Maya felt the cold surface of the sheet she was lying on. It smelt good. It smelt like a mix of the old and the clean and the familiar. The sheet was probably there for days before she got home. The sheet was wet because she had cried into it. She enjoyed the helplessness of not having the physical strength to wipe away her flooded nose and eyes. How melancholic, she thought. Is this why Devdas, drunk himself to death? How lame. She was experiencing the finality of having the person she loved the most in the world squeeze all life and hope out of me like a toothpaste. Slowly and deliberately squeezed out. She marveled at the surreal sense of have the profound inability to think and well, act. It had been raining outside. Everything, took on a dull yellow tinge. She heard her dad walking around for his usually mid afternoon snack. Her dad usually sensed stuff. She so didn’t want any advice or questions. She would leave home in a few days anyway.
She had really wanted it to rain when she was here. The dry land where she lived little appealed to her. Now she wasn’t so sure whether she identified with the dull grey skies. She would rather prefer a blindingly cheerful sun. In fact, she didn’t want neither. She felt like the universe was conspiring against her. She walked over to the kitchen and swallowed several gulps of water. It felt cool and life giving but only like drops of oil on water.
She thought back to earlier this morning, when her mom and her had been to the jewelry shop. They had placed in a corner, a cut out of an articles on body piercing. The article said that kids who did so usually suffered from psychological problems and did so to evade hurt and feel better about themselves. She had been quite amused by the opinion and smirked at the ‘adult’ view of the trend. The article talked about a girl who had broken up with her boyfriend of 4 years. She had pierced various parts of the body coz she got some kind of sweet pleasure from the pain. Yeah, those were the exact words of the article. She remember feeling like that was the most bizarre and ridiculous thing ever. Of course, this recollection happened in a split second of a thought molecule when she still felt the wet sheet under her cheek. It still sounded pretty damn painful but very understandable to her. Strangely, she thought of famous people who had committed suicide. Did they also feel it snap? She wondered. Why didn’t they get help? She could not control the thousands of images, feelings, shapes, emotions all flashing inside her brain like a intimidating thunderstorm. She wish it would stop, it was giving her a pounding headache. She idly compared it to some kind of death metal concert in her head, backed by memories in tune with the melody-less thrashing. (which is wat she expected a death metal to sound like) She thought of a family friends son, all of 35 years old, who still hadn't gotten over his college years wasted-ness. He had cheated on his wife with the wife's sister apparently. Maya pondered at the complexity of such a situation, but couldn't empathize completely. He had recently suffered a stroke, and was left paralyzed in a semi-conscious state due to cocaine addiction. (was the popular rumor). His broke 75 year old father is still wheeling him around. Maybe Alanis Morisette should've quoted this example instead of rain on a wedding day.
Her mom peeped in. She shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She enjoyed the numbness and the glorious sensation of being feeling-less for a second. Her mom left. And the turmoil took on tidal wave proportions. Where the crashed and wrecked and and suffused the sheet with more sorrow and wetness. She had the creepy feeling of going completely psycho. Collective images, impulses once again rocked her and she felt no control of her senses. She could feel it, yet felt surprisingly sane. A small giggle escaped her lips. Do people still smile when they are psycho? Or are mad people portrayed so?
She felt like being promiscuous and briefly annoyed at her mom’s snide comment about not wearing clothes to show off one’s assets. Like I’ve ever done that in my life, she thought. She still felt like being promiscuous. And, stuff had happened very slightly the last time. She couldn’t go forward with it though. The pain engulfed her once more, all thoughts of promiscuity wiped out.
Why was the internet not working again? Nice timing, she thought. The internet was her refuge. Where talking to people helped her stop thinking of the pain. Like some kind of matrix-like-world where people and feelings doesn’t exist. She often wrapped the blanket of anonymosity of the internet around her. Where was it now?
Maya stared outside the window. The avalanche of snow and rain and dirt had settled down meaningfully well in her head. layers of it. layers and layers. countless layers. She could see it clearly. She knew her nights were going to wreck her insides even worse than before. She predicted that something would never be quite the same again. She wouldn’t never trust another person with same kind of shining naïve innocence she kept for few. She had a few droplets of hope left. A far cry from the many bucketfuls she carried around in her bubble. She still holds on it like a security blanket. But, constantly aware that it can be snatched away and she left naked. Thoughts of promiscuity took hold of her again. Almost, like a cover for her future naked-ness. She prepared herself for nakedness.
Er, for more updates on Maya’s fucked up life.. watch this space!!
Named English August, as the incongruity of existence of the main character in the novel is comparable.