clockwork

We’re in the middle of a playful argument about which brand of sanitary pads to buy and even though it’s my decision, you’re somehow equally invested in it. I’m giggling out of my mind and you love the fact that you can make me burst into fits of hysteria so flawlessly. You look like an impeccable work of handicraft that has my gaze plastered all over it.
I win the argument primarily because there was no matter in the first place. You’re smiling. I walk towards the washing machine as it’s my day to do the laundry. I feel oddly content. This feeling is rare. It feels like an awakening of sorts except I am always this awake. I’m guessing this is what they mean when they talk about the effects of ganja? I wouldn’t know. I don’t want to be cheesy like that but if my thoughts assign to you a metaphor disguised under several layers of diplomacy, you’ve got to take it.
Take everything, I remember saying to you.

***

It’s 10.30 PM. We’re on the streets of Bombay. It’s beautiful. The weather is surprisingly pleasant, enough for me to pull out my thinnest grey cardigan and drape it over my shoulders without really inserting my arms in it because I know that a few steps is all I need to I get rid of it.
We’re not speaking. But we don’t always have to. We’ve had a long day. You didn’t say it but I assumed for that’s what normal people do. You forgot to ask for tea today and I, out of indecision and lack of enthusiasm, let it go.
I feel oddly content. This feeling comes often but just enough for its speciality to survive.
There’s a group of youngsters standing on the right of us. They’re probably waiting for a rickshaw. There’s so much laughter in the air. Their breathing patterns are ecstatic and their bodies display a rhythmic excitement I haven’t experienced in a while. I’m almost there but suddenly I feel a heaviness collapse on me. it fills me in. I am fuller than myself. I am the overflowing bucket of water they forgot about. I feel fifty shades of grief take over. I don’t utter a word.
I begin to question my ideas of sadness and the opposite until I am ready to retire for the night.

***

The clock has been defunct now but there’s no one to fix it. The air-conditioner, too, has given in. I am looking for you in every nook and corner of the house even though I’m the one that moved out to this dump of lost memories – all of which I brought with me. I’m humming a tune under my breath, trying to get the lyrics right, unable to place a finger on the artist’s name, it’s sucking the life out of me. I halt. Turn around. Breathe in. Scream.
“Take everything.” I say to you.

 

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