Just Another Day

She woke up. Almost natural. No bad dreams to jolt her awake. No alarm clock screaming to snatch her away from her sweet slumber. And the first thing she noticed was the cold. Deep down, buried under her warm quilt and topped with a warm blanket, she immediately felt the cold other half of the bed. There was nobody there. "Fifteen years of marriage doesn't prepare you for divorce", she thought bitterly as she struggled to get out of the bed and get ready for work. It was slightly early compared to her usual time but she knew she couldn't go to sleep again. Wouldn't be able to.

She was a lecturer at a University. Every day she drove to work and back. Frankly, she did not need the job. She was merely doing it to find something to while away the time. To say that she was disinterested or not a good lecturer, would perhaps have been judging her too unfairly. She was working at the University even before the marriage and had continued to work even after getting married. And still did. Divorced recently, she had been married to her college love for almost fifteen years when one fine day he walked in and told her that he was walking out of her life. She had been shell shocked. Stunned. Had gone blank. Words cannot, for sure, describe her state then. They had been having a good life, never really quarrelled and there was no shortage of money either. Somehow she had managed to ask him if he was joking. He had been packing his bag then. He had looked straight into her eyes, a partially folded shirt in his hand and had said that he had nothing to say to her. He had found someone else. "Someone not so boring as you are", he had said bluntly. That night he slept on the couch in the living room. She, of course, couldn't find sleep. She lay awake all night, feeling lifeless. He was gone the next morning. He didn't even say goodbye. She didn't even hear him leave. She later found out that he had left behind all the gifts that she had given him on his birthday and on their anniversaries...from their college day onward.

She opened her wardrobe and decided to go all black today. She lay the clothes out on the bed and stepped into the bathroom, having put some music on before standing under the running hot water and letting it wash her anew. Ever since her divorce, she mostly liked to listen to sad music. She would put on a compilation of soundtracks from various movies. One of her favourites was the opening music from the movie Godfather, composed by Nino Rota. She knew it wasn't the kind of thing "a girl was expected to listen to". "People would think I need psychiatric help", she would say to herself, raising her left eyebrow at the words. But then she never cared for such stereotypical sexist comments. "And not that people know that I listen to such stuff", she would sometimes add in an undertone.

She stepped out of the shower almost twenty minutes later. The blues were with her, like almost every morning. Personally she liked the slight frown that was almost omnipresent on her forehead, though it had been a matter of concern to the love of her life. The frown would usually disappear the moment she stepped into the classroom. Perhaps one of the reasons why I have stuck through. The music helps in getting the blues. It was like one of the very few things that set her head straight. Got her thinking. Inspired her in a way.  "One fine day I shall drink deep of melancholy. So much that I will have inspiration enough to write more than a few blog entries...maybe a book", she thought. Just then the music changed to the cult favourite Lux Aeterna from Requiem for a Dream by Clint Mansell. Oh how she loved the music.

She got dressed standing in front of the mirror and cringed at her reflection. "Looking fat", she told herself but then checked herself. "You are not looking fat. You are just the way you are. Shut up and go get something in the name of breakfast", she told herself. One of the problems of working with today's youth. You tend to pick up things that you don't want to. Another typical "girl" stereotype. That women of all age like to stand in front of the mirror and say "I look fat". Where had she picked this one up from? Then she remembered. Her dear old husband had told her this. And of course constantly got repeated by a "bunch of kids" in her class. Sometimes she didn't even know if she loved them or hated them.

She reached the department and signed into the attendance register. It was a typical cold winter morning. Everyone subdued and in their slight state of blues. But theirs would pass easily as they slipped into the routine of life. "I induce them so that I don't get back to the routine of life everyday", she thought. It was a lazy day. She only had two classes to take today and that too later in the day. She sat in her cabin for some time, taking care of some official business but soon found the walls closing in on her. She got up, grabbed her coat and went out to take a walk. "That's the best part of being in a University. You can still take a good walk even when at work", she said, faking a smile. However in her heart she knew she was doing it to let the blues stay on for longer. A winter morning/evening stroll through the fog. Can give you a wonderful depression dose if you are looking for one.

She had always been an observer. That is what she liked doing. She walked around, her head bent but eyes actively scanning. Looking. Observing. Thinking. A lot of students were coming to the University, their face rosy from the winter, hands deep into the warmth of their coat pockets. "Winter is the perfect time to show off one's dressing style," she thought. She particularly liked the way some of the girls dressed up. Jeans neatly tucked into a pair of boots. Or a jacket with its collar turned up to save from the wind. A scarf round the neck. Some of the girls, on the other hand, had a terrible dressing sense. Bright cherry coloured caps on their head. Shining clothes. "Ugh! Makes them look like a Christmas tree of sorts", she thought. But then she rarely liked colours. Black was the perhaps the only colour which appealed to her. "And boots!", she added with disgust. "If they are not black, you may as well throw them away". On the other hand the "guys" in the campus had absolutely no dressing sense at all. Dirty jeans, a T shirt and a jacket with its chain open. "Seriously? Is that it? That's your idea of dressing up, mister?" she asked them inside her head. And what horrible shoes some of them had. Some never wore shoes.

She always formed impression of people in her first glance. The clothes they wore. The shoes they had on. Their way of walking, talking etc. Every little detail that she could pick up. Sometimes she sat in a corner of the canteen and observed people. Especially the couples. The way they acted revealed so much about them. The way the girl would raise her eyebrows to something the guy would say or the way her lips quivered. An absent look, a moment's hesitation. She looked at all of them. A careless flick of the girl's hand which would gently tuck the hanging strands of hair behind the ears again. Some of them were very conscious. Others were very relaxed. It reflects their upbringing too, she thought. Like she could immediately make out the soft spoken, shy ones. "Of course I assume", she answered to herself. "I assume a lot and most of the times they are reasonably accurate", she convinced herself. The guys were pretty much easier to work out. You could easily spot the conscious ones. They were usually the bunch that tried to be well spoken, well dressed and tried to think of life in terms of going higher. They were usually the kind that talked of greater things than the newest phone in the market or the computer game they spent the night playing. Most importantly, they were usually the ones who treated girls with enough respect. Others were usually a little too physical. A little too casual. A little too...whatever. "Of course just being conscious doesn't make a guy that", she added. There were other important factors to be considered. The hairstyle, for example. The fact that their shoes were polished or not. "If you can't polish your own boots, if you can't make your shoe shine, you can't make your life shine", she maintained emphatically.

Presently she walked across a girl walking alone. Her head was bent down, lost in her own little world. She immediately had her thoughts about her. Shy. Soft spoken. Nose says that she can make a point if she has to. Determined for sure but "fragile". Eyes clear. Sleeps well. Probably has a boyfriend or someone very close to her. Gets agitated when she has trouble with him or in other trying situations. Another girl walked past. Smart. Face shows a brave front but she can do with a good warm hug. Sure needs one. "Gosh! I sometimes overdo myself", she thought, grinning inside, frowning outside. A couple walked past. He was walking close to her. "A little too close, in my opinion". She immediately hated him. He had a weird combination of tousled up spiked hair and was wearing a sleeveless jacket. True, he had a certain tranquillity on his face. "Perhaps the reason why she likes him?". But one look at her face and she was convinced she could do with someone better. "Maybe the company he keeps is not good but he is a good chap". She is one of the quiet types. Doesn't talk to everyone. Pours out her heart to him". She was wearing a ring. An opal or a topaz. It brought a smile to her lips.

Eventually she walked back to the department and sat down in her cabin - a little tired from the walk but in a way comforted by the fog and the loneliness. That evening as she was driving back she thought about herself. "I am a stalker, a freak and an idiot", she told herself. "This is not how people are supposed to be. This is certainly not how a girl is supposed to be. Well, I am not a girl but certainly this is not how 'normal' women are. I am a pathetic recluse", she cursed herself. She went back to her room and fixed herself a couple of sandwiches. "Stereotyping again, am I not?" she asked herself. Frankly, she had no answer. That night she sat chatting with people on GTalk and on Facebook. She read between the lines and tried to virtually interpret what was going on in other person's mind. "I suck at life..." she added to her constant self-cursing. She recalled the entire day that had gone by. Just another day lived. Another pathetic entry in her sad life. She would write an entry in her blog later that night and then stalk people on Facebook to read and comment on her blog. Then she would sleep late and wake up, bleary eyed. "Maybe I want that...it goes with the frown", she thought. She put on some music with a grim smile on her face. Music from Requiem for a Dream by Clint Mansell again. Like music for my own requiem. Requiem for a Lost Soul...

- Parekh, Pravesh

January 03, 2013; 03:25 AM