Depression Diary - Log V

I had a friend once. Back in the days when I used to go to school and life was comparatively easier. There was this boy named Matthew who lived near my home. I was kind of fond of him. He was good at studies, played football and was otherwise helpful, kind and thoughtful. He had an elder brother too. James. I used to go to their place every once in a while and it used to be alright. I was very fond of James too. He was always kind to me. Much more kind than what my mother ever was. Kindness from father was an unexpected treat that was as rare as me getting good grades at school. Frankly, I believed then and still do, I never got good grades because of the environment in which I lived. But I will leave that for later. Trying not to wander out here.

James and Matthew used to get along pretty well with each other. However, James had this annoying habit of calling Matthew a “kid” which, of course, Matthew hated. James had a slightly harsh voice and he would add “kid” to almost every other thing he said to Matthew. “Good night, kid”. “Hope you do well in your exams, kid” and so on. This was pretty much annoying to Matthew and sometimes used to annoy me as well. They often fought over this. Matthew was hardly two years younger than James so it didn’t really make sense for James to call Matthew a kid. Well, it didn’t till the day I asked James about it.

One afternoon it so chanced that James and me were sitting under the shade of a tree. Matthew had gone to his home for something and we were waiting for him to come back so that we could continue our football game. I don’t know what made me do it but I suddenly turned to James and asked him if I could ask him a question. He told me to go ahead and ask it. I asked him why he used to call Matthew a kid, even though Matthew hated it. James at first laughed about it. Then he became serious.

“I don’t really know if you will ever understand it”, he said. “I call Matthew a kid because for me he is one. He is like this small little thing that I completely adore and wish I could protect him from whatever there is out there in this world. I know he hates it. But he doesn’t know why I call him so. He thinks I mock him. I do not. I love him. He is my little brother. I know my way of saying kid may not sound like it, but I use it as a term of endearment.” I was shocked. I had never thought of it in that way. I had always thought that James said that to mock Matthew. I asked him the reason why he didn’t explain it to Matthew. ‘The day I do that, it will lose its significance. You cannot tell people that you adore them. If they understand it, good for you. If they don’t, live with it. If you can’t live with it, then don’t do it.”

I think I stayed up all night thinking about it. What a brilliant idea. Such tenderness, such loving thoughts behind a single word. From that day onwards I hoped that someday someone would call me a “kid” too. If only for once. Perhaps James. But like all other dreams in my life, it never got fulfilled. Their parents moved away next year and I lost all touch with them. I still remember when I was saying my goodbye. James told me to take care of myself and gently ruffled my hair. And I swear in the name of whatever is Holy, it was one of the best feelings ever.

James and Matthew went away but the idea remained with me. Later in life, when I was working as a sales assistant at a convenience store, I used it. There was this girl who worked as a cashier. Her name was Betty, I think. She was a tiny little sweetheart and whenever I saw her, I always felt this urge to protect her and to take care of her. One evening when she was leaving, I called out to her saying “Take care, kid”. She was furious. She never talked to me again after that day. I thought of explaining the entire thing to her but then I thought it would get weird and awkward. And anyway they fired me from the job. Never found out why.

Some days I like to look back at my life and think how different it would have been if someone would have been there for me, as James as there for Matthew. I so wish someone would have loved me as James loved his “little” brother. I guess I would not have turned out to be such a failure then…definitely not…

- U.E

01:25 AM, Varanasi

November 5, 2012

Depression Diary - Log IV

There is a storm brewing outside. I am indoors, sitting in my darkened bedroom. The wind is loud. Too loud. And it is shaking the house. The doors, the windows…they rattle in the wind. Creates an eerily disturbing atmosphere. From the window pane I can see the wind shake the tree outside. The branches are swaying madly, as if a ghost waving to its favourite haunt. There is a dim light coming in through the dirty window pane and I am writing in The Diary in that light. The clouds are heavy. It will rain torrentially. Perhaps it will rain all night. I hope not, for the water might come inside the house. The ceiling might collapse for all I know. And the worst part is that it won’t collapse on me. How do I know this? Because this has always been the case. As if all elements and forces of nature are out there to make a fool out of me. And perhaps I am their idea of an ideal clown anyway. Will do whatever they subject me to. How do I resist them anyway?

Damn! The wind is loud! There was a small sapling outside. I had bought that tiny little thing from somewhere and it had grown remarkably well, given the bad “grooming” it received from me. Ha ha! The wind took it away. It got uprooted and then went flying out of sight. Like my life. Fleeting. Fleeing. Escaping. And all I could do was sit and see it happen. Like I said above. How do I resist them anyway?

And lo and behold! I suddenly have this vivid image in my mind. An image right from my childhood. Its autumn. In am sitting under a tree. A kid. Small boy. Call me whatever you want. There is a small ball right next to my feet. I seem to be tired. I must have been running all over the yard kicking that ball. Alone, of course. I don’t really recall having any company during my childhood days. (Not saying that I have had company in my adult days…alone back then…alone now). Anyway, so I am tired and sitting under a tree and the leaves are falling. Right over my head and I am sad. Looking down with a leaf or two in my head and there is a stray dog which has come and is now sitting next to the ball. Perhaps it wants to play with it. And with me as well? It must be as alone as I am. But I don’t think I can play with the dog. If mother sees me playing with a stray dog, she will be upset. And then I will be beaten. By a stick perhaps? But it’s the only company I have had in days. Maybe weeks. How can I resist playing with it anyway?

I don’t know what keeps happening in my head. There are these glimpses that suddenly turn up. And they leave me stunned. Shocked. And most importantly sad. And now I am sad again. Not that I was happy before. Less sad, maybe? That too is a question. Sometimes I feel I should have been a philosopher. I sure ask a lot of questions. But I don’t really know anything. I don’t even know what philosophers do? I mean, are they even paid? Is that a job? The light is very dim now. There are droplets on the window pane. It has begun. Now the rain will wash down on me and I will be more miserable and sad. Sad. Sad. Sad. Its almost as if the rain is calling out to me…seeking me to embrace me in its misery and sorrow. How can I resist it anyway?

- U.E

12:35 AM, Varanasi

November 5, 2012

Depression Diary - Log III

The past is a gaping hole, I heard somewhere. I seem to have mocked it back then. But that was also a thing of the past. Now I am living in the past and I realize that whoever wrote it or whoever said it or whoever did whatever to it, it was correct. I don’t think I would have read it anywhere. Can’t recall the time when I loved reading books. Come on! Who am I kidding? I don’t even enjoy reading the newspaper. I wonder how I end up writing in this godforsaken diary? And more than that, how can the doctor think he will ever read it? But then he is being paid to read it and I am not being paid to write it. It seems that you can ask anyone to do whatever you want them to do by putting appropriate price to it. Heard that is how bounty works too.

But then I am wandering again. Me thinks that every time I sit down to start with something definitive in  my mind to write about, I seem to always wander away from it. I am beginning to be convinced that there is something wrong in my head somewhere. Perhaps that is why the doctor asked me to start writing anyway? Maybe he can see through the entire content and find hidden meanings and patterns? He seems to have a lot of degrees. Reminds me of myself dropping out of college. Past again. Life, it seems, has a wonderful way of reminding you of all the time that you screwed up something somewhere. What has become of all the good things that happen in Life? Perhaps they have gone down in the drain, just the way the world seems to be going down in the drain.

So after a lot of thinking I thought of writing a little about my past. Who knows it might even help the doctor? But then I am not sure if I will ever show it to the doctor. The only reason I recollect that it was the doctor who asked me to start writing is because last week I went to him and he asked me about it. I became so terribly scared that I said that I had not started to write anything in it. He drew up a sympathetic face and nodded and said that things like these always take time. I think it was his professional way of telling me to go to hell. See? I am wandering again.

Last night when I was sitting and doing nothing (like all the times) I thought I saw a shadow creep around in the darkness. Naturally, I was scared. It was a shadow from the past. One that I definitely would recognize anywhere anytime. As I sat thinking what to do, it sprung out of the darkness and stood in front of me. It was the ghost of my wife. Or the ghost of my once used to be wife. Or the ghost of my once used to be college girlfriend. A ghost anyway. Her name was Sarah. I met her in the sophomore year. She was the most fun loving person I had ever met. Quite my opposite. We seemed to get along well. She talked and chirped while I nodded my assent and listened to her and the likes. Soon we were dating. Things seemed to be going well when I made the greatest mistake of my Life. Dropped out of college. She was still supportive. By then we were living together. She finished college and got a job. By then I had also found a job at a bakery serving baked breads to customers. The job sucked. The boss sucked. The salary sucked. But she was there with me and so I was able to live through it.

Then we got married and had a daughter. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. But like all my happiness in life, it was short lived. One fine day I return back home and we end up having a big huge argument. Over what? Ha ha! You would laugh when I tell you that! We fought over a bottle of jam! She wasn’t able to get a fresh one to open. I tried but even I couldn’t get it to open. She made a joke about it. I had had a lousy day and I got angry. And then she got angry. And though she was the most prettiest of all the darlings in the world, when she got angry there was no going past her. We fought, argued, screamed, shouted and I think I threw the bottle and it broke. She suddenly froze. Stopped fighting. Just froze. Ten minutes later she was packing her bag. I begged and pleaded and did everything I could but to no avail. It seemed that she had simply turned away from me. She left me for good.

We got in touch after an year or so again. She was married to someone else. I continued to meet my daughter occasionally. But she seemed to shrink away from me every single time I met her. Eventually she told me that she did not want to meet me again. I said fine. What else was I supposed to say anyway? Later I heard that Sarah died of cancer. Heard she had taken up smoking and had a sad end. No one even called me for the funeral.

Her ghost came to me yesterday. It was scary. Her eyes were hollowed out and she looked like a skeleton. Her face was gone completely. There was burnt skin instead of the smooth olive skin that I once remembered. It stood looking at me and then simply disappeared. I know it sound ridiculous, me writing of anything like this. But it seemed that her coming was what I needed to retrace some of my steps of the past. Now I am sitting and I am tired. Tired of thinking, tired of writing. Tired of wondering. Sleep is nowhere in sight. I think I will just sit around. Perhaps turn off the lights as well. Let the darkness embrace me with its claw like hands. Perhaps Sarah will come to me again? Like she was…like I remember her…

- U.E

05:05 PM, Indira Gandhi International Airport (Delhi)

November 4, 2012

Depression Diary - Log II

Woke up to the sound of the dog barking. Don’t recall falling asleep. Probably slept for an hour. An achievement, I would say. Why? Because sleep doesn’t seem to have blessed my condemned soul for almost three days now. Why? Because damn it, if I know. Had nothing better to do than to sit outside and stare at the moon and the star. Yet did not feel like doing it today. The feeling of going and sitting outside makes me feel vulnerable. It is scary. The night is out to get you. Of late, I have been having this paranoid feeling. Darkness scares me. I see faces where there are none. It has been two days since I switched off any light in the house. It is alright during the day…but as darkness descends, it seems that a certain darkness descends on me as well.

I came to the study table and sat down. Having nothing better to do, I opened the record book or The Diary where I am to record my nocturnal activities. Nocturnal, I say, because there doesn’t seem to be anything that goes on during the day. To confess frankly, the light hurts my eyes. I prefer when its cloudy or when the horizon darkens. No, I do not like the rain. Rain has a terrible terrible habit of ruining everything. I like it before the rain. When the sky is dark and overbearing. It seems that everyone has their sorrows. And when it darkens, the sorrow is ready to unleashed upon the world. And everyone stops and waits. The entire feeling of the weight of the world on your head…I don’t know if it is good or bad. But I prefer it to the bright light.

So anyway, I open this diary and I am struck by the fact that I haven’t written in here in quite some time now. The last entry was almost a month back. Well I will try to be punctual again. But then there isn’t anything interesting happening that I should record. Sometimes I wonder if I should just write in stuff for the doctor? It might just as well distract him and make him wonder if I should be sent to an asylum or something? But then it would take me away from the night. Both comforting and disturbing.

Of late, I have been thinking and everything seems to be in contradiction. I want to do something but I don’t have the energy to do it. I hate something and yet I want it to happen. Even as I write, I hear the distant rumble of the clouds. So, it is going to rain. Rain. Rain. Rain. I notice that I have mentioned that everyone has sorrows. Do I? I think yes. But do I? I am not too sure. What have I got to feel sad about? The fact that I am an old man, all alone in this world? Well, true enough. What else? The fact that the cable TV operator charges for 120 channels but my television set can only show 50? Well, that would have been something to be sad about but then I don’t watch the television. It is a relic from the past. Past…something to think about. Oh yes, now I get it. The past is something that I can definitely be sad about. Seems as if there are chapters upon chapters of guilt, sorrow and pain? Written in hopelessness and despair? But do I want to be sad?

I seem to forget what I originally wanted to chatter in here about. I woke up and was scared. And then the television had to come in and disturb my thoughts. Oh yes and the past. Now I need to sit and think. These memories seem to be rushing through me. And there is this face always peering out from the darkest corner of the room. I think I will watch some television tonight. It might ease the thoughts a little. Or might aggravate them? What do I want? I do not know…I will chatter later…my head hurts…or am I just making it up?

- U.E

04:30 PM, Indira Gandhi International Airport (Delhi)

Caprice

The sunlight came filtering through patched dirty curtain that was gently swaying in the late morning breeze. The door to the balcony was open with the curtain on either side, tied loosely to hide the holes from the eyes. The room was a small one, run derelict. The walls were blackening with ages and cobwebs decked the corner. The balcony had an open view of the streets; the breeze gently carrying with it the sounds of cars running in the street and the occasional call of a friendly neighbour to another.

A small dressing table was kept close to the balcony door to allow maximum light to one who may use it. It was made of old dark wood and looked severely used. There were scratch marks on the sides and the mirror was cloudy from use. Small crayon marks were seen on the delicate woodwork that held the mirror in place, indicating the presence of a child. There were two small drawers on the right side and on top of it was seated a small doll, her legs dangling from the edge of the drawers. And in front of the mirror, stood she.

She was aged about seven. She was wearing a pale yellow frock with large red coloured polka dots on it. It had a washed out feel to it but was her favourite anyway. She had large black eyes that looked in wonder at the world around. They glittered in the sunlight as they looked at their own reflection and as she smiled, her cheek gently dimpled. Her hair was chestnut brown, pulled back with a black hairband, gently falling over her shoulders.

She was lost in her own little world, oblivious to anything else. She had only three people to play with – her reflection, her doll and her mother. She lifted her hand and touched her reflection with both hands and let out a giggle, as if her reflection had tickled her. She stood in the same position and let her head bob up and down, as if in rhythm to a tune she could only hear and eventually bent closer to her reflection, letting their nose meet. Then she suddenly stepped back, looked at her reflection again and started laughing as if she was happy that a secret ritual was finished. Her reflection laughed with her. 

Presently, she diverted her attention to the doll that had been a witness to the entire ritual. She picked it up and held her in her hands, as if a mother lifting her toddler. “Shh…you must not disturb mamma or she will be very angry. If you are quiet and be a good girl, mamma will be happy and will give you a kiss”, she told her doll, speaking slowly with her dark eyes peering into the doll’s large eyes. And thus she played with her doll, oblivious to the sound of cars and horns and of a door slamming shut somewhere nearby.

Some time passed and she grew tired of playing with the doll. She was also feeling hungry. But she knew better than to disturb her mamma, who would otherwise get very angry. So she sat down on the floor and with quivering lips consoled her doll. “Mamma will be here soon. She will come and give you a big hug. She might even give you a biscuit…”

And the small bowl of rice simmered and cooked in the small kitchen but no one tended to it. And the time slowly passed but no one stirred. The child gently rocked her doll and then herself to sleep. Little did she know that the door slamming had been her mother leaving the building for good. She was not coming back. And the clock ticked steadily but the only thing the house heard was “She might even give you a biscuit…”.

-Parekh, Pravesh

December 1, 2012; 08:35 PM

P.S: I sincerely thank Labani Biswas for her help with Caprice. Her remarks were very helpful and gave me a greater insight into the scene. Labani maintains an excellent blog Falling Into Infinity which can be found here: biswaslabani.blogspot.in and she can be found here.

Depression Diary – Log I

Couldn’t go to sleep again. Lay there thinking about nothing and everything for a long long time. Then I realized I was not really sleepy. Don’t recall the last time I slept properly. Perhaps it’s the mattress. The mosquitoes don’t really bother me so much. I guess my problem is that I think too much…that’s what everyone says. But all of that was a long time ago. But then I don’t recall thinking about anything in particular.

Anyway, so I got out of bed and then went outside and sat down on a chair, staring at the night sky and thought how wonderful. We should all really stop sleeping in the night and sleep during the day. The night time is a wonderful companion. It will look back at you when you look at it and it always has hidden faces that you can try and read as much as you can. But then if everyone is to work at night, then the face of night won’t remain as beautiful as it is now…

I was sitting there and it was a no moon night. There was no wind and the stars were all covered by the clouds. The stars don’t really bother me so much. But sometimes when you look up and see a whole bunch of them, you tend to get angry. You feel alone and lost and they so bright. Reminds me of my wasted youth and my own loneliness. I tried talking to the night, trying to have a conversation. But it didn’t work. I didn’t really have anything to say. Then I realized it has been full three days since I spoke to someone. And the last time I had was a thank you to the girl at the cash counter of the superstore.

Sometimes it seems time just passes away. You sit down and just begin to think about things and you realize hours have passed. On the other hand, you sit and wait for time to pass but it won’t. Guess what? Seems like time passes slowly at night and faster during the day. No wonder…that is why people whine about nights being long and lonely in those romantic songs that teenagers these days listen to. But then how would I know? I don’t even know any teenagers. All those people who I ever knew are all either dead or old and don’t know where.

So I was sitting there and then I realized that today is the day the cleaning lady is supposed to come by. Well, I think it is a good idea to have someone coming in periodically. At least they would find out if I am dead someday. Not that anyone would care. Who would ever care about an old man dying out in the middle of nowhere? Well, maybe the cleaning lady would actually miss me. Oh no. She would miss the money. Ha ha! But then she does a good job. Then I realized that I was thinking about the cleaning lady for no reason. We don’t even talk. She comes in. I go out. She goes out. I get back in. What good is the conversation anyway? I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me.

Then I remembered that someone had told me to write down my thoughts in a diary. They said that whenever I could not sleep or was feeling troubled, I should sit and write in the diary. Or was it the therapist at the hospital? Goddamn memory, I swear. But it doesn’t matter. And come on. I was feeling low for a while and thought I would see someone at the hospital and they tell me to write it down in a diary. Wow! Good joke. And that too on an old man like me.

I was about to get up when the neighbour’s dog started barking. Funny that I should mention them. I bet they talk about me as well sometime. Neighbour. Haven’t talked to them in all the years that I have been here. Nasty old man, I heard them say to each other once. I say that about them too. Only he has his wife to speak it to. I don’t have anyone to speak it to. I sat there wondering what the dog could be barking at and I remembered my childhood days. I had a dog too. It was a puppy. Darn thing came under a truck and died and the driver didn’t even stop to apologize. I thought it was pretty rude of him to do that. My mother told me to stop crying and to go solve my mathematics problem. It was a street dog anyway, I remember her telling me. Funny…I can remember that and not who told me to write down my thoughts here.

Suddenly there was a clang and the sound of a man shouting. Then the dog shut up. I realized that my neighbour was awake and perhaps had hit the dog. What a beastly thing to do, I thought. It was just trying to talk to someone perhaps. In his own tongue that is. Just like me. It wants for company. There isn’t a dog in miles I guess. Never seen any. But then I rarely venture out so I wouldn’t know for sure. Thinking of the dog made me sad. Was it the dog being hit that made me sad or was it the memory of my own dog dying under the truck wheels or was it the fact that my mom told me to solve maths problem that made me sad, is something that would take days of thinking to work out. Or perhaps it cannot be worked out. Maybe that is what philosophers do, after all. Solve complex questions and problems in life. Or maybe that is what mathematicians do. How would I know? Dropping out of college wasn’t a great idea, I guess…

Anyway, I got up and went back in and now I am writing this. Another uneventful day gone. I glance at the clock and it is almost 4 in the morning. Where has all this time gone? People say I think too much. But I haven’t been thinking, have I? Later…

- U. E

03:26 AM, NOIDA

A Common Man's Romance

The following is a story that is inspired by a momentary glimpse of a couple at a metro station while I was traveling. In it I have tried to capture the weight that I felt, looking at them staring out at the horizon. Of course not a very successful attempt, but I would really love it if I can have your comments/feedback. Thank you!

He was early. He knew he had left early but he didn’t really have a choice. One couldn’t rely on transport, especially public transport. Also, he did not want to keep her waiting. He was simply dressed. Cheap T shirt he had purchased a few months back and a pair of jeans out of the two pairs he owned. His bag was slung across his shoulders. Dirt made it look older than two years. His once white shoes were now brownish but he did not really mind. What was important was that she was going to be here soon. He took out his phone and changed the song. The locally manufactured earphones did not really give him the sound that he would have liked to hear but like everything else, it hardly mattered. He sat down at a bench under the shade of the bus stop and waited for her, thinking about nothing in particular.

She arrived 25 minutes later. The moment she got down from the bus, he was by her side, clasping at her hand. She whispered urgently in his ears, tugging at his hands and then they were off, trotting away from the bus stop. She was plainly dressed and had a slight touch of makeup on her face. Her hair was hurriedly combed with a blue ribbon in them. She was wearing flats that were slightly worn out. She was carrying a ladies bag. Its strap had, at some point of time, been broken but then had been repaired by someone. Looking at the crude repair, one could guess that it was the girl herself who had done the repairs.

They went to a public garden and sat down in a corner. The sun was high in the sky and it was a dry day. Definitely not the best time to sit and talk love, he thought. They talked of their work and they talked of their life. Things were the same way as they always were. She was a secretary at a local run down business establishment. Her boss was constantly keeping her buried with more and more work without really giving her the salary she deserved. Recently he had tried making advances towards her and she had resisted. After that, her workload had increased and she had been threatened that she would lose her job if she complained. She put her hand in his and convinced him that it was alright. We need this job, she told him. We need the money.

Life was no different for him. He was a sales assistant at a local garment shop. Business was slow and his colleagues hated him. They thought he was the reason why their salaries were so low. An extra person to pay…it would be much better if his salary were to be split between us, they thought. Recently he had got into an argument with a colleague and they had beaten him up that evening as he was returning home. He still had a slight bruise under his left eye. But then again, he couldn’t really do anything about it. He was lucky to have a job after all.

The sun was shining directly on them. They got up and decided to go and eat something. As such, it was close to lunch hour and neither one of them had had anything to eat since morning. They walked through a market, hand in hand, his bag swinging behind him and her bag clasped close to herself. They crossed a few restaurants which were quite exquisite. He kept looking in, from the corner of his eye, and saw glimpses of laid out tables with waiters in suits standing by. He saw expensively dressed men and women sitting across each other in dimly lit dining halls. There were young people too, walking hand in hand, just like them. But of course looking at them, he felt a sharp pang of jealousy. They didn’t have to work day and night like him. They didn’t have to survive with two pairs of jeans and of course they did not have to send money back home out of the meager salary he got.

She understood his feelings and guessed the thoughts that were passing through his minds. She pressed his hands and his agitated face smoothened once again. They reached a roadside vendor and ate under the gaze of the afternoon sun. Restaurants and fancy dining was something they could only think of in their dreams. After dinner, they walked around in the market, stopping occasionally to look at a hand bag in one shop and to admire a dress in another. They never stepped into any of the shops. Their humble purse did not have spare cash enough for luxury. At one point, they both stopped to admire a purse that was on display. It was a lovely piece laid out in black, her favourite colour. After a while, they continued their strolling but he had seen it. He had noticed the glow in her eyes as she had stared at the back.

Someday, he said to himself. Someday I will ensure I buy for you everything that you want. I will work hard. I will get over this phase. I will buy a golden ring for you and then marry you. But at the same time, a tiny voice in his heart told him that it was an impossible dream that he was dreaming. He might be able to marry her, but to reach where he wanted to…it would be something short of a miracle. As they crossed the crowd, he heard young people of his age conversing. He overheard English conversation and accented voices and felt a jab at his heart. Rich brats, fancy schooling, flushed with money…he thought. How I would have excelled if I was in their place!

And thus they walked and talked until evening loomed up. They decided to take the metro back to their places so that they could spend some more time together. They entered the metro station and boarded the train. They stood in a corner, his hands around her shoulder, trying to shield her from the eyes of the neighbouring men. At one of the stops, she got a little impulsive and whispered something in his ears. They got down at the next stop.

The station was almost deserted. They stood at a point from where they could see the city from a height. She leaned on to him and put her head on his shoulder. He put a hand around her and wrapped her in his warmth. Together they stared out into the evening. He pointed a tall building to her. That’s where we will have a place together, he said and they smiled. She pointed out the horizon to him and asked him to promise that he would be faithful to her. He pointed out a home where there were two kids playing on the roof. They giggled and laughed at the children and she pointed out birds flying back home. The evening breeze gently caressed them and she huddled closer to him. He pressed her against him and pointed out the dying sun.

Suddenly, he heard a snorting sound and turned to see a couple walking away, giggling at them. He got angry but she consoled him. He heaved a deep sorrowful sigh but the moment was spoilt. He was angry at the world. He was angry at the couple who were perhaps returning after spending a romantic evening at a convenient place. They could not understand the emotions that were going on in his mind. Of course they would not understand what it felt to not be able to take your love to places but to resort to metro station for a brief moment’s privacy.

They boarded the metro again and three stations later she got down. She gave him a quick peck on his cheek and he watched as the metro door closed and she slowly became another face in the crowd. The metro continued moving and his thoughts were lost again. He was a common man. A common man…a few simple ambitions and a simple life. Was it really so hard? He remembered the couple that had killed his moment. Was the society so arrogant, so rude? Did he not have a right to simple joys in life? They had mocked a common man’s romance…but like everything else, he thought bitterly, he couldn’t really do anything…

Parekh, Pravesh

October 22, 2012; 03:50 AM