The sea was a dirty grey... The clouds large and looming. The sky was darkening fast... so fast that it seemed like a few more minutes and the world would be enveloped in a warm black cloak of obliviousness. Except, Nick wasn't warm. Oh no. He was cold. As cold as the bloody vampire Sneha used to constantly talk about... The one who was so hot in spite of being cold as ice or some shit. Strange how he was thinking of such inane things now, when he should be shrivelling up and dying inside. But he felt deceptively calm. As if everything were happening in slow-motion... to someone else. He was safe. He was just a silent spectator watching from the sidelines.
He dug his hands into his pockets and stood staring into the sea. The waves were crashing against the rocks on the promenade of Carter Road . Old plastic bottles, empty coconut shells, gutka packets, used condoms, wilted flowers, rubber chappals... a ton of rubbish kept piling up on the shore. Nick stared at them, trying to memorize every single thing he saw in that pile of garbage. He didn't know why it was important. But he just knew that it was. He had to keep staring and commit every single scrap to memory. The electric-blue of the Gutka packet, the ugly green of the divorced chappal, the muddy-orange of the marigold flowers which had definitely floated in from some earthern urn carrying a Hindu's cremated ash, the blackened pieces of discarded fruit skins and stones, the yellow of a plastic cover printed with the McDonald's 'M' in bright red. They were all a test. If he could remember every single detail and recall it with his eyes closed, things would be fine.
He believed in stuff like that. He had never confessed it to anyone, not even Sneha. He was a guy; he could not admit to having silly, sentimental notions like this. I mean he couldn't possibly tell anyone that if the stairs leading up to an office numbered 25 or a multiple of 5, he would do well in the interview. Or that if he stepped just so, on only the brown tiles on the floor and not on the alternate white ones, he would get the money for that new bike; somehow. Or that Sneha...with 5 letters in her name, was in all probability his ideal woman. What? 5 was his lucky number! And no, he so did not believe in Numerology. This was different...
And so he stood there. The rain lashed down. The first 3 buttons of his shirt were open and the wind whipped his shirt about, trying to tear it off. He had goosebumps all over. With the cold, the fear, the chill... The water got into his shoes, soaked his socks and jeans through. Despair. Denial. Depression. Panic. Terror. Grief. So many emotions that fought for a space in his head. He still didn't know what he should be feeling. Was he numb? No, numb would have been better. He didn't have even a moment of numbness since the time he....knew. If anything, it was just the opposite. He was overwhelmed by all the emotions struggling to rise up within. He suddenly lurched forward and collapsed on the small wall encircling the promenade. He gagged and retched, his stomach heaving... the sour, bitter, burning bile rising up in his throat. But nothing. His stomach seemed to mirror his heart. Empty. An empty shell. Just like that coconut lying in that pile of rubbish on the beach.
He spat out the bile, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, got up on trembling legs and lifted his head up to the rain...letting the stinging raindrops wash all over his face. He opened his mouth to the rain, drinking it in greedily. He put his tongue out, relishing the tiny shocks the stinging water sent through him. He slowly walked towards his bike and started it. For just a minute he thought about riding out into the sea on his bike. It was such an appealing thought. The cold waves engulfing him, the water closing down upon him, and him just sinking into that cocoon of silence, peace, death...on his beloved bike.
But he couldn't do it. He had always known that. But if he ever had to take his own life, this is how he would like to do it. Riding into the sea in the sunset on a grey, cloudy day. Not inside a closed room with a pile of pills, or by hanging himself or with a gun. Where would he get a gun from anyway? And pills, poison, hanging, slashing your wrists... they involved too much waiting, patience, solitude. He wanted to go in a flurry of activity, with no time to think, re-think or regret. Even death had to have an adrenaline rush. What was the point of living otherwise?
All this talk of stability, normalcy, security... they were just synonyms for 'boring'. The purpose of life cannot just be to exist, but to push the boundaries, to see how far on the edge you can live, how fast you can pull yourself up when you are about to fall off that edge. Or so he used to think.
Nick loved the rains. He had always loved driving in the rains. Of late he had stopped doing that. He had been too worried about falling sick, about how bad his hair would look plastered on his scalp, how uncomfortable he would be later with dripping wet clothes... And he knew he wasn't one of those effortlessly good-looking guys who would look hotter when soaked to the skin. No, he was at his best dry and in control! But today he didn't care. He drove like a maniac. He welcomed the bone-chilling cold, the wind rushing in his ears, the traffic, the potholes... He splashed through the water, he raced and zipped between the cars and autos, he flew over the roads and finally stopped outside the huge yellow building that had become his regular haunt over the past week.
He parked the bike, walked in, took the elevator and stepped out on to the 5th floor. 5 again. But this time he didn't know what to expect from his favorite number. He stood outside the glass door. The water from his drenched clothes started pooling around him. But he remained motionless, staring at the frail girl wrapped up in blankets, with tubes sticking out of every orifice, her eyes shut like she was just catching a nap. But those eyes hadn't fluttered open in over 6 days.
Nick walked into the unattended room, sat down beside the single bed and held the girl's hand gently. He bent down and kissed her on her lips."Can you taste the rain Sneha?", he whispered. "Your first Mumbai rains. So many firsts for you this year. Your first brush with the city of extremes, with love, betrayal, death... I think that's enough for the next decade. You need to wake up now." His tone had become urgent, his grip on her hand tightened... But she didn't respond. Not a muscle moved, no flutter of her eyelashes, no returning reassuring squeeze of hands.
Nick buried his head in her shoulders and at long last, cried. His tears mixing with the rain water, his racking sobs heaving in his chest, he finally let go.
He dug his hands into his pockets and stood staring into the sea. The waves were crashing against the rocks on the promenade of Carter Road . Old plastic bottles, empty coconut shells, gutka packets, used condoms, wilted flowers, rubber chappals... a ton of rubbish kept piling up on the shore. Nick stared at them, trying to memorize every single thing he saw in that pile of garbage. He didn't know why it was important. But he just knew that it was. He had to keep staring and commit every single scrap to memory. The electric-blue of the Gutka packet, the ugly green of the divorced chappal, the muddy-orange of the marigold flowers which had definitely floated in from some earthern urn carrying a Hindu's cremated ash, the blackened pieces of discarded fruit skins and stones, the yellow of a plastic cover printed with the McDonald's 'M' in bright red. They were all a test. If he could remember every single detail and recall it with his eyes closed, things would be fine.
He believed in stuff like that. He had never confessed it to anyone, not even Sneha. He was a guy; he could not admit to having silly, sentimental notions like this. I mean he couldn't possibly tell anyone that if the stairs leading up to an office numbered 25 or a multiple of 5, he would do well in the interview. Or that if he stepped just so, on only the brown tiles on the floor and not on the alternate white ones, he would get the money for that new bike; somehow. Or that Sneha...with 5 letters in her name, was in all probability his ideal woman. What? 5 was his lucky number! And no, he so did not believe in Numerology. This was different...
And so he stood there. The rain lashed down. The first 3 buttons of his shirt were open and the wind whipped his shirt about, trying to tear it off. He had goosebumps all over. With the cold, the fear, the chill... The water got into his shoes, soaked his socks and jeans through. Despair. Denial. Depression. Panic. Terror. Grief. So many emotions that fought for a space in his head. He still didn't know what he should be feeling. Was he numb? No, numb would have been better. He didn't have even a moment of numbness since the time he....knew. If anything, it was just the opposite. He was overwhelmed by all the emotions struggling to rise up within. He suddenly lurched forward and collapsed on the small wall encircling the promenade. He gagged and retched, his stomach heaving... the sour, bitter, burning bile rising up in his throat. But nothing. His stomach seemed to mirror his heart. Empty. An empty shell. Just like that coconut lying in that pile of rubbish on the beach.
He spat out the bile, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, got up on trembling legs and lifted his head up to the rain...letting the stinging raindrops wash all over his face. He opened his mouth to the rain, drinking it in greedily. He put his tongue out, relishing the tiny shocks the stinging water sent through him. He slowly walked towards his bike and started it. For just a minute he thought about riding out into the sea on his bike. It was such an appealing thought. The cold waves engulfing him, the water closing down upon him, and him just sinking into that cocoon of silence, peace, death...on his beloved bike.
But he couldn't do it. He had always known that. But if he ever had to take his own life, this is how he would like to do it. Riding into the sea in the sunset on a grey, cloudy day. Not inside a closed room with a pile of pills, or by hanging himself or with a gun. Where would he get a gun from anyway? And pills, poison, hanging, slashing your wrists... they involved too much waiting, patience, solitude. He wanted to go in a flurry of activity, with no time to think, re-think or regret. Even death had to have an adrenaline rush. What was the point of living otherwise?
All this talk of stability, normalcy, security... they were just synonyms for 'boring'. The purpose of life cannot just be to exist, but to push the boundaries, to see how far on the edge you can live, how fast you can pull yourself up when you are about to fall off that edge. Or so he used to think.
Nick loved the rains. He had always loved driving in the rains. Of late he had stopped doing that. He had been too worried about falling sick, about how bad his hair would look plastered on his scalp, how uncomfortable he would be later with dripping wet clothes... And he knew he wasn't one of those effortlessly good-looking guys who would look hotter when soaked to the skin. No, he was at his best dry and in control! But today he didn't care. He drove like a maniac. He welcomed the bone-chilling cold, the wind rushing in his ears, the traffic, the potholes... He splashed through the water, he raced and zipped between the cars and autos, he flew over the roads and finally stopped outside the huge yellow building that had become his regular haunt over the past week.
He parked the bike, walked in, took the elevator and stepped out on to the 5th floor. 5 again. But this time he didn't know what to expect from his favorite number. He stood outside the glass door. The water from his drenched clothes started pooling around him. But he remained motionless, staring at the frail girl wrapped up in blankets, with tubes sticking out of every orifice, her eyes shut like she was just catching a nap. But those eyes hadn't fluttered open in over 6 days.
Nick walked into the unattended room, sat down beside the single bed and held the girl's hand gently. He bent down and kissed her on her lips."Can you taste the rain Sneha?", he whispered. "Your first Mumbai rains. So many firsts for you this year. Your first brush with the city of extremes, with love, betrayal, death... I think that's enough for the next decade. You need to wake up now." His tone had become urgent, his grip on her hand tightened... But she didn't respond. Not a muscle moved, no flutter of her eyelashes, no returning reassuring squeeze of hands.
Nick buried his head in her shoulders and at long last, cried. His tears mixing with the rain water, his racking sobs heaving in his chest, he finally let go.
