“Dr. Seth
will call you Ms. Anjali as the reports come out” said a delicate voice with
usual consideration of the matter. Anjali moves towards the exit gate, however
determined and carefree. Stepping inside her car she was certain that she would
not be troubled by what the reports will be like. She needed solace, which
medicines wouldn’t provide. The car was
directed towards the shopping mall and the evening was spent with self,
followed by a tumbler of cold coffee. As the sound of the tyres screeched as it
was parked at the garage, it was an indication that Anjali had again arrived
home with a bad day at the hospital and must be distraught. Mother stood
alarmed and the trembling fingers opened the latch of the main gate with
anticipation and the countenance encountered across was rather lit up and
lively for a change. As she pounced upon the stuffy bean bag she possessed a
different spirit that evening. She gulped down a glass of fresh lime and talked
on for the following hour about the footwear and kurtis she splurged on that
evening. Mom had no other thought but was glued to her daughter’s eventful
monologue. She offered her another glass of the drink which she heartily
welcomed.
That night
was starry and the sky was chockfull in an altered hue. Anjali decided to open
an unfinished book of Sheldon. She had resolved to get lost in its depth and sought
to come out of the long lost pondering over her own un-culminated story of
life. This night she wanted to read and re-read the cluster of words under the
dim light and had a longing to be melted in the emotional strings in the novel
and wished to never be back to the bitter part that her own destiny had exposed
her to. She tasted joy after many days and had plans to baton on it. Flipping
on the fourth page of the novel, an unwanted thought started to fence her, she
had crossed-brows for a while as she thought about the medical reports but
shunned the idea of being taken away by it and favored a fictional zone she had
set for herself and camped in.
Next
morning the corn flakes were being poured in the blue milk bowl for her, she
paused by the table and clicked at her mother’s hands she demanded aloo
paranthas instead. This was enough to hint at the U-turn she was taking to her
previous ways of living life. Papa winked at mom and passed a satisfying smile.
The sizzling paranthas were served flouting the monotony of the past eight
months. Eating the belly-full she laid back on the couch to spend another
afternoon dating the romance in Sheldon. Like a phoenix she rose upwards as her
curious journey of skipping the pages endured on. “Here are some photographs
you should have a look at” said papa while strolling through the drawing room on the
lazy Sunday afternoon. No reply was made. She continued reading, as she
pretended to have been lost in the core of Sheldon’s love story while her mind
was back to the pain given by the things which fell apart, and vanished a year
ago. The nerves of her mind were contracting and the head ached. The tears
trailed down helplessly, but the book held tight in her hands was the only
escape. Krish had gone in the last winters, leaving her amidst the mist of
January; she was subjected to solitude, expected or may be forced to withstand the
chill of silence and face the foggy life. Her conscience asked her to stop
lamenting over the loss so unbearable. Having spent the last year in vertical
depression she was conscious enough to not go back to that phase again. It was
only with difficulty that she had decided to not pay attention to what the
medical reports had to say.
The
conscience told her to fly and look high above the stars than treating herself
with a cruel number of tablets throwing herself in sedation for hours. The
tickets were booked and the plans were made. She, mom and papa were flying for
a holiday. “But these photographs Anjali? I need to answer them by this week,
please choose one to fix up a meeting this evening” Papa pleaded this time. She
held his hand and promised a wonderful life they both could give her during the
vacation she had planned for three of them. Why not?
“I need a break, from the languor of this life, I need to breathe before
I could think anything” as Anjali copped a plea out of the situation while stroking Papa’s shoulders convincingly. He embraced
her sentiments while the white envelope containing the photographs breathed in
silence, unattended.
