Posthumous existence

 

Mira was mired by myriad problems of marriage. She had this inferiority spiralled by her husband's ability to microscopically dissect each mistake, magnify it and present it in the glorified platter of guilt. He eventually had the right to show off his magnanimity also. She bought it most of the times. She thought that it was she who was wired wrong way. She lost her confidence completely. She compared her early life to her present life. She thought to herself sometimes " ignorance was bliss". With knowledge of her weakness' and her disabilities she had couched into the fear of failure. What failure she would wonder. But the fear existed. It surfaced in every action. She became defensive and as a result offensive. The fear resulted in more errors, more depression and more errors. Her interiors started to defy everything that was supposed to be done. Even basic functional activities became too much of efforts.

She drooped lower into the oblivion, giving more fodder for her husband to feed on, to digest and to spit it all out on her miserable ego. She lost all desire to improve. It was comfortable down there. It justified her inaction and her unwillingness to do what is supposed to be done. She rebelled against her ownself. She became self destructive. The thought of comfortably numb passed and she could no more bear the state she had reached. In addition to the insult the injury was always added by the husband. A perfect recipe for suicide. She began plotting for her suicide. She researched for a painless way. There were none. Even if there were., they were inaccessible. So she resorted to traditional ways. One night when she became despondent, she wanted to hang herself. She saw a hook on the wall. As she made up her mind, she started sobbing profusely, All the good things in her life came to her. She thought that there is no reason to continue and extend the miserableness.

Every act of human did not seem germane to her.She thought that the cycle of life is illogical and it is high

time she ended the misery.She found nothing in the house she could hang herself with. So she took the thick cables of the cable tv connection and overlapped them four times to make it strong enough to sustain weight. She made the deadly loop that would tighten around her neck. By this time she was nervous and frenetic. She took the chair of appropriate height and climbed up to tie the lose end to the hook. She tied the wires in the hook. She put her head inside the loop. She fastened it for one last assurance. She didnt want to face her family if she failed in this.She was ready . The tears had dried. The sense of freedom was dawning, the hopelesness was gone. She yearned for this sensation for so long.

Just then the phone rang and she slipped. She cursed.But She managed to get her hands on the wire, and get her feet back on the chair. She undid the loop, got down the chair and picked up the phone. It was her husband. She confessed she was committing suicide. He went crazy and started crying. He loved her madly. He just could not know what was wrong with his wife.

He had problems. He thought she was disinterested, unconcerned and displayed lackadaisical behaviour in the relationship. His experiences over the period made his actions bitter, which represented his feelings. He was insecure, unaware, unsure and suffering too. He pleaded. She promised that she would not do any such thing in the future.
Things werent normal. This time she planned for an innovative way. She bought a very sharpened butcher knife. She stored a lot of ice. As she gathered ice, she put it in a bucket.She put her hands into the bucket. While she did this, she drank a glass of undiluted whiskey. After about half an hour she could not feel her hands. She picked the knife. 

She slowly made a deep gush in her wrist where the hand begins. Then she cut the wrist at a 45 degreed angle from the previous cut. Then to top it she cut the wrist horizontally up to her arms, till the place she could not feel the pain. Then to make sure she put her head inside a plastic cover and tied it with rubber bands.

In her note she said

" 

As the end approaches,

I light the fire,

To my own pyre

As the Dreams are broken

I am denied of my last desire

As I am about to die

I wonder why?

I burn anyway

Its just another day

I smile as I go.

The fuck you reap what you sow."

 

Social Monotony Part I

Writing monotonous blogs

Social Monotony part II

Dinakar was a 42 year old post-man. He lived in a small room which was almost inconspicuously hidden in the corner of the street between two tall buildings somewhere in the maze of Bombay. He had no friends. He had no family. Parents died when he was young. He lived off the meager salary he earned. He need not save for anything as he had not married and had no off-springs. He could not marry because his speech faculty was not fully developed to get himself married.

Each day he woke up exactly at 6’o clock. He got water for himself. There was no bathroom actually. He took bath in the open backyard (junkyard rather). He used the common dormitory toilet of the adjacent building. Nobody even noticed him. He used it from time immemorial and therefore it was as if he had a preemptive right on it. He was ready by 7:30. He cooked his breakfast. Bread and Omlet was his everyday breakfast. He was lean and hunched. He left for his office at 8:22 and reach the local station by 8:33. His train was at 8:37. He caught is local train and reached the destination station at 9:04 or 9:05. He then took a bus for his office. He reached his office by 9:25 everyday. He then did his regular work of picking up all the mails from all departments of the office and put it in the post box. His work was to post letters. So if anybody had a letter to be posted, they would ring the operator and ask for dianakar. He would get up and go immediately and post the letter. Several times in a day he would go to the post office. Sometimes he would return and leave immediately. He had his lunch in the temple nearby. They gave rice and sambar everyday. He would be in the office until the last officer left, and follow the same routine to get back home. He always reached home between 8:20 and 8:25. After reaching home he cooked his dinner. It was roti curry for 6 days. On Sundays he cooked fish curry. On Sundays he did cleaning, washing and ironing. Remaining time on Sunday he brooded about the sleep problem.

He lived on for another 18 years. One day when he slept he dint wake up. He was sixty. He did not come to office. The operator said ‘ Dinakar bhau elat nahi” (Dinakar brother has not come today). Everybody wondered how many leaves does this old fellow takes. Actually he had not taken leave for a single day in 40 years. When he did not come third day, the work was incomplete. As nobody knew where he lived, they hired another twenty year old boy who had just came to Mumbai to make a living. He was searching for a room. He ended up in the lil street and knocked on the door where the dinakar lived. He smelled the stench of the rotting dead body and informed neighbours. They disregarded it by saying that nobody stayed there. But when they smelled it for themselves they believed. The Municipality workers did the remaining job. The body of Dinakar was thrown into a near by river that joined into the sea. The young boy started staying in Dinakar’s house and he lived a similar lifestyle as Dinakar did.

The firm where he worked, officials still called the operator and asked for Dinakar. He became Dinakar as nobody else observed that Dianakar was replaced by somebody else. In fact nobody ever saw Dinakar closely. So Prabhakar became Dinakar. Prabhakar bought his grocery from the same place. He bathe at the same place and used the same toilet. Nobody missed Dinakar. Nobody shed a tear in his rememberance. He was gone like he had come. There were no memories. 

Me

Normal as anybody,
dreams of success
laziness in bones
and every cell,
Frustrated of lack of achievements,
yet no urge to do any further
Have the faith yet,
may be ignorance too,
Desolate as can be,
Who you lookin at is me