Depression Diary - Log VII

Tap. Tap. Tap. I swear I could hear it. All night long. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I had a frugal dinner last night. Had some garbage soup. Then I tried to go to sleep. I switched off the lights and was lying in bed, eyes closed, when I began to have the horrible sensation that someone was watching me. I tried to ignore it but it would not go away. Suddenly I had this feeling that someone was standing next to the bed, looking at me. I opened my eyes, very afraid. There was no one there. I quickly scanned the room in the pale light filtering through the window but could not see anything or anyone. Maybe it is clinging to the ceiling, I thought. Wildly my eyes scanned the ceiling but found nothing. What if it is hiding under the bed? I asked myself. I thought of bending down and looking but then a voice in my head stopped me. What if you actually find something or rather someone there? I cringed at the thought. What happens when you wake up from a nightmare and scan the room to see if someone is there…and you actually find the thing from your nightmare with you? What if you open the closet one day and find a corpse? Or a skeleton? Or a severed head? Or maybe something alive?

All sorts of dark and ugly thoughts came to me. I tried to push them away but they would not. I was feeling very scared. It was as if something invisible was inches away from my skin, ready to carve symbols and shapes on it with its long clawy-ey hand, its talons ready to dig into me, etching out symbols in my blood before ripping me open. Or worse….perhaps when you have to see the thing. To allow its presence overwhelm all your senses. When you can smell its unearthly smell, when you are scared out of every bit of sanity in yourself and yet death shall not come.

After a while my mind began to calm a little and I felt the coming of the tired hands of sleep. Hardly a few moments after I must have slept off, I jolted awake to the sensation of falling from a height. As I was lying down waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal, I swear I heard someone knocking at the bedroom door! It was not a knock knock but a tap. As if someone was tapping at the door with their nail. I practically jumped in fear. I sat up in bed but the sound would not go away. It was persistent. Tap. Tap. Tap. Continuous. I thought of jumping out of bed and switching on the lights but was too scared to move. I don’t know how long I sat in the bed, trying to pray but too senseless with fear to even do that. After a while the sound abated. Still it would not bring me any relief for it was replaced by the sound of someone moving away from the door. Tap. Tap. Tap, of a walking stick perhaps. Then for one glorious moment, there was silence.

Suddenly there was a tapping at the window. The same. Tap. Tap. Tap. I was practically senseless with fear. Just as I was about to turn my face to the window and face the infernal being that was plaguing me, I recollected having read about a “being” that kept knocking on the doors or windows. After a while the knocking would cease but the being would remain there, hoping that the person being haunted would get tricked into looking. The only key to survival was not to look. No matter what. I tried to shut my ears and close my eyes while holding my head between my knees but nothing blocked out the sound. After a while it did cease but I was not to be tricked.

Gradually the night wore off but I sat in the bed, the blanket around me, shivering in fright. Of course I could not sleep a wink. The light from the window at some point indicated that morning was coming. It was then that I dared to look outside the window. However, it was that very early morning hour when even the simplest of everyday things acquire an outline and colour quite unlike their natural one. I saw a tree or rather a ghost of a tree, its ghastly outline…

It was only when the sun was high that I managed to go to sleep. It was around 3 that I started to write this and now it is closing on to 4:30. The light is beginning to dim and I find my fears returning. I haven’t stepped outside the room all day long. Haven’t even opened the closet. I am scared again. I doubt I will sleep tonight. Later.

- U.E

03:01 AM, Bangalore

February 9, 2014

The Bus Ride

He stood there waiting…lost in thoughts. And not just in thoughts. He thought briefly about the meaninglessness of it all. Life. Death. Relationships. People. Friends. Family. Money. Work. And so on. His thoughts shuttled from one to another until he was left thinking without knowing what he was thinking of. He was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to come and take him back home after a long day at work.  It was late and the buses had become less frequent. He had been waiting for almost fifteen minutes. If the correct bus did come by it was either too full or else he was too lost to get into it in time, stepping outside his reverie only when the bus had gone, leaving him in a cloud of dust. There were hardly a few people waiting with him at the bus stop. For all he knew, they were equally lost.

He broke out of his thoughts. He was getting impatient. He ought to reach back home quickly. His wife would be waiting, the food would be getting cold. He glanced at his watch. The children would already be in bed. Damn my thoughts, he muttered silently. Never the correct time to think of things. He peered out on the street and saw a bus coming, still far away to read the number of the bus. He waited, hoping the bus would take him home. The bus came nearer and he saw that it did not have a bus number. The plate had been turned over so that it was merely a plaque painted in white. The bus was surprisingly empty. He only saw the conductor and quickly asked him if the bus would go the way he wanted to go. The conductor did not say anything but nodded for him to get on board. The moment he did that the bus started moving away.

He had the change ready in his hand. He quickly handed it over to the conductor and then looked around. He had not noticed before but there were three more people on board, save him, the driver, and the conductor. There was an elderly lady sitting somewhere ahead. He could not see her face. There was a drape on her head, as if she was suffering from cold and wanted to protect herself from the cold night air. Then there was a middle aged man with greying hair sitting near the window. Poor fellow has fallen asleep. Must be really tired. He saw his head jerk and move with the movement of the bus but he did not wake up. Further back there was another man but he could not make out his face. He strained his eyes but the face was a blur. I ought to get my eyes checked, he thought mentally.

He sat down on one the empty seats. He looked outside the window and jerked back in surprise. Where was the bus going? He did not know this street. It was a simple straight road to the bus stop where he had to go down. There were no turns. So where was he right now? In his state of panic he walked to the conductor and repeated the name of the bus stop. The conductor did not say anything; his eyes fixed on the road ahead but nodded his head. He looked at the driver, helplessly but the driver did not look towards him. He turned to go back to his seat and caught a glimpse of the elderly lady and recoiled. Then he steadied himself. For a moment he thought he had seen the face of his grandmother who was long since dead. Sure, this lady had a similar profile but of course she couldn’t be her. He went back and sat down on his seat.

The bus was moving at a very fast speed. All he could make out outside was a darkened street with an occasional street lamp passing by. However, there seemed to be something different about the lamps. Their light, it seemed to him, was blurred and ethereal. I really ought to get my eyes checked. He looked at his watch again and found to his surprise that it had stopped working. The three hands were all stuck in the same place. How odd, he thought. He tapped at the glass and then tapped harder, hoping that it would set it right but nothing happened. He brought the watch near to his hear and to his ever increasing surprise heard the regular ticking as if the watch was working fine. He was getting anxious now. His wife would be waiting. He was feeling hungry and was tired too. He had to come back to work early in the morning! Where was the bus going?

He looked uneasily behind to catch a glimpse of the blurred faced passenger but could not discern anything about him. Faintly he thought that the man was smiling, as if he was caught in a practical joke. He was getting impatient and irritated. He walked to the conductor again and saw that his eyes were closed. He shook him by the shoulder (the audacity!). The conductor slowly opened his eyes and looked at him with hard dark eyes. Where are you taking me? Where is this bus going? He asked, not really intimated by the looks of the conductor. The conductor shook himself free of his grip and closed his eyes again. He turned to the driver, furious. Stop! Stop the bus right now! I need to get out, he shouted but the driver merely looked at him coldly and turned his stare back at the road. He looked out of the closed door and saw that they were moving too fast for him to attempt to jump out. Also the door was closed and he did not know how to get them to open. He doubted that the driver would open it for him.

Angry and disappointed he returned to his seat. On his way back he tried to strike a conversation with the old lady. Hello, he said but she did not even look at him. Do you know where we are going? He asked, trying to be friendly but was met with a stony silence. He returned to his seat. He looked at the other passenger, sleeping and thought he ought to wake him up. He shook him by the shoulder and the guy woke up with a start. Do you know where we are going? He asked. Yes, to the place, the sleeping man told him. What place? He insisted. The same where everyone goes, he said and promptly fell asleep again. He thought he should go and ask the other passenger in the back but then returned to his seat again, looking outside the window in dismay.

He saw that they were passing through a graveyard. He strained his neck backward and saw that it stretched on forever. The same, forward. He was scared now. His home was very far from the graveyard. And he had never seen a graveyard so long. He could make out the different tombs as the bus rolled on. Then it seemed to him that the bus was slowing down. He strained his eyes and began to discern the markings on the tombs that were nearer to his window. As he continued to look on, his eyes began to grow heavy. He was tired. He eased a little in his seat, uneasily content in the knowledge that he had no idea where he was, why he was wherever he was, and that he could not do anything about it at this point of time. He began to feel drowsy and then dozed off.

Grass. Lush green. Black. Shining black shoes in a little boy’s feet gently trotting on the grass. He remembered flowers and a little boy’s finger on the soft petals as they unfolded in the morning hours, the dew lingering on it. He remembered a fragrance which he had forgotten. He remembered sitting in the sun with his books. He remembered the forgotten lines of a poem he had loved as a small boy. He remembered his mother. He remembered her kissing him goodnight. He was back in the garden and the sun was shining brightly. He was enjoying the winter sun. Suddenly, the sky darkened. He looked up to see dark clouds. He turned around to go inside the home but found that the doors were barred. He banged on the doors with his little hands but no one answered. He called out for his mother but there was no reply. There was a large crack of lightening and he shouted in fear.

He jerked out of his sleep, disoriented. He was in the bus. He looked outside the window and saw the tombstones. He called out to the bus driver and the conductor to stop. Please let me go home. Please. But no one heard him. Even the old lady did not turn around to look at him. He sat there brooding about the dream he had. He had forgotten about the days of his childhood. He had thought that these images had been lost along with the many things that he had forgotten but now suddenly they had crept up. He recalled those lost moments, the innocent child that he once was. He remembered his mother. He had not called her in years. He thought about his grandmother and suddenly felt guilty about not having come to attend her funeral. He had been too busy at the office. He looked around the bus and his eyes fell on the sleeping man. He looked vaguely familiar.

Suddenly the sleeping man opened his eyes and looked straight at him. You remember me now? He asked, smiling a little. He shook his head. Oh! You don’t? I am the one whose job you took after you pointed out that error in the accounts. Don’t you remember? He remembered then. It had been years ago. He had found an error in the accounts and instead of pointing it out to the accountant he had taken it to the management who had promptly fired the accountant and had promoted him. Do you know why I had made that error, the sleeping man asked. I had a daughter who was very sick and I urgently needed money. I had thought of slowly slipping the money back in but of course…the entire scheme failed. You could have pointed it out to me. I would have begged you for a couple of months. No, no! I am not blaming you. Don’t worry about that. It really is alright. She did not suffer much. I met her. She died that very night. I had a rough patch from then. Didn’t really have money. Could not find another job. Was heartbroken. I died some years later under the old bridge near the office where they found my body after two days. I don’t blame you. Don’t look so pale! It really is alright.

Then the old lady turned around and looked at him. It really was his grandmother! Oh come on boy! You were always so pale. Doesn’t your wife feed you? She asked in the same way she used to, warm, friendly, yet slightly disapproving. I was angry with you. Very angry for a long time. But then that man (she pointed to the man sitting at the back) helped me through it. I had been waiting all these years for you to take the bus ride with me. I was almost convinced that you would never come. You could have at least come to the funeral. But then it’s alright. All is forgiven. When you were a child you used to come running to me whenever you could. I guess you have grown up now. You have changed.

He was terrified and hurt. His heart felt heavy. The entire thing was weighing on him. The guilt. The fear. The graveyard outside the window. Everything. He started to cry. Please! Oh please! Just let me go. My wife. My children. They are all waiting for me. They would be worried. I am sorry. I never meant any harm. I promise…I will become a better person…please! His grandmother came near him. It’s alright son. We know. She put a comforting hand on his shoulders. Then the conductor got up from his sleep and called out. The Place. The man in the back seat got up and came near to the small group. He could still not make out his face but he had a pleasant voice. Reassuring. Warm. Come now. All is done. Come and finish it now. He placed a hand on his shoulders and guided him down the bus. The sleeping man and his grandmother followed. The conductor and the driver stayed at their place.

They were still in the graveyard. The man guided him to a section where the graves looked fresh. He looked at the graves and recoiled. The first one had his name but indicated his age as 12. The next one was the grave of a girl of ten, followed by the grave of the sleeping man. Next was the grave of his grandmother. Further on he could see the grave of his mother. We are sorry child. She died today when you were at the office. Your wife tried calling you but you did not have the time to take her call. Remember? You told her off. She couldn’t take the bus journey, of course. She was too tired. Further on he could see one more grave but could not read the name.

The man who had been sitting in the back seat now gave him a bunch of flowers. Put one on each of the grave and all shall be forgiven. Be at peace with them all now. He took the flowers with shaking hands and with tears running down his face, placed one on each of the grave. He reached the last one. It was his own grave with today’s date inscribed on it.

*

The early morning newspaper carried (in a side column) the news of the death of man at the bus stop. It seemed that the man had died naturally with a calm smile on his face.

- Parekh, Pravesh

January 06, 2014; 11:45 PM

The idea came to me originally as I stood at the bus stop a few months ago waiting for a bus, lost in thoughts. I would have stood waiting for quite a while before realizing that I had to take a bus. I ended up on an almost empty bus with a few people on board. That is when I thought…how would it be if it were a bus that would take us to death perhaps? A bus ride that was perhaps carrying the dead? At that precise moment I was reminded of a short story that I had read (and forgotten all about it) years ago. “The Omnibus” by “E.M.Forster”. After a month or so I read a short story by “Gabrial Garcia Marquez”:”I only came to use the phone” which had a similar theme of someone landing up where they are not really supposed to be and then the resignation to fate. I realize that perhaps many writers have thought on similar lines and would have written far better stories. When I started writing this one I barely had a recollection of being on that bus and wondering what if it suddenly ends up on an infinite road and never stops. I had no idea where I would be taking the story. Now that I have written it, I realize that I have not done any justice to either the experience or the concept. Hence is this half-baked, half-cooked, perhaps unsavoury story here.

Crimson Dawn

A dream en route from Bangalore to Delhi

It was crimson. Dawn was just breaking. The sky was patched with orangish flames and deepest of blacks. Clouds hung about. The air was cool. In the faint light, the patches of grass on the ground were as black as the earth. I do not remember who were travelling with me, but they were familiar faces. People I had travelled with, before. Perhaps as a child, going to the school. The path was familiar too. The same road I had travelled with the same people for fourteen years of my school life. Yet the moment did not inspire warmth. Nor comradeship. It was as if the morning air chilled every emotion. There was a sense of unease I detected in myself as my eyes scanned the ground, catching patches develop shapes as my eyes adapted more to the faint light. My unease turned to dread.

It was only last night that I was here. There was a three day black metal concert being organized at the spot. My companions and I had not been able to secure tickets. We had stood outside for a while, listening. Of course we were not alone. Several others stood with us, scanning the list of bands that would be playing on the remaining two nights. And though I do not believe in God, I remember having remarked that a “God-like” band would be playing the next night. The place had been very much alive last night, I thought, as my eyes scanned the horizon with increasing dread.

I had already seen it. Even before the others had a clue. Even before anyone else had a clue. How or why it took them so long to find out what had happened was something I do not understand. The patches of black on the ground were bodies impaled with spears and sticks. There were severed heads mounted on pikes. The arena where the concert was taking place last night was burnt to cinders. There were ghastly outlines of bodies lying around. I knew they were dead, even as my fellow travellers saw what had happened and let out gasps. It seemed that the vehicle we were in was travelling in a panoramic fashion. It led us closer to the burnt arena. I could see that the bodies were piled thicker ahead. Mercifully it took another path.

By now I could gauze and understand that the heads and the bodies were of boys not more than 25. They were faces I had seen going inside the arena last night. We crossed a pile. There were arms and legs sticking out of a shroud made of tarpaulin. People stood nearby, in shock. Some were severely injured, their faces bloodied. Perhaps survivors of whatever had transpired last night. Suddenly someone led out a terrible gasp. It was too loud and echoed all around. Apparently they had found another shroud of tarpaulin from under which dozens of severed heads rolled out. There was a haunting, howling sound all through the while in the background.

I woke up sometime later to the same sound. The sound of an injured animal yelping mixed with the sounds of a faraway ambulance, the crying of dogs at night and other similar sounds that can sometimes get dreadfully disturbing. I woke up to the sound of a train passing through the outskirts of some forgotten place in the dark of the night.

- Parekh, Pravesh

December 19, 2013; 12:30 PM

Cartoon

She was walking slowly, feeling more tired than ever. Her young son kept poking and pestering her to walk faster. She smiled at his youth and his energy. The pavement was crowded. She stopped for a minute to catch her breath. Her son stopped somewhere ahead and turned back to look at his mother, with love yet with a playful expression, as if challenging her to beat him in a race to reach the destination. He was ten years old, a thin lad, slightly angular face, large eyes, a slightly flat nose. An average boy. He was carrying a bag and she could make out his hands strained at carrying the bag.

She beckoned to him to come near her. He came and she took the bag from him. She could feel the spirits of her son lighten as the thin muscles of his arms gave a relieved sigh. She smiled at him. He happily ran ahead, with new found energy. She lifted the bag and started walking again. Something was wrong…she had never been so tired before.

Her son was turning back constantly, beckoning for her to hurry up lest he would miss his favourite cartoon on the television. She was content at seeing his energy. He would grow up to be a fine young man. She was sure he would have good values and would do well in life. Though his teachers spoke of his mischievous behaviour in class, she was confident he would get over it and begin to concentrate on his studies and excel in life ahead. She did not expect him to top in classes but she know him to be intelligent and with a quick learning ability. She had spotted his eyes widen in surprise and wonder when he would watch the cartoons on the television. Perhaps he would get into the creative line, she thought. He would perhaps be the first one in the entire family to break the tradition of being another businessman.

Was it really that he was running fast or was something too wrong with her? True, she had the bag to carry but then she had always been to the market with her son, carrying the shopping bag back always. She felt a pain somewhere inside her. She would have to go see a doctor. Or perhaps she would just lie down on the bed for some time and then have a cup of tea later. That might equally be effective and she would not have to pay the doctor’s exorbitant fees.

They had to cross a road ahead. He stood there impatiently, waiting for her and equally waiting for the lights to change. Home was close and so was the urge to rush to the television. The traffic signal changed. He did not wait for the vehicles to stop completely. In he darted like an expert and within seconds of brilliant manoeuvring through the vehicles, he was on the other side, impatiently waiting for his mother.

She had seen him jump into the traffic and had broken into a trod, trying to catch up. She saw him reach the other side and heaved a satisfied sigh. He had not come to any harm. She increased her pace. The signal would change soon. She started to cross the road and then halfway through, she felt a sharp stabbing pain in her chest. The bag fell on the road, spilling its contents on the road, including the chocolates she had secretly purchased for him to give as a surprise later. She collapsed on the road, withering in pain.

He ran over to her as a crowd gathered nearby. Someone shouted to another to call an ambulance. None would be needed as she looked at her son staring at her with concern and tears in his eyes. She breathed her last. He sat kneeling next to her mother as the crowd thickened. People were shouting and someone started crying. 

The cartoon episode would be missed…but that did not cross through his mind…

- Parekh, Pravesh

October 18, 2013; 12:26 AM

Lost...

It was a dark evening. He was driving his car on a lonely stretch of road, way beyond the city, on a way to nowhere. It was a single lane road, trees lining on each side. Old weather beaten trees with leaves shed to the season, a silent offering of withered branches that rose up to the sky and closer to the hint of the moon beyond dark clouds. It was eerily beautiful, the kind of beauty one would not appreciate on a bright day but only on dark nights with the pale cold light of the moon beating down on the face of earth. The kind of dark beauty that would make a shudder run down your spine, yet you would be forced to watch, charmed. The kind of night when you would expect the Three Witches to fashion their charm with ingredients ‘silvered in the moon’s eclipse’.

He looked outside the car’s window, engulfing the sights in, letting it sink down in his throat and swell up inside him, till he felt elated and at the same time heavier than the load of Atlas. He was drowning and rising at the same time, thoughts going over each other as water waves in a tumultuous river, flooded by torrential rains. He did not really know what he was thinking, yet he knew what he was thinking about.

He had been feeling heavy all week long and at the first moment had gone for a long drive. It was a stretch he knew well from his days back then when he was carefree, had friends, back in the days of college. He thought back of the times when he had driven over this stretch of road, with friends who were now distant, with colleagues he had now not seen in years, with friends of friends he barely recalled, and her…his soon to be wife.

The density of trees increased. They were closer to him, creeping on to him as the enveloping darkness surrounded him as the car passed ahead, the two lights being the sole illumination. The moon was completely behind the clouds now. For a moment he contemplated about the consequences if someone or rather something suddenly stepped out of the dense copse of trees and stood in front of his car. He was sure he would run the thing down and would not stop to look back. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he always had a certain apprehension about ‘things’ that existed out of time and space. Not that he believed in them, but at moments such as this, the fear came back to him. Like the ghost of the mistress he never had, tantalizing him with outstretched hands, so close yet far.

He continued to drive at a steady speed, lost in thoughts, a couple of fingers lightly working on the steering wheel, his elbow resting on the window, his gaze sweeping from road to the trees, his mind answering to the calling of the leafless branches, outstretched to him. He thought of life and the way it had been going. He thought of the dreams that were lost now, the energies drained out, the frown lines deepening on his forehead, the darkness under his eyes. He thought of the vision he had during school and college, his days of childhood that he barely recalled, his family to whom he spoke once a week for ten minutes on the phone. And he thought of the days ahead. Days to come. Ghosts of a Future Lost. Ghosts of Things to Come. Like Mansell’s haunting composition…Requiem for a Dream.

His cell phone, which was on the passenger seat, lit up. His fiancé was calling. He was glad he had put it on vibrate. He did not want the quiet of the night to be disturbed. He half-stared at the phone, vibrating. Then he stretched his hands to the phone, let his fingers touch the screen and slide down slowly, as if caressing the name on the display. The call was not answered. The display was dark again. He removed his hands. He kept driving into the darkness that lay outstretched in front of him.

Sometime later the path ahead spread out and the road became wider. He knew he had reached the outskirts. He would be coming to a café soon. He drove the car off the road and slid it in behind another car parked and got out. It was one of those places where he could sit for a while and no one would bother him. It had outdoor seating arrangement. He sat down. There was a family sitting somewhere ahead. Husband, wife, a daughter and a son. The kids were little. He looked at them playing around and laughing and a grim smile passed over his face. 

He took out his lighter and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply as his eyes blurred a little. He stared beyond the little kids laughing, the light in the eyes of the wife, the smile on the husband’s face. He started into infinity.

Sometime later he got up and left a few notes on the table. Then he got into the car and drove away, glancing for one last time at the family still enjoying themselves at the place. Must be returning from a long drive. He knew he would never ever meet them again. For we are all travellers, from coast to coast, from sea to land…

He would call her later tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. Sometime. He did not know…

- Parekh, Pravesh

October 17, 2013; 07:27 PM

Agony of Words

Rest your head here

You have walked many miles

Drink some of cold water

And gently loosen a sigh.

Rest your head here

You have seen many a days

Weary are your hands

And your hair is turning white.

Rest your head here

See how the summer sun glows

Your eyes are bleary

And your cheeks are hollowed out.

Rest your head here

Gentle is the moonlight

Calm your sullen thoughts a while

And ease out into the night.

Rest your head here

You have been parched too long

Starlight you have not seen

And have waited night to morn.

Rest your head here

The world is gone

You may have had great dreams

And may not have seen the storm.

Rest your head here

It has been raining too strong

Sorrow has crept in

And bitterness frails your form.

Rest your head here

I have been waiting for long

You have craved for company

And cheerlessly you have frowned.

Rest your head here

Your words are not strong

Let your pen rest a while

Tomorrow there is no dawn.

- Parekh, Pravesh

October 1, 2013; 03:13 PM

School

He stood outside his school. Several years had gone by since the last time he had stepped in. It was late afternoon and the place was strangely deserted. He stood outside the main gate, the large red coloured building in front of him. It was not an architectural marvel. It was a plain red coloured building, spanning in a rectangle, running around a central garden with classrooms on all four sides. It was the way he remembered it. The main gate was split into three parts, two large parts and one smaller gate built into one of the larger parts. Given the time of the day, the larger parts were closed, for there would not be anyone coming in and out. Only the smaller part was open. Again, just the way he remembered it. Surprisingly, there were no guards. He stepped through the grey coloured main gate. The entire place was silent. There were no bicycles in the cycle stand. The canteen was closed. “Strange”, he thought to himself.

There were two entrances to the school. The main gate which was located further ahead and a smaller one close by where one could enter passing through a small collapsible channel gate. He saw someone come out of the side entrance and stood there looking at him. He could not discern the face at the distance (for the entrance was at some distance from the main gate) but the stance and the outline looked familiar. He walked a little more and realized that it was his friend, perhaps one of the earliest friends he had from his school days. He walked ahead to meet him. He was delighted to see his friend. They had not met in years. His face showed pleasant happiness but no surprise. It had just a little trace of smile, yet it was not serious. They met without exchanging any words. “What was his friend doing here? What was going on?” he thought.

They stepped inside the school through the side entrance. There was a long corridor with classrooms on each side. In the first glance, nothing had changed since his days at the school. Yet as they stepped into one of the classrooms, he realized that it had been converted into a guest room. “Weird! Why should they have a guest room in the middle of the school?” he mused, but he did not say anything to his friend.

There were two people in the guest room. A young girl and a middle-aged man, who he understood to be her father. The girl was standing on one side, the man standing next to a wash basin, brushing his teeth. “This is insane!” he thought to himself, as they both stood and saw the man brush his teeth, while the daughter stood there, as if she were a statue. He turned his attention to the man. On closer inspection he found that his skin was loose and soft, the first markings of approaching old age. He was wearing faded khaki coloured trousers and a vest. He had a long face, balding hair, and a protruding stomach. His arms were fleshy, the loose skin being more prominent as he moved his hands slowly while brushing his teeth. He did not turn his attention to the daughter.

“Something is wrong”, he thought. ”Why are we here? I need to tell him something. Something is terribly wrong here” he thought, but could not bring himself to any action. His attention was caught by the reflection of the man in the mirror. Something about the way the toothbrush was moving. He could not exactly place his finger on what but there was a sickening sinking feeling in his guts. The man finished brushing his teeth. There was a slab of stone right below the base of the mirror, on which he placed the toothbrush. He rinsed his mouth and then turned to him and his friend.

The toothbrush! The reflection was not next to it, but almost towards the middle of the mirror! He pointed at it, at a loss of words. The sickening sinking feeling made him realize he was in trouble. The daughter moved to her father’s side. They both saw the reflection and took a step back, closer to the exit and closer to his friend. The toothbrush had a cap to keep the bristles from dirt etc. The reflection in the mirror began to move up and down, imitating the action of the man who was no longer brushing his teeth. Then the cap began to move, as if trying to say something.

He was scared now. What the hell was going on? He took a step back as the reflection began to take the shape of a skull. Then the man’s face was gone and it too was replaced by a skull, their jaws moving, as if trying to say something. Or perhaps laughing at him. He opened his mouth to shout but no words came out.

He jerked out of sleep, sitting up in the bed, the visions of a laughing skull disappearing into the darkness of the room. His face was covered in sweat. By the way the street light was filtering in through the curtains and on the wall he knew it was 5 in the morning. There was absolute silence. He hit the switch board and the lights flickered on. He sat, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. He knew there would be no more sleep for him. He sat around in silence, the second hand of the clock ticking away. He usually liked the sound but for the moment, it was unnerving.

“What did it all mean? Who was the man? Why was I there? Where did that friend come in from? What was he doing there? Who was the girl?” and so on…questions that would haunt him…answers, he would never get…

- Parekh, Pravesh

October 1, 2013; 06:00 AM