Morbid...

It was a really bad decision to come to Bangalore for holiday. I don’t know what made me chose Bangalore of all places. May be the familiarity, may be the fact that I supposedly have friends here, with whom I can catch up? I don’t know, but right now it seems to have backfired on me.

I had fever in the morning, with my head splitting apart in pain, a pain I haven’t felt even during the hangover I had after gulping down a pitcher full of beer. I lulled myself into sleep, woke up occasionally and finally it was well past lunchtime when I forced myself to drink some milk and have a sweet, immediately followed by an antacid. I am on constant medication ever since I came here, what with bouts of sneezing, indigestion and extreme fatigue. I can’t but help observing that the place is not at all agreeing with me.

I had a grand time with Ani. Everytime I meet her, I rediscover just how strong our friendship is, that it has survived all the time and distance that holds us apart. Her daughter is this perfect doll, though poor thing is suffering a lot from various illnesses ever since she came to India. It could have been only Ani’s daughter who could inspire me to draw a full fledged cartoon card for her on the eve of my visit. Ani treated me to something called a foot spa in a parlor (which seemed very much like pedicure, couldn’t make out why it was costlier by 500 bucks), and she had her say and paid for my way back home (it was their known autowallah who dropped me back, and he didn’t take money, so I only paid him a tip), but I also had my say and travelled by bus (that too an ordinary one, because I waited for 15 minutes and no Volvo turned up) to Majestic. I stood in the bus all the way, my water bottle dropped from the pouch in my bag and an aunty recovered it and gave it back, and by the time I had reached my destination, I had lost my patience and took an auto to Malleshwaram. Last Sunday I met a kid from my previous organization, and it was a quiet affair and I did manage to have my favourite icecream from Corner House. There are some things I love about Bangalore. But then there are the threats. The autowallah whom Ani asked to drop me seemed to know every nook and corner of Bangalore. I could gather the Iskcon Temple road, the Sankey Tank road, the road next to office (forgot its name, you have that Nisarga Garden Restaurant there – Infantry Road is it?), a cross road that looked very similar to dairy circle, and I was just wondering how we reached this far in such a record time, when the Palace Grounds I guess, whizzed pass, I could make out a glimpse of Konark, my favourite restaurant in Bangalore, and then, it entered known territory. The St. Marks Road, and the exact route Boo used to take to drop me home including the place where he had plucked flowers for me. And I could feel this knife plunging in my heart, no no no, not these roads, no please…I found myself shouting in silent agony. The entire ordeal was enough to make me sick, next day I was barely able to stand up, and found myself shaking and dropping things and hardly able to stop myself from falling over. And I kept sneezing incessantly. I am sure, had I gotten my pressure checked right then, it would have been really really low. I ended up cancelling my appointment with this friend from office I had written here about. I managed to meet her yesterday, though briefly, along with a couple of other people from office as well (I actually went up to the 5th floor where most people from my former BU sit, but as luck would have it, neither did I meet my former best friend, nor my former boss). When I was coming out of the place, some more kids ran up to me. I was pleasantly surprised to find them calling me didi, instead of how they used to call me professionally, by my first name, earlier. Had a nice chat with them, took an auto to Shivajinagar Bus Stop and got into a bus that’d drop me to Madiwala (I had come by bus as well – don’t know why I am so hell bent on buses nowadays, in my last two years in Bangalore, I used to run away from buses).

It has been all about ticking off places I wanted to visit, so I ticked off Crossword on my way back (and we had dinner in MAS restaurant – one of the very first restaurants I visited in Bangalore).

I got the latest Clifton Chronicle and this curious book called The Mother-in-law - The other woman in your marriage. I don’t know why such books attract me. I had once got this book from Landmark, it was some research paper on why marriages in India are breaking. And these are books I read, on priority, like I have been reading this one, ignoring whether Sebastian lives or dies. What is it? Some crooked intention to drive in my mind that I am happier than the rest? Living like a vegetable, never to realize how it feels to be a wife, or to be a mother. Yeah, bliss indeed…

I remember Subhadeep a lot these days. Subhadeep used to be my class mate in school, almost throughout all the classes, right from nursery. I guess we got different classes in VII and VIII, for different third languages, and in IX and X for different additional papers. Then again we got together in XI. So he used to be this first boy in the class, quite plump and tall (I remember Gopa aunty explaining to us that the great wall of China would be as tall as four Satyajit Rays and one Subhadeep put together). And after class XI Puja holidays, he never returned to class. He died. He supposedly had this hole in his heart, and he knew about that, still he went out of the way to enjoy himself during the Pujas, would do late nights and eat and drink and dance with friends, and his health won’t have it – it gave way. For a long time, I kept wondering, why on earth, if he knew about his ailment, didn’t he take precaution? He was an only child, didn’t he think of his parents? Didn’t he have any sense of responsibility? Didn’t he want to live? Today I can somehow understand him. It is better to die perhaps, than to live a life full of restrictions. I can understand, because I too feel like dying. Another 30/40/50 years of this life, way it has been so far? No, thanks. I don’t need a husband, no. If only I could have a friend, a friend who lived near me, and I could get their company without feeling grateful for the time they have taken out for me, it would have made an immense difference. I can’t live such a lonely life. I simply can’t. Well, I have things to do before I quit. I have to get my brother settled down, for one. He is this stupid guy who doesn’t know how to live life. For him life is going to office, having food, sleeping and throw in bits of TV, sports, magazines and horror movies. I need someone to take care of him, even if she gets him estranged from our family (the possibility is always there, you see – all I pray for is that the girl should at least love my brother, if not us). Then, I go on living for my parents, probably till I can’t handle it anymore.
I am negative, very negative. I am always afraid that things might turn even worse. It is a nightmarish situation. I don’t like it. And you know what, when you have such a kind of life, there is no holidaying. Neither in Bangalore, not anywhere. So once I return, I am staying put at my home. Even that might stifle me, but it is at least better than putting up this false image of yourself – look, I am so happy, off on a vacation…and stuff. I am miserable, and so be it...