It was a weekend like any other. He went about executing his meticulously planned agenda, keeping him busy throughout the day. But it was one of those days, the kind of day in which, irrespective of how busy you keep yourself, your mind and heart tend to wander into a territory that you would consciously want to avoid. And when that happened, he realized how lonely he was. All of his friends were busy with their wife, husband or children. Their weekends were packed with chores that couples and families do. No one texted him anymore. Only a handful called, or picked up the phone when he called. People went about their lives, and he wasn't a part of anyone's anymore. And there he was that weekend, in a mall, filled with people, and yet feeling lonely. He had long ceased to be good company to himself. He stared at the empty chair in front of him, and ate alone, like he did, every single day since she had left. He wondered where his life was heading, after losing her. But first of all, he had to decide where his bike was heading.
The heavy heart, the loneliness and flashing memories of her, had distracted him from his focus on the road. This wasn't the first time. In the recent past, on quite a few occasions, he had caught himself riding his bike in random directions which had nothing to do with his intended destination. When he regained his sense of self, he gave the accelerator of his bike an almighty twist.
He was in the zone. He was singing random songs out loud, and twisting the accelerator to his tunes. He was laughing and crying at the same time. He wasn't sure whether he was laughing at the fact that he was crying at his situation, or whether he was crying at the fact that he was laughing at his situation. Nothing was clear anymore, least of all his vision. And a rush of blood to his head told him to push the limits, of his fears and of his bike. His bike accelerated to a speed it had never touched before - the empty, long and straight road helping it's cause. Only something as big as a bus could have slowed it down.
He overtook a speeding bus, and the bus returned the favor by overtaking him. And at the peak of his speed, he did not expect the bus to come to a sudden halt,a few meters in front of him. Time slowed down, and his engineering educated brain started performing at its peak.
In a flash, he knew that his brakes were no good and the the treads of his tires were too worn out to create enough friction to grip the bitumen, and bring his bike to a halt. The grime on the road and the speed of his bike meant that his wheels would skid once he hit the brakes hard. He knew that the center of gravity would shift and throw him off balance, most likely towards his left, and in the direction of the rear wheel of the bus. He knew that his helmet was old but sturdy, and that it could save him, but only if his head didn't hit the ground and also the tire of the bus - it could take one impact, but two, would crush it, and probably cause some damage to his skull. And as these thoughts flashed through his brain, he found it fascinating at how his brain could process and compute so much information so quickly at such a critical moment. He could almost watch the whole scene unfold in his brain in slow motion, from a third person's perspective. And, he braced for impact.
It happened just like he had pictured it. The only thing he hadn't estimated correctly was how painful the blow would turn out to be. And the only surprise was how he walked away from the bike without a bruise,though his bones ached to the core. He dragged his bike out from under the bus and let it lean on the curb. He was surprised at how quickly he had come so close to his home, and probably to his death, owing to the speed at which he had driven. He limped towards his home, alone again, in the deserted street, reminding him again of his lonely state.
The streetlight cast a long shadow of his limping self in front of him. And he realized that it was only his shadow that had been with him through thick and thin. And as he smirked at the thought, In a moment, the lights went out, and with it, his shadow. It was then that the truth hit him harder than the bus had hit him. In that moment of darkness, true light dawned in him.
Losing her had spurred a burst of creativity in him. He had started writing stories. And more often than not, the characters in his story, and the stories themselves, resembled the characters and the stories of his life. At times, he could barely tell the difference between his story and his life. He found it to be an avenue through which he could lose himself, and could also find himself.
And as he limped into his tiny abode, he was already composing his next story in his mind, the story of his tryst with potential death - an accident, and perceived death - loneliness.
No comments:
Post a Comment