Why not?

“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.