In Pursuit of Nothingness

   Meera wished she could run and hide somewhere immediately. Her classmates were looking at her. She smiled sheepishly and mumbled an answer. When their attention turned to someone else, Meera slowly walked away. She was enjoying her new college life, but she knew she would not make many friends. Pangs of nervousness seized her while interacting with strangers. She avoided being in a group. Her reflexive reaction to a lesser-known person approaching her was running away. Making eye contact took a huge effort.

    She sat down on a wrought iron bench under a shady tree. Petunias and lilies bloomed in the cool February air, enclosing a neatly trimmed lawn. A dog was sleeping comfortably in the misty Delhi sun and a squirrel was hopping near her legs. She could hear faint sounds of animated talks and laughter and from this far, she liked it.

                                                                 *

    Meera woke up with a start. Her body refused to move but the earsplitting noises of banging thalis and booming conches made her drag herself out of bed. The frantic train journey had exhausted her. The clamors seemed to come from all directions, she could not pinpoint one. Reluctantly, she walked towards the kitchen trudging her feet on the floor. She slopped down on a chair.

    “I had totally forgotten about it,” she said to her mother who was washing utensils, haggardly scrubbing dried dal stains off the cooker.

    “How could you? Didn’t you hear the news?” she replied with a questioning look, turning towards her. “Why don’t you join in?” she added with a sly smile.

    “Yes and that is sure to kill the evil virus,” replied Meera, her dark brows still puckered due to the noise.

    When the noise finally died down, she peered out of the front window beyond the little garden to the empty road and smiled to herself. A lockdown had been proclaimed due to the spread of the COVID-19 virus. She had returned just in time from Delhi to her hometown before the trains were called off. She can now stay at home for some time and not deal with people, college-mates or anyone, she thought joyfully, scratching her flat nose.

    Meera considered herself plain, to say the least. Her bushy uni-brow with frame-less spectacles and pursed lips gave her a serious look, which was exacerbated by her stiff expression. But this stony exterior melted into a warm smile and soft glowing eyes around people whom she knew and loved.

    “Don’t be a goose Saba,” Meera said mildly on her phone tucked under her tilted head as she removed her mask and handed the grocery bag to mother. “The lockdown will be lifted in a month."

    “The cases are rising every day, I have not stepped out of my house for a month!" Saba exclaimed. “And, I have not seen you since so long,” she added, almost singing the words.

    “Try and stay calm, we are in this together, right?”

    “Right,” Saba sighed.

    Saba was one of the very few friends Meera had. They had met in school, and Saba had hung around ever since. Her clear watery eyes reminded Meera of a naïve animated duckling. She adored Meera and made sure she knew this. Meera was sick of this mushy behavior and tried to avoid her as much as she could. But she remained her friend, defiantly ignorant of her friend’s disregard.

                                                                *

    Meera held the spoon tightly and sat at the table with her back bent. Sunlight streamed in from the window in the airy kitchen, which had a small dining table. The plate in front of her with poha was going cold. Her face wore a distorted look like she was desperately restraining something.

   “Dear, what happened? Are you alright?” her mother asked with a concerned look.

   “No umm, nothing mom,” she replied, rearranging her face on usual lines.

   After breakfast, she kneeled on the floor of her room and put her head on the bed. Now even mom had noticed. This was something serious. She felt tormented by unwanted thoughts these days, which made her strain her head anxiously to keep them from coming. These thoughts were such that she could not describe, not even to herself. Long weary months of lockdown had passed with melancholy obstinacy to accept the loss of college life. There was no hope for college to reopen and for once, surprisingly for her, she wanted to be in the bustling corridors again, rushing for the next class. For now, she seemed to be buried in nothingness, with no end in sight.

   That night as she tried to sleep, her head felt tired due to constant strain. Even if she fell asleep she woke up almost immediately, startled to find her heart beating incessantly. She sat up and pulled her hair in frustration, a few strands came out in her hand. She laid again wide awake, tears welling up and sliding down on the pillow making it wet.

   “I don’t know what is happening to me, mom!” Meera cried helplessly, hugging her mother tightly.

   "There, there, everything is alright, child," mother caressed her soothingly, resting her head on her shoulder. "Come with me. A stroll in the garden will do you good."

   Meera had burst into tears when her mother came stroked her head softly while she sat on her study table. As she stood in their small garden listening to mother very evidently trying to distract her by talking about newly sown plants, she felt embarrassed.

   She lay awake through nights, staring at the noisy ceiling fan with torn hair strands lying by her side. Sometimes she felt as if she was surrounded by a thick cloud of sadness and she shook her head violently as if this would clear it away, but it did not. Days and months passed and she realized that she was no longer her happy and calm self, horrified at the discovery.

                                                                *

   The room was cramped with small vials on reedy shelves. A small light bulb flickered over an old desk fitted into the room on which the doctor sat. Meera sat on the opposite bench with her father.

     “It’s depression,” the doctor said tersely. “Here, take this for three months,” he added nonchalantly.

    “Oh,” this was only what father could say, his eyes resting anywhere but on the doctor.

     Driving home, father kept quiet throughout their way home, unease showing plainly on his dark face even through the mask. Meera stared out of the window of their small car, wanting to break out of it.

    “Don’t be a weakling, Meera. I had taught you to be strong,” mother said admonishingly, looking at her with piercing eyes.

    Meera kept her head low, digging her nails into her palms.

    “All this nonsense depression talk is a sham, I tell you. I don’t want to hear this again, get it? Enough of this whining,” she muttered almost inaudibly while removing father’s watch as he sat with the same ill at ease expression.

   Meera now questioned everything in her head. Why do we do what we do every day, without a pause? What is life all about? Is it even worth it? These were some questions that popped in her head and when she was unable to answer them, she became anxious. She could no longer focus on her online classes and sat passively through them.

   “I have not been umm, feeling well, since a few days,” she said feebly to a guest curious about her melancholy face and red eyes. “Sleep issues due to depression are what the doctor…”

    “What is there to be depressed about?” He asked throwing up his hands with a questioning look on his face. “You are so privileged and an only child. You have such caring parents and a lovely home, people are starving out there,” he almost shouted.

    They sat in the drawing-room, which had a few small abstract paintings hung above the light-colored sofa. Empty plates which had rasogullas a few minutes earlier were kept on the glass-topped center table. Father sat staring at the floor and mother stood beside him, folding and unfolding the tip of her dupatta. Meera tried to nod at suitable intervals, but the strained look on her face only intensified.

    “You have to adjust. You cannot keep whimpering about not being able to go to college.” Meera opened her mouth to protest but he badgered on, shifting his heavy body on the sofa. “Now go and wash your face, you’re ready to burst into tears,” he said, carelessly leaning on one side.

     As she almost ran to her room she could hear the man say, “Kids these days, they fall prey to such stupid hoaxes. Depression indeed…”

   Meera was now completely cut off from her books which were a source of absolute pleasure for her in the past. She shuddered at the thought and felt she could not enjoy anything again. Petrified, she flicked through the channels on television, not registering what she was seeing.

    “Why don’t you answer my calls, Meera?” Saba enquired in a shrill voice over the phone.

   “Because I don’t feel like it,” Meera replied blandly.

   “What’s got into you? Is there a problem?”

    “No, it’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand anyway. I’ll…I’ll call you later,” she said before ending the call abruptly.

   The thought came and remained there. Meera contemplated suicide because she could not see any reason to live. “I just cannot live with this sadness, it is too heavy,” she thought glumly. What is the meaning of life? Does it have a purpose? She felt a sickening sensation and a shudder went down her spine. She sat in her twilight-filled room, wilted jasmines kept on the table, their fragrance long lost. Arching her back and facing the ceiling she let out a low moan.

*

       She felt she was going down and felt no desire to resist. Meera had slipped off the riverbank and felt she would go down all the way sliding into the calm river. Her eyes closed off she felt the cold ground under her. Opening her eyes she found her hand inadvertently clutching at her mother’s arm who stood beside her. She stood there red-faced as she hauled herself up, dusting off her clothes as several boat riders, out due to relaxation in lockdown restrictions, turned to look.

    Driving home from their brief outing, she wondered what made her hold on. As she gazed at the scuttling trees and vast carpets of green farms gradually giving way to cramped houses of the city, a smile spread over her rather insipid face.

   Winters had arrived. As Meera rushed out to feel the warm sun she saw the magnolia tree in its full annual bloom, its white canopy glowing silver in the shining sun. She remembered her fascination for it as a child. It had come to life once again. And she felt warm again.

   “I am so glad you called Meera," Saba said joyfully.

   “I am sorry Saba, it… it was rude,” Meera murmured.

   “You don’t have to be. Don’t ever say that.”

   “Thank you for always being there.” Meera was able to mumble.

   “Just remember you mean the whole world to someone.”

     For the first time, it did not feel mushy. Meera could feel her head lighten. She sat down on a chair in their small lawn and began swinging her legs as she used to as a child. The myriad colored chrysanthemums and lilies trembled lightly in the cold wind. A small bird suckled on yellow flowers with its glittering beak, hanging almost upside down.

     Just then a butterfly brushed past her and hopped from one flower to another before settling on one. “Does this butterfly also question life?” Meera pondered, blankly tearing out blades of grass from the lawn.

     “No, it does not,” she thought to herself. “Then life is… what it is,” gradually taking in her simple discovery, she took a deep breath.

     Sliding down a little on her chair, she rested her head on its back and calmly listening to the incessant chatter of birds, fell asleep.