From Mylapore to Melbourne via Massachusetts - II

Shock gives way to tears, almost all the time. There is no other primary reaction that a human can possibly come up with, except perhaps getting aggressive. He darted out of his room after twenty odd minutes and shot out of the house, locking it from outside. The smell of cologne lingered long after he left. She should have sat motionless for an hour. Or, was it two? She did not know how long was the stream of tears gushing forth from her eyes.

She tried to collect herself and began ambling across the house absent-mindedly. She tried to open the front door, but it was locked. The house did not have a balcony, only a window in the hall. It was on the 30^th floor, so there was nothing that she could see that was of substance. Something made her try open the door of his room. It was locked again. What was inside that he kept so protected all the time? The human brain is like a monkey that can jump from one tree to another with wild swings. So was hers doing a similar job. She ate some cookies and bread that they had bought from the supermarket the day earlier.

At around four in the evening, she heard the door open. He came in, went to his room and closed the door behind him. Around an hour later, she knocked. No response. She tried it a few times and the knocks started giving way to bangs. At the tenth, the door opened and along with it, a hand came and pushed her frail body down to the floor. Her head banged against the wall.

“What, you bitch?” growled he.

Still recovering from the first violent assault on her, she could barely mumble anything audible. Things started fading in front of her eyes and she swooned.

When she woke up, she found a trickle of light from the lampshade in the hall. She pulled herself up and looked around the house. There were no sounds from his room but she could not make out if he was in or not.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

Why me? What did I do to suffer thus? I have not harmed a fly in my life. Did I really ask for this? What was the need for me to get into this? What is happening to me?

Thoughts, outpourings and tears fought with each other to come out of her head. She could feel her heart pain. When you are in such deep psychological pain, you can feel the heart ache. Yes, it does. The heart begs for a solution to get out of the situation. "A way out, please," it cries. You cannot do anything but wait for something to happen, events for which you cannot create though. Helplessness cannot get more accurately defined.

She sat in a corner. She felt immobile. Life had suddenly changed into existence, survival. All in a matter of days. She could not understand what were the reasons for these events and how they could find a place in her life all of a sudden. She had an answer to many things in life. Almost everything. Not this. Not now. A couple of hours would have passed when she got up and made herself some hot coffee. She fell asleep soon. A very rare case when you fall asleep after a coffee. But that was the psychological stress in which she was in.

When she woke up, it was morning. There was no sound from the room. A loaf of bread was lying on the table. He had come from outside perhaps. Most probably left. She got up. After a coffee, she moved towards his room. She banged the door. No answer. She tried the latch. To her surprise, it was open. She went inside. The bath in his room was ajar. He was not to be found. She started inspecting the room. Clothes, neatly arranged. The bed was laid clean – one could not say if someone had used it recently. Lots of books were neatly arranged on a shelf. But there were glass pieces on the ground - of a broken bottle. There were random paintings – modern art? A small window, but fitted with a blind. She then opened the bath. The smell of soap, perfume and the wet floor suggested that it was used just then. So he had just left. She noticed a wooden shelf, fully covered. She opened it. What she noticed would leave her stunned. Full of medicine. Random strips containing tablets, many of them with names that were tongue twisters. A couple of bottles and syringes. She picked a couple of them, came out, sat on the bed and began reading the contents. Vague knowledge of chemistry, a subject she hated from the start and a gap of around six years from her Class 12 did no help in aiding her identify anything.

Then it happened.

“What are you doing here?” The booming voice startled her. There he was. He was back. Ostensibly, he would have remembered that he would have forgotten to latch his door. She sat on the bed, still. The sunlight from the window shone upon him – close to six feet, slightly dark and intimidating, even with those glasses on.

“Can’t you hear, you bitch? What the hell are you doing here, I asked!” He said, advancing towards her.

He pulled her hand and seized the tablet strips and bottles. He flung them on the table. The right hand then went back and was advancing towards her. It wanted to make contact with her cheek, ear or head, violently. At that instant, up went her left hand. His right hand hit her left wrist.

Then it came out. In torrents.

“NO!!!!” She shrieked. “Who the hell do you think you are? What are you? Don't come near me!!”

She then pushed him away and ran.........to the kitchen. He had never seen that behaviour from her ever and was not able to react. Before he could collect himself and turn back, there she was – standing near the door of the room with a large kitchen knife.

“Tell me, now! Who are you? What do you want? Why did you marry me and spoil my life? Come on, you bastard! Bloody software engineer! Come on, take me on, you mean cur!”

He was too shell shocked to speak still and she went on.

“Why did you marry? I ask you! What are these tablets, strips of them? Syringes? What disease have you got? What a patient are you? Why did you not tell me this? Does your family know about this? What else have you hidden from me? Are you gay? Talk, you bloody bastard! Talk!!”

Now, the biggest of bullies thrive on the fear factor they create around them – it is just that the others are afraid of them than they being menacing themselves. When that mask is pulled, revealing their real personality, they cannot react, mainly because they have never been in that situation.

He tried to speak but the words were not forthcoming. There she was, around half a feet shorter than him, standing tall. He felt small. He flopped on to the bed. “I ...I am under treatment for....”

“Depression?” She asked. He half nodded his head.

“It has been.....”

“I am not interested,” She continued, Firm and matter-of-factly. “I need a ticket to Madras. Now!”

“Why, you can’t just....”

“I don’t want any blood to be spilled,” She said. Her long hair dishevelled, knife in hand, she looked like a warrior on a battlefield. The anger in her eyes was too strong to miss. He surrendered, perhaps even to her surprise.

Now, there comes a moment in life when, we are forced to do something that is so unlike what we do that explains our personality. It is not us who does it, but something inside us that makes us do it. It is as if an invisible force has manifested inside our body suddenly and has taken wings. It is not you, but it is you. Abnormal? Reflex action? Maybe.

He got up, took his laptop.

Four years later.

Melbourne. Evening.

Malini’s mother came out of the kitchen.

Malini was reading a book. “Malini, this boy is really good. You should atleast see him.”

“Amma, can we speak on anything else, please?”

“Why do you choose to be lonely? How long?”

“I am not lonely. Loneliness is not a choice. Solitude is. I am in bliss, from solitude.”

“Don’t you need someone in your life?”

“I need people. I don’t want anyone. Need and want, Amma, are different. I should want someone. And no, I don’t think I would want that want, ever!” she said, as the doorbell rang – the next batch of students of the Tandava school of dance in Melbourne were trickling in.

Outside, the shimmer of the fading sun was painting the entire town in gold.