Chapter One
"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery." - J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
There was a man standing by the threshold of a penthouse. The name plate read 'Swayum and Rhea'. He stared at it for a minute before shutting the highly polished wooden door behind him. Assuming the house was his, he was rather cold in his farewell as he never turned once to look at it. He walked through the deserted corridors of seventeen floors, occasionally hearing rock music, cricket commentary and soap opera dialogues. Visualizing a rebellious teenager, a balding and big bellied man and a weeping woman respectively, he kept walking. It was a trudge, as though he was not particularly interested in going after all. However, he did not stop.
It was raining quite heavily. The gigantic building was fading in the background as the man pulled his jacket tighter on his torso, zipped it and rushed into a navy blue SUV. He drove smoothly through the downpour for several hours. For over three hours the rain produced thunderous sounds. The skies roared for far too long. Eventually the rain stopped bawling, closely followed by a few minutes of pitter patter until it finally stopped raining. The velvety black of the sky intensified once the rain cleared. He had driven without fail in such disturbing conditions for hours and he did not wish to stop still. Once or twice he had to stop to receive a few phone calls. He obliged the callers by curt mutterings of "She's dead, for heaven's sake." and "I'm not coming 'home', it's not my home."
The fuel in his car had exhausted and he knew there was a convenience store two blocks away. He jumped out of the car and locked it and limply walked until he reached the convenience store. Picking up a jerrycan he walked to the counter, wordlessly exchanged the good for money and did not bother taking the bill before he walked out into the night again. He put the fuel in his car mechanically. Driving headfast into the darkness, he switched his cell phone off and rolled down the windows.
He ran one hand through his frizzy and long hair. The prickly cold hair of the night weaved faster than ever through his hair. It bit at his collarbone as he unzipped his jacket. Suddenly the seemingly uptight, lost and cut-out-from-the-world man had started smiling through really fat tears. It was clear that even in the absence of another soul he was uncomfortable of crying. But then he remembered a woman who wore her hair in a braid and her lips in an almost permanent grin. She was his wife and she was dead now. But she'd have wanted me to loosen up a little, he thought reasonably. That explained the sudden movement in his face which had looked like a sculpture for hours.
At the crack of dawn he slowed the car down a little. It was clear that he now had somewhere specific to go. After another final hour of driving he pulled into the driveway of an insurance company. He looked in a childlike manner at his car after he locked it, like he won't have it again. He was told by his agent twenty minutes later that every insurance in his name had collapsed. His house, firm and car did not belong to him anymore.
"Good luck, Mr. Shikhawat." The agent took his unwilling hand into his and shook it customarily.
His words were meaningless and hollow. They would have been even if he had delivered good news. That being said, there was nothing good or bad about a newly bankrupt and homeless widower's luck. There was only pain.
*
Three days later, he, Swayum had found a place where he could live. It was congested and Swayum had a hard time breathing in there. The entire house was painted light blue and the doors and windows, teal. The kitchen was smaller than his home's smallest restroom. And his bedroom had nothing but a bed and shelf for his books. Yes, his books were still his and so was a little money he'd occupied by selling the last remaining piece of land in his name. It had been jointly his and Rhea's, their farm house. Swayum could neither afford its expenses nor its memories.
I sold my house for a gutter, he thought.
Then again, a little way away from the gutter there was a night club, apt for people who were interested in drowning, losing themselves into clamor! And hence the decision was made in a matter of very short seconds. Swayum bathed after what seemed a really long time, dressed in he couldn't recollect what and set off on foot to the night club. He had money to last another five years at least. He was harder than necessary on himself when he pronounced himself bankrupt. Unknown to the reason of such highly random thoughts inside his head, he walked.
The night club's insides were black, red and blue very messily thrown on a canvas. He didn't know anybody there and even if he did he would have failed to recognize anybody. The place was so crowded people were stepping on each other's silhouettes on the vast dance floor. It was a particularly massive one and the bar at the far corner was not nearly tangible enough to please Swayum. He hadn't gone there to work his brains and look for the bar. He had gone so he could spend some well deserved time in the vicinity of liquor.
The bartender obliged Swayum by delivering two large vodkas to his side of the counter. He sat far from the uproar, allowing his consciousness to sink with every rough and hasty gulp of alcohol. But his consciousness was determined on not going anywhere. He was many things but not an irresponsible civilian. Deciding he would be more an inconvenience to people around him than himself after anymore liquor, he paid for his two large vodkas and dismally left his seat. It was disappointing indeed. Alcohol had no effect on him, neither numbing nor soothing. Rhythm and a hundred pairs of thumping feet filled his ears. So, maybe his effort wasn't entirely futile. The ringing in his ears seemed to halfway do the trick. He weightlessly walked into the dancing herd of wild youth.
No sooner had he done that someone was dragging him it seemed with difficultly out of the nightclub. They were feminine hands, fingernails like claws dug in his arm. He could suddenly see light. His eyes began to water as streetlights rudely danced about him. Curious to see the owner of the claws that had cut into his arm, Swayum wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and blinked furiously to get rid of any water left.
"What the hell?" he swore and looked up at a straight-faced woman with glistening green eyes.
"Good to see you too, Swayum." she had suddenly started to grin and suddenly enough, she had begun to sound a lot like one of Swayum's old college friends, Sharon.
"Wait, is that you?" he checked.
"No, I'm a bouncer, had to get you out because boys inside were unsafe in your presence." She chuckled and that seemed to finalize it. It was Sharon 'S l u t' Raiprakash, the renowned bomb from his college.
On being interrogated several times by him, Sharon told that he wouldn't reply to any of her greetings when she met him inside. She thought he was taken ill because he did not respond when she tore at his precious hair. It seemed to Swayum that she was trying to joke but he couldn't crack a smile. He didn't doubt her sense of humor; he however suspected he had no laughter remaining anywhere inside him.
"I'm not sick, Sharon." He confirmed.
"I thought you were. I had been bartending when I saw you, as a matter of fact. You looked like hell." she informed.
"Well, the hell part I don't doubt. But I was at the bar, and didn't see you, as a matter of interest." there was no interest in his voice.
"In there, most people cannot tell a man from a woman." she reasonably said.
"So, how did you tell me apart?" he asked, barely audible.
"I own this place. I can see faces clearly in there." she finalized and it occurred for the first time to Swayum that it had made no sense at all of her to say that she was 'bartending'.
"You bartend at your own club, then?" he questioned her, looking at her visage for the first time since he'd last seen her at his and Rhea's wedding, six years ago.
"I do, yes. It's one of my many hobbies." she exclaimed. "Alright, I'm dropping you home now," she added.
There was again finality in her voice as though his refusal wasn't a possibility, as though they had met only yesterday. Swayum didn't argue. He took a seat in her black '67 Chevy Camaro. She'd not changed her car. She put the key in the ignition and patiently started her car. Swayum stole a mini glance at her. She still seemed to relish the moment her car started. It was a classic and she had always been in love with it.
"Ah! Let's get going, then!" She picked up speed, pep talking with her car.
Swayum felt oddly comfortable in her car. She rolled her window down and sang rock songs. Even though she had insisted to driving Swayum home she took no notice of him all the way along to his home. That being said, neither realized that they had reached the technically wrong address. His home, yes, it was. But he didn't own it anymore.
"Okay, man! Get the hell out and say howdy to Rhea." Sharon beamed at him.
"I don't live here anymore, and Rhea passed away last week." Swayum smiled for the first time, looking fully awake.
Sharon nodded. She didn't look sorry. She didn't express any remorse, whatsoever. She kept nodding until she very confidently asked him, "What are you going to do about it, then?"
"Do you have any suggestions?" He laughed hollowly.
"Take the blow of it. Let it tear you down before anything can patch you up. And get a job, your face has written 'broke' all over it." Sharon saintly barked and started laughing, impressed by her wit.
"Why haven't you changed a bit, Sharon?" Swayum suddenly found himself asking her.
"Oh, I have. I have, I just don't think I'd like to make it public." She winked at him and started driving into the night again.
She dropped him at the right address and promised to come in the morning without invitation.
Edited by epiphany. - 12 years ago
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
46