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Pratyay Chakraborty

Abstract Romance Tragedy


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Pratyay Chakraborty

Abstract Romance Tragedy


A Soon-To-Be Dead Man's Mind

A Soon-To-Be Dead Man's Mind

4 mins 47 4 mins 47

It occurred to me for a fraction of second there, mid-air, that probably this isn’t what I wanted, but I did it anyway because they say regret is stronger than gratitude, and I didn’t want to feel remorse anymore. Not for another second in my life.


Retreating monsoons are a good time to be just sitting back, relaxing with the family with lots of time for introspection, and then having anxiety attacks regarding myriad things that went bad in the recent past. Things that could have gone right, but it seems decision making is a fundamental life skill which isn’t very common in people like myself. It was one of those days with dark clouds and even darker alleys, with gushes of cool breeze whistling through my unkempt hair, along with the quintessentially poetic mood swings, which will make anyone feel like Milton and the next minute like Bukowski.


I have always had a knack for convincing myself that it’s time to be resting my back on the parapet on the south, standing on one foot with the other hovering above, in such times of divine intervention, or probably in times of man versus god conflict. And I have noticed, somehow I can’t hold myself back in the room; probably because rain is so much graceful. I mean, if anyone thinks otherwise, and if that person were here now, I’d be questioning his sanity just casually.


It’s not often that I think of you anymore, but the memories of the beautiful instances, the memories of places with calming sunsets, the particularly memorable scents of those moments which fade away; moments which I, unfortunately, happen to have shared with you. It’s almost like it’s there, that bewitching scent, again when you go to the same place, but it doesn’t feel the same, the way it felt on particular dusk, the sweet smell of random things all mixed up together with the perfume you had worn on your body. I guess, I have become more materialistic than ever. Since lately, I have been admiring places, things, their scents, their constructs, the probable background stories about unclaimed things, the orphaned urchins down the road, which I craft in my mind. Call me selfish and materialist but, it is what it is. I feel these are more important than people in my life and I have come to realize that after all that I have gone through, my decisions, although misjudgments, won’t revolve around anyone else’s.


I don’t really know where exactly I went wrong, but yes, I took a lot of time convincing myself, and hence could never convince people who once mattered, that I was good enough. You have always said, time heals. I don’t think so. It doesn’t. It only destroys the memories of everything good and bad, that ever was. Everything that was as real as the here and now. No, it doesn’t heal. It fucking destroys everything and relieves us of thoughts of things that once concerned us. That’s not the idea of healing. The misinterpreted idea of healing is what’s wrong with so many people, who eventually end up lost, forever.


As I leaned on the parapet, resting on my back, the raindrops touched my face, and I kind of smiled, and it fell on my bare skin and it felt divine, until regrets of the past sunk in making the raindrops feel like full metal jackets puncturing my whole body, making it almost unbearable. I recalled the afternoon you left me saying nothing. I could only hear the fading sound of your bare feet touching the wooden staircase. And then you disappeared as if you were some dove which came out of a hat, of some magical act and the act had ended. So you had left, proving yet again, how incompetent I have always been, how big a blunder my life has always been, and there I was, gently applying weight on the upper half of my body leaping over the parapet, trying my best to get rid of the bullet-like raindrops, and the thought of you that choked me. And here I am, mid-air, in a free fall with arms spread wide, almost graceful, like some bird about to land. Probably this isn’t what I wanted, but who cares? Who has ever cared? No one ever will.


And now, as I march my way toward eternal freedom, seeking peace as promised, swerving my way through the air, I hope I hit the ground right. I am guessing, I fully have acknowledged the truth, that I have been an absolute failure in life, since my first cry, and hoping that the much revered biblical statement does justice to me, and end my suffering. I wish I could tell more people, what went through my mind as I close my eyes, is:

“The Truth Will Set You Free”


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