Tuesday 13 October 2015

The Bawl of The Broken Pieces




'Two more miles,' I told myself as I dragged my feet across the road. Wiping the tears off my face, making way for fresh ones that were currently brewing below my lids, I took the turn on the right. It was past midnight. Ma and Baba are surely still in bed, munching on happy thoughts in their deep slumber. I hope Prabhas Kaka remembered to put back the gravy in the fridge post dinner. He has become very careless lately. Ma has been very upset with him. As it is Raya has been giving her so much trouble with her Math marks. Oh! Doesn't she have another test tomorrow? Well, this time when she fails, she can put it on me- 'My older brother of eighteen has run away from home'.
There is no turning back now. No there isn't. I just need to keep walking for two more miles. Then maybe a little further. Further till I finally figure out where these roads are leading me to. No, I am not eloping. Nor am I a byproduct of a family breeding on unhappy grounds. In fact, just a few hours back I put my dog to sleep in my drawing room while Ma sang, in our regional language, happy songs of love and hope that binds humanity together to my sister in her room. I always forget the lyrics.
'Just one more mile' I spoke out loud. That's when my knees gave way as I knelt down on the footpath. I gently pushed my body back to get the support of the wall. It reminded me of the time I was five and I ran down our lane with the street kids playing soccer. After the 'big game' we sat against the wall sweating in the heat and laughing till our cheeks turned red. It did not last long though. Baba did not like me playing with those boys. They were 'gawaar' he said; illiterate.
I stared down the street wondering whether this lane has ever witnessed a bunch of five to six years old boys play around jauntily in the peak of their childhood, their screams and laughter echoing in the ears of the passersby.  As I stared, I saw it right in the middle of the road. A pair of glasses, frame intact, a crack symmetric across the left rim. The dim streetlight suddenly seemed to refract sharply through the chipped edges of the glasses.
They were like a pair of eyes staring right back at me. I laughed at the horrific thought, nervously amused by my height of imagination at One in the night. Or was it Two?
I pulled my eyes to my watch but my gaze remained arrested to the abandoned frame in the middle of the deserted street. Probably we were the only two loners in town today- one's been forcibly isolated and the other chose to.
The thick frame suggested that it belonged to an old man, probably in his sixties. I guess he would be a little older than Prabhas Kaka. He never wore glasses. He said he eats healthy and never needed them. But Baba said he was fibbing. He does not wear them cause he does not want to look old lest Baba should ask him to quit. Kaka has been working for us ever since I remember my existence. Ma once told me that when I was two and suffered from dengue, Kaka prayed in several temples and swore to quit eating meat for the sake of my good health and long life. He still believes that I survived because of him while Baba of course tells me it is because of the Zillion medical care services imported for me. Baba is an atheist so I never argue about this with him. Actually, I never really argue with him on anything. I just... never do.
I wanted to get back on my feet and inspect my lonely companion much closely but my body did not comply. I tilted my head to one side. There was a blue sari swaying in the air in someone's balcony across the street. I stared at the miniature reflection on the glass and smiled. Ma had a similar sari with a golden border. I remember she wore it for the first time on Raya's first birthday. I was eight at that time and was writhing in pain from within as MY mother held this new kid of twelve months so affectionately in her arms. I am the only child of Ma and Baba and will always be. That was the year I got my first cellular phone. I had a good year at school- ' The only kid with a phone at that age'. I made so many friends so fast. That was the last time I longed for Ma and Baba the way I did at the birthday party. Longed for, openly. Cause after that, any time I opened my mouth to complaint I got my 'something new'. A new blackmail game I liked- reducing my emotions merely to a trick to get things done. Hey! But it was a trick that benefitted both parties. Cause boys don't cry. Boy's don't express their feelings. I was indeed, grooming to be their "perfect son".
My eyes streamed with tears once again, blurring my vision. I felt like I had those broken pair of glasses on. Viewing this world, through the cracks. But then, don't we all? Watching the subtle imperfections stream by. It was through my blur vision that I could see things more clearly.
I pulled myself up to my feet and marched towards the middle of the road. I picked up those glasses, the fragile pieces unravelling between my fingers and finally settling in the pit of my palm. It had the letters 'GUCCI' inscribed on the side. I laughed at its destiny.
I threw away the pieces and kept the frame in my front pocket. My 'branded' companion for the miles that remain. Maybe a little further. Further till I finally figure out where these roads are leading me to. It's time to put the broken pieces together...

The Stranger

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