What's Wrong With You?

The main door of the fourth-floor apartment sways open. You step in with a grocery bag in one hand and the keys in the other. You take off your shoes in their usual place, keep the groceries in the kitchen, change and enter the washroom.

Staring into the mirror, you survey the dark circles under your eyes. You try to wash them off with some extra soap. A constant buzzing sound persists in your head and which seems to be amplified in the confines of your bathroom. As if coming from the depths of your mind, the noise is a mix of blaring vehicle horns and the sort of indistinct arguments of a market place. You take some extra minutes for the bath.

Once out, you put on a strong perfume to distract your mind as you crash into the sofa with the newspaper. Having flipped through it absent-mindedly, you eventually toss it away and reach for the cell phone.

"2 new messages", it glows. The blue light of the gadget illuminates your face as you toy with it. Something in it makes you twitch your upper lip at the corner. Taking off your spectacles, you recline back, inhaling in a deep breath. You stay thus, with eyes closed and fighting the unyielding buzz between your ears.

The cellphone rings. Your answer. Against your throbbing head, you make out that the caller wants to sell credit cards. You mutter a reply, or perhaps it is a threat. You disconnect the call and put the damn phone in your almirah. While holding on to the door of the almirah, you stand indecisively for a moment, until you realize that you are staring at the house keys. You grab them with a quick movement, step out of the house, lock the door behind, and take the stairs down; three at a time. The slapping sounds of the bata sandals echo and hammer along with the buzz in your head.

Once out, you move swiftly towards the end of your township, ignoring the pleasantry of your strolling neighbor.

There before you, lies a small unused gate that opens into an area that is yet to be sold off for construction purposes.

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The rusted iron gate opens up with a protesting wail and admits you in. On the distance is a canopy of trees. You approach them as you make your way through the wild bushy plants and the occasional bright polythene garbage bags scattered around.

As the distance begins to reduce, the garbage stench is replaced by the smell of the Earth and the buzz in your head gives way to a clear hooting of the birds.

With each step, you hear the sounds of different birds and insects clearly. On reaching the canopy, you sit under a tree. There in front of you is a pond in the lap of the green. The light of the sun has started to wane and the water reflects the darkening sky and the dull blackish green of the trees on the other bank. The birds are roosting on the other side and an occasional cuckoo sings in the distance. You try to name the calls. There are the obvious cuckoo, frogs, crows and then a distant village dog.

Presently, you hear some fluttering of wings and a pair of birds fly across the pond and vanish among the tall trees.

You recline back on to the tree you had been sitting under. Although not as soft as your sofa, it does support you nonetheless. You close your eyes and let out a deep gush of hot air. A perceptible smile now lingers on your face as you close your eyes and take another deep breath.

The distant village dog barks a second time. You smile and rub your hand over the grass and the dew on it. An ant has climbed into your fingertips and let it explore your palm. You can crush it if you want, so small and insignificant it is. But you don't. You carefully place it back into the grass and watch it disappear behind the bark of a tree. The sky takes on the hue of red and gold as the sun dips. It will soon be dark, but you don't give a damn as you snuggle back against the tree.

Elsewhere, a mobile phone rings for the third time from the almirah of a certain fourth-floor apartment. You don't hear it, but even if you did, you wouldn't have given a damn.