Reality

It was just another hard day at work and all she really wanted to do was unwind. “Let’s just go to Buddy’s.” She said as she looked into the eyes of her best friend. Ray however had other plans; he had been working night shifts for the past week and finally got a night off, he wanted to make it count.

“I’ve already called everyone home! It’ll be fun and much cheaper to drink there” he replied with a smile. He knew he would have his way and so she left with Ray, his roommates and five other people from work.

As always the conversation was as smooth as the alcohol, and the night did count just as Ray wanted it to.

In that moment she was happy she listened to him. She felt at ease in the familiar apartment that had housed her many nights when she had nowhere else to go. 

She got up, and so did Ray.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom”

“Don’t use that one… Plumbing problems” he gave her a sheepish grin. “Come I’ll take you to another one”

“You guys are mad! How do you live like this?” She knew her comments would yield no results they seldom ever did. She laughed it off and followed.

She knew every inch of the house and wondered why he didn’t just tell her where to go, but she followed anyway, knowing very well that he was taking her towards the kitchen and not a bathroom.

“He’s probably messing with me, or he’s just really drunk” she thought.

“Ray, this is the kitchen.”

“Yeah, I know, come on!”

She found herself standing in front of a door near the kitchen counter. For as long as she could remember it had been locked; she never asked why or gave it a thought, only this time, she found that all it needed was a push.

“After you” he said.

She walked into dimly lit room with a flattering king sized bed with blue sheets that hadn’t been made in years. Sitting on the bed was an old woman in a pale yellow nightgown that was fading to white. She sat perfectly still and stared outside the window.

She moved towards the woman when Ray grabbed her hand and held her back.

“What are you doing?”

She looked and him and then back at the woman. The woman was as un-kept as the bed. She looked out of the window to see what it was that that held this woman’s gaze keeping her engrossed, and found she herself staring at a grey wall. She turned to look at the woman whose eyes were filled with wonder as though the wall had stories to tell.

“She’s my aunt.” Ray said pulling her back. “She’s was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia five years ago, and has been living me ever since.”

“…I, uh, you keep her in a locked room?” She stared at him and searched deep within his eyes for an explanation that was better than the one she knew was about to come.

Brown eyes, his eyes, ones that she had known for the longest time, ones that she trusted more than anything else.

“I don’t know what to say…” He looked back at her clearly not expecting this sort of a reaction. “I’ve told you about her!”

“Yeah, but you forget to mention that she stays with you!” She glared at him with indignation.

“These aren’t things that you talk about Aru, now can you just go take a piss so that we can get back to the party.” His eyes looked tired. “I’m going to wait right here”

She walked into the bathroom, and instantly her vexation turned to nervousness and then fear. All around her things were changing. Every fibre of her being was tingling and she couldn’t believe her eyes. At that moment her looked into the mirror and instead of seeing her own reflection she saw shadows instead. She stared and blinked hoping her eyes would stop playing tricks on her and when the shadows persisted, she opened the door and looked at Ray.

“Ray!” She gasped. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing hun, what’s the matter?”

“Ray…” She looked towards the woman who was now smiling as if the stories the grey wall was telling her brought her happiness, moving her, and she sank deeper into them.

“Ray, what if your aunt if fine and the problem is the room?”

“What?” He held her hand. “Aru are you okay?”

She looked at him and saw three of him standing in front of her. She didn’t know which one to look at, which one to talk to or which one was real. She stood still, “Movement can make it worse” she thought.

“Ray, what if there’s no problem with her and the problem is the room.” The words seemed to be spilling out of her mouth. Incoherent and uncontrollable, she knew he wouldn’t make sense out of what she was trying to say, but she repeated herself trice in the hopes that he would understand.

Tears filled her eyes, she looked towards the woman in the corner, and her heart went out to her. She had been locked up in a room for five years, wrongly diagnosed and now living with whatever she had. She wanted to go to her, hug her and make it right for her.

She found her words.

“Ray there is something wrong with the room.” “Supernatural or paranormal, I don’t know but I think your aunt is mentally sound and it’s the room that’s playing tricks on her.”

Ray shook her and then hugged her tight. He held her in his arms and assured her that there was nothing wrong with the room.

“You might have had a little too much to drink love, the room is fine. My aunt is unwell. Let it go.”

She pulled away and looked into three sets of eyes all belonging to her best friend, the man who she loved deeply, three pairs of eyes that made her feel safe, eyes that loved her and she whispered, “Then why do I see three of you, and why are the shadows that were in the mirror now all around you?”

As the words escaped her, she saw herself losing in those big brown eyes. They started to change from deep to distant, they didn’t feel safe anymore, they looked tired a weary, hard and cold. She barely recognized them anymore. How she longed to see them return to their normal state and make her feel safe once again, but instead fear engulfed her. She blinked but the distant eyes hadn’t changed, what did change was the skin around them. They had wrinkles now. Tired and droopy they stared at her. She felt conscious and confused, it was a mere second ago that these eyes were her world and now they just stared blandly.

She looked down at her clothes faded, yellow, and almost white. She ran her wrinkled hand over them and on to the blue bed sheet. She hated this bed sheet, and that’s why never bothered to make the bed in years. She looked up to find the eyes of her husband cold and hard with a hint of sadness, big and brown. They were staring at her from the across the room. She turned towards the window, and looked at a grey wall. The wall that held stories, that spoke to her, and was her friend. The wall had been more of a companion to her than her best friend, her husband, who introduced her to it. The wall that entertained her, listened to her, and loved her. She smiled as she looked at it and it told her yet another story.

A Request

It all started with a request, one that she held dear and really hoped would come true. A tiny, yet unreasonable request; that her first-born grandchild would be a boy. Of course she didn’t get what she wanted and after I was born she’d face many a times where she wouldn’t in fact, get what she wanted.

Growing up, I barely knew her. We’d have conversations that didn’t hold any value. I say this because as I look back, I can’t remember even a single one. Yet that was not how our relationship was meant to be and as fate would have it, I had to leave my home and move into my grandparent’s house.

As the years passed, she took great interest in all the cultural activities that I took part in as a part of school and fiend interest things like my career choices and subjects that I wanted to major in. She’d delight in every recital, choir performance, play, dance class and performance that I was a part of. She’d sit proudly in the audience and shower me with praises once I was done. However, for her, my choosing the arts as vocational path didn’t quite cut it.

She held dearly onto my aptitude for the sciences and hoped I would become an engineer. However I had different plans and she’d have to understand that her request for me to let go of my interest and passion for an intellectually and financially ‘appropriate’ career was something she’d just have to settle without.

That was far from stopping her, as I took up the social sciences and she saw my interest in social work, she decided that I should join the Indian Administrative Services just like my second uncle who was ‘doing really well for his family’ she would say.

“It’s too late for me now Nanamma. I’ve made up my mind on what I want to be. You should try with your other grandchildren, they still have a couple of years left to make life decisions, shape their minds!” I would joke, and she would react with her signature exasperated “Pah!”

 She watched me pursue my dreams as I made the decision to follow the footsteps of my father and choose the corporate world of advertising.

When the time came to leave home and study copywriting, she showered me with all the blessings that a grandmother could give her granddaughter. She also took her one last chance to whisper to me,

“It’s not too late you know, you can still become an IAS officer”

I laughed and with a big hug and a promise to return soon, I left.

I wasn’t the best granddaughter to her, I barely kept in touch with her and despite that being a habit of mine, it did hurt her and I remained oblivious. I’d get a reminder every once in two months to call her. It was usually an angry one from my father after hearing his mother ask him what I how I was doing, and I would promptly call her and listen to her yell at me for the same for a good two minutes. I would then get five minutes to tell her how my course was going and in those five minutes, I’d have to explain to her for the umpteenth time about what advertising really is. She’d never understand and would quickly change the topic to all the trivial things that I was missing out on; marriages, fights that the maid’s daughter was having with her in-laws, random newspaper articles, etc. This would go on for 30-45 minutes and while I listened to a woman who loved to talk, I’d drift off into a world of my own hmmm-ing now and then so that she’d think I was still listening.

What she doesn’t know is that as she indulged, my creativity fueled. It was during one such conversation when it hit me. I was just like her! I loved telling stories. So, I vowed to put my creativity to good use and befriended the art of embellishing. I would listen to these inane happenings that was glad I didn’t have to witness first hand, and think of ways to tell the same story in a more captivating way. I wanted my stories to be dramatic enough to keep my audience hooked till the last word. After all, my career would depend on it.

The course soon ended and I got a job in Mumbai. I went home for the last time to pack the remaining of my things and leave. I could see that she’d rather me take up a job in Bangalore, but yet again she’d have to settle for my way. It was something she was getting used to and so this time she didn’t push me.

Months later, I met her in Mumbai. I was living with my aunt and she had come down to visit her beloved daughter. I didn’t get to spend much time with her despite my trying hard to. A new job filled with deadlines and unreal expectations that I had of myself, made me dive into work and the new life it had to offer without worrying about its repercussions but she saw that I loved it and so she never said anything.

It was time for her to leave and she asked me to sit with her for sometime. I was more than happy to. I missed home a lot and the new one I had come into just couldn’t compare. Sitting with her felt like home. She looked at me long and hard and I thought I was in for it. Another unreasonable request; quit your job, don’t work so hard, join the administrative services with better benefits, the works.

She took center stage and I let her make yet another request.

“Move out.” She said. “I want you to get your own house. You must learn how to live alone and you’ll learn a lot. It will be hard but you must do it.”

I stared at her awestruck.

“Don’t worry about saving money right now, enjoy your life while you can and don’t compromise. There will come a time when you should start saving for the future, when the time comes you’ll know. It will be a decision that you make.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening, who was this lady, and what had she done to my grandmother?

“Always put safety first and don’t trust anyone too easily. Go, have fun, do whatever your heart desires, but put yourself and your safety first. Okay?”

I don’t know whether this qualifies as good or bad advice, but it moved me. For the first time in all the years that I knew her, she made yet another unreasonable request that my mind wanted to reject right away but couldn’t because she spoke directly to my heart.

She saw what I needed the most, despite my mind making up excuses to not pursue any of it, my heart wanted all of it. I smiled and gave her a hug. She wasn’t talking to daddy’s little princess who didn’t know of a life devoid of luxury and comfort; she spoke to the strong, confident and independent woman inside who desperately needed a chance to shine through. A strong, confident and independent woman just like the one inside her.

A couple of weeks later I flew in to Bangalore to celebrate a momentous day for my father and there she was, with a look that meant business.

“Have you found a place for yourself yet?” she asked, and then listened patiently as I went on a rant about the rent rates in Mumbai and the shoddy condition of the apartments. 

“Don’t worry you’ll find something, and you must find one soon.”

The weekend came to an end and I had to leave, I had tears in my eyes.

“I really miss home.” I said. “I wish I could stay here for longer.”

“You’ll be back soon, and then you’ll stay here for much longer.” She replied warmly. 

True enough, I had to return a week later, again with tears in my eyes. My grandmother had passed away. She kept her word. This time I stayed there for two weeks, 13 days to be exact…

She was right, about learning a lot, after all I learnt more about myself in two months of my living alone than I had in 22 years. So, fighting all my disbelief in religion, I went with my parents to fulfill her last request, and journeyed to the Triveni Sangham for her last rights. Even though there is no scientific proof of the existence of a river named Saraswasti, for her I believed. And so, as per her wish, we put my Nanamma Saraswati to rest, in the Saraswati.