then also it can not be countered with more indifference. Indifference breeds indifference and in the end what a couple will be left with is a deep choke, a nooze around the neck which is neither too tight to kill, nor too loose to set them free. They get stuck in a cold war.
Direct action is the answer to indifference. The ice must be broken, either this way or that way. Emphatic action is the antidote to indifference. The indifference will be breached and either the couple will be closer than ever before or they will have the clarity and courage to separate gracefully. Both ways, they will give themselves a chance to move on with life. Indifference, when answered with indifference, only results in a suffocating stalemate and there is no point in hanging on to an indifferent relationship. It simply is not a "good-fit" for your life and you need to disinvest it.
Indifference is not the natural state of anything in nature. Look around. There is nothing indifferent. Everything is bursting with life and activity. Indifference is a coma. Nothing in the world is in a coma (except of course, someone who is criticially injured or sick). If you are indifferent, you are condemning yourself and the other to an oblivion.....a deep insensibility and that belittles the integrity of life. One should live and then one must die. Indifference is to just vegetate.....neither here nor there. It brings disgrace and distaste in the self.
Creation is an ongoing process. People and objects come and go out of existence constantly. The same holds for a relationship that corresponds to the natural order of things. Relationships come into existence. We must relish them, live them to the fullest and if we can not, they must end cordially. Being indifferent about them is to put them in a suspended death and that creates ugliness. Walking around with a corpse is ugly. Isn't it?
It is how I look at it. You may not agree. That is fine. If you do, you can make a point about it in the story. In the story, the indifference thawed away due to circumstantial reasons. Both of them gifted each other the same book. By chance, it was their anniversary on that day and there was an occassion to gift something and by chance the book had come out in print the very same day. Too many chances.
All I am saying is that a couple should make a conscious effort to deliberately create more and more such circumstances, where they must face reality (the only friend and the enemy as you rightly pointed out). As an author of the story, you can send this message to your readers by altering the story line to show deliberate effort in this regard. Or if you don't want to change the characters of the story, you could insert your own viewpoint in the end to close the story.
There is no point in living in a fool's paradise (or hell, for that matter). So, when reality is encountered, there will be some sparks and some smiles but all of that will be better than the listless apathy that creates impenetrable shells around you and you get totally alienated from all pain and pleasure. To be immune against all pain and pleasure is to be dead already. Only the dead don't feel anything.
So, I humbly propose what I am proposing: Do not kill yourself. Kill the indifference.
Thanks and regards
Radical Essence,
I agree indifference leads nowhere. But there are situations in which one person, in most of the cases, the girl is bothered by something and is not able to express it. Even if she tries to start a conversation, she understands that the guy cannot comprehend what she is feeling. In that case, some might choose to yell and some to be quiet. But either way does not help her catch the attention/compassion/understanding she is seeking. In those times, when one is not strong enough to leave, one might live with indifference.
Smita, The story was gripping. Though it is not remotely related, somehow it reminded me of "Mitr"
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