Curiosity?

I look in the mirror. Who do I see? Hair unkempt, overgrown round the ear. Eyes, bloodshot. Tired. Anxious. Lips, slightly chapped. Beard, untrimmed. Stubble. A face. Don’t I see anything unusual about the ear and nose? No, I don’t think so. Do I?

I look in the mirror. Where am I? Is it my home? I am inclined to believe so. Must you believe what you think? Someone would know. That is, again, something I believe.

I look in the mirror. I think there are two of us here. You and me. Do you have a name? Not that I care to know…only curious. Mildly so. I don’t let me curiosity show, in case you are wondering. Are you? No, no. Barely curious. It doesn’t really matter.

Have you ever had too much caffeine? Perhaps on an empty stomach? Hypoglycaemia setting in, hands begin to shake, you are jittery, on the edge, tunnel vision, perhaps? Yes, you have? Good…good. Have I too, you ask? Of course, more than enough number of times. Recently? All the time…all the time these past days. Are you curious to hear about it? I don’t think so. Am I curious to know if you are curious? Is it a mice in the corner of the bathroom? I believe no…there is nothing to eat. Soul? Do I have it?

How do you deal with the loss of someone you never knew? How do you deal with the loss of something you never owned? I own you, I say. Do I detect a smile? Are you mocking me? But you can’t, I tell myself. Are all my questions the result of curiosity? The answer to it is curiosity? I wonder if it is the coffee rather than my head talking. Ah, damn it! It’s a loop. All roads lead down the same end…wait. Are there different roads? Yes, you tell me. How do you know? You have only walked down one, I say. You are silent.

When was the last time I slept? Must have been a long time ago. I am sleepy. I am in that phase where sleep is just behind the eye, tingling it, coaxing it to droop a little. But of course, it can’t close yet. There is too much caffeine in the blood. It’s the only thing that I have been having. Coffee is a diuretic. Even my urine smells of caffeine. But how do I know, you ask me. Have you ever smelt caffeine? No. That’s all I say. That’s all I can say.

I step out of the bathroom, but you are still there. Come out. I am tired. I need to sit. No? Very well. I will go out and sit. You can stay wherever you are. Be specific, you mock me. I can’t. I don’t know where you are. Don’t you want to know, you ask. Please don’t toy with my anxiety, I plead silently. I know you are in the mirror. I know you are my reflection. No, I am not, you sing along cackling away silently. Damn you, I curse as I stumble towards my room. I am going to sit down. Should I make another cup of coffee? Do you want one, I ask. You do not reply. Well…maybe a little later.

There is no furniture in the house. It’s an empty house. Yet, I see someone sitting. I blink and rub my tired eyes. Fine by me. Sit wherever you want. Do what you want. It’s not like I have a say in the matter, do I? I should ask my reflection if it is tired of all the standing around. Perhaps it wants to lie down? Is it a he or is it a she? It is an it, I tell myself firmly. I am not interested in knowing. My curiosity is limitless…or is it? I am curious to know. Am I? Loop inside a loop.

I walk around the house, slowly. My tired feet want to rest. I walk into the kitchen. There is a kettle. There are a large number of cups lying around, some with stale coffee in it, others with coffee dregs or with a few droplets of coffee in them. Whoever has been drinking so much coffee? Perhaps my reflection? No, no. It is not my reflection. But it ought to be someone’s, I ask myself. Does it have to be? How would I know? Am I the reflection of someone? Is someone the reflection of me?

How does it feel to be inside the mirror? Where is my reflection when I am not looking at it? It does not belong to me anymore. Did it ever belong to me? Who is sitting in the drawing room? Is it the reflection? But it wanted to stay wherever it was, right? How do I know if it was lying? Who am I? Where am I? Do I care? Or is it me telling myself that I don’t care? Perhaps the reflection is making me think that way…is it really? Can one do such things? Perhaps a reflection can make you think of yourself in ways you have not had previously? Isn’t that what reflection means? But that’s a different reflection…is it a reflection of the reflection? Do I see what I think or do I think about what I see? Do these questions matter? Why are so many cups here? Did I buy them? But is it my house? I think I have lost something…what is it? Oh yes, my reflection. Does a reflection have a reflection? Ad infinitum? How would I know? Do I need to know? When do the questions end? Is there an end? Death is an end…is it the end? Does someone know? Somebody should know…someone is screaming…perhaps my reflection inside my head? How did it get there? I close my eyes for a second…or is it a minute? 

Where am I? Oh, the kitchen. I must have come here to want something? Not sure. Perhaps a cup of coffee will clear my head…I should make some…

-Parekh, Pravesh

August 06, 2015; 11:35 PM

T-70, Chandigarh