From my house if I turn left, I reach the main road. I turn right, telling myself I’m going for a walk, for the benefit of anyone who cares. No one does except the gossipers. They don’t ‘care’ care, they’re merely transmitters of news.
The one who told me Sandeep was in town was one such. Your old boyfriend is in town.
What does one even say? I just walked away.
From the corner, I see his house. It looks as forbidding and shut as it did during the seventeen years since we parted ways. It does not look inviting or open just because he has arrived. He must have visited so many times. Why would a house look different if its owners are present? I’m told it does.
I linger and lurk in the corner until I feel silly and stupid, and then for the sake of celestial creatures who may be watching and documenting, I complete the roundabout that I call a walk and return home.
My heart lies heavy. But then what’s new? A different type of heavy.
I sit down and try to tackle my work. Never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined that I would have employment I could perform from home. An unexpected gift bestowed on mortals by Covid. During those spectacular two years, I stayed indoors, grateful to finally have a reason not to expose myself to the outside world—with the option to turn off my video whenever I wanted—and was miserable and inconsolable when the world opened up again.
Yet, here I am today, looking for reasons to go out. What a transition, what a fall, my dear countrymen.
Life mocks me when I make changes and betray myself. One time I go out to buy milk, another to get dosa batter, the third time I drag myself for vegetables, everything I can get delivered by three clicks on my phone. I try at different times of the day.
Each time I come across people of the neighbourhood, people who know, who enquire, who probe, who comment, who wonder, who gossip, everyone except the one person I want to see, until my face burns with the embarrassment of the effort, the drama.
The final day, coming back with a packet of milk I don’t need, deciding that I am done with it—I cannot change what is meant to be, nothing is in my control. I can stay outdoors for years, encounter a billion people of this country and never, never run into him—a car stops near me.
“I almost didn’t recognise you.”
I am torn between disbelief and relief. How does this world work? Who is behind this scam? You slice yourself with the effort, nothing happens. Then, just when you give up…
I would dissect his words later, I’m sure. Almost didn’t. Is he trying to say I was too far from his mind? Or that I changed so much? Or what? What?
He’s wearing a mask, of course. Everyone here has abandoned the practice but of course he would continue to do it. A warmth rises in my chest. I know him so well.
