Roof

He looked at the small Timex on his bedside table. 3 in the night. “Sheesh”, he thought, “even the Tamazepam 250 has stopped working”. He tried to sit up in his bed, an uneasiness wrapped his body like the thick blanket he had draped. Frail and stammering, he stood up, knees announced their angst in waves and waves of pain up his thighs, sliming up through his spine deep inside his head. Without even knowing it, he groaned. He mustered all the life force that he could gather, jerked his bodyqonce, twice, thrice. It seemed like he was duelling the pain for centuries. He was exhausted, panting but serenity of sleep evaded him.

He slumped back on his bed, lifeless, yet wide awake. Slowly reaching his hand out to the bedside table, he took his mobile phone. It was hard to keep in grasp, fingers revolting every second. He placed the phone on the pillow, once white, now grey with dirt and dust of the room which did not see sunlight for a long time.

Opened his “Whatsapp” account, and went through the same conversation he has been going through for years now. Initially he had been arrogant, had thrown the phone away in angst, had cried inconsolably to the darkness, many a times he waited with a with a thin shaving blade piece, looking into the ceiling. Now all of that was beyond him, what lay was a gaping void. A dark void in which there were thousands of poems and hundreds of tunes. He still shuddered from the echoes which came out from the void, even now. “That's fine”, he said aloud, to himself, “it is much better now. It will go away eventually”. Someone was not agreeing to his assurance. He did not know who. Neither did he wanted to.

A- why are you doing like this? Aren't we good together?

B- It is not about you, it is about me.

A- What is this rotten old, “not you; me logic?”. If there is something that I could do I will. But only if you tell me what it is.

B- It is just not possible, you knew from the first day that we met that it was not.

A- Yes, I did. I knew what I was going into. I still do. What I don't get is what happened NOW? Both of us were okay with that idea right? What is making you behave this weird NOW is what I am asking?

A- What happened, why are you not replying?
Oh wait a minute. Is it what I am thinking it is?

B- Yes.

A- But HOW? Why did you tell him? Was he suspecting something?

B- No.

A- Then? What on earth went into your head? Have not I told you that the steering for this whole thing is in your hand. If your feelings were exhausted, which is completely fine for me, you could have just told me. Why did you complicate things?

B- It is not about feelings. You know I will always feel for you what I felt from the day we talked, from hours on first floor canteen.

A- Then what on earth was it ?

B- I cannot keep lying to him.

A- Wow, nice. When did this specific “ascetic” realisation go into you? After haridwar trip?

B- Shut up

A- seriously, its your angle of definition which decides whether what you say is a lie or not.

B- If this is not a lie, then was everything that I said to him truth? When I said I had a meeting but I actually went out with you. When I said I was going to my parents house, but I went out with you. Alll of them were facts, was'nt it?

A- This you should have asked yourself before all of this started right. Tell me, where is it written that you could have feelings for only one individual at a time. Are'nt these social boundaries imposed on us?
Sure, feelings towards every person in our life has a different flavour, but who said even the emotion has to be different? My grandmother used to tell me this story about emotions and memories. She used to say that every person that we meet actually have a room in our heart. Our heart is actually like that hotel with infinite chambers, like Marrows paradox. Some rooms are small, untidily kept. Some rooms are like attics. Some rooms are spacious and furnished like deluxe suite of any high life hotel. Some rooms are dark, tubelights not working; but still at the end of our journey do you know who wins?

B- who?

A- Who has most of the chambers filled. Does not matter whether you keep somebody in the dark dousy rooms, or the furnished flat. Does not matter if the room is draped with moist trapped within creaking walls or lit by smooth yellow candle light. Does not matter whether the room shifts to such dark recesses of your mind so that it becomes a jail, or it is at the corridor, sun shing from the crimson east in the morning, what matters is there are people. Because every room you open you will be greeted. Because when you have lived life, you will not be bothered about good or bad memories, you will not be afraid by opening a door and being greeted by a slouchy, cold evil man, or a generous happy friend. Do you know what will scare you the most- an empty room, gust of wind hitting you face which has no meaning. It only passes through you wailing its void. That will scare you.

B- Hm.

A- Do you want to know what sort of roo I wanted from you?

B- What?

A- A roof. An open roof.