Gone Away

by Sneha Subramanian Kanta
(Mumbai, Maharashtra, India)

Today night is terribly cold and I cannot possibly take this chilling temperature anymore. However, as I sit at my desk, I ponder: Why haven't I been able to make friends all my life? I look somehow enviously at other ladies of my age. They are so much more bonded in a group. Laughter clubs remind me of my loneliness. It is hardly a sight of admiration to me.

Can people really be so oblivious to life? Is it so easy to laugh off at things? I've tried it: unsuccessfully though looking at my mirror and tried laughing through it all: everything that life has given me; and sometimes just out of the blue. But I cannot break into a practiced or perfected laughter. Good for them, anyway.

It feels cold but I'll need to get out and take my night walk. A dog's silent cry is all I hear in this deserted lane. Two youngsters are smoking away to glory. Wish I could tell them this is injurious to their health. All cigarette packets carry the warning, don't they? Anyway, who would listen to the advice of a sixty year old lady?

I notice a speeding bike come across the street and disappear within seconds. There is a need to stop him; almost an instinct to, but he's gone far away and I have no way to speak to him. Still, my heart has an emptiness knowing well he cannot be brought again here to talk to me; so that I tell him that its unsafe driving so fast.

Its time to return home. The lonely streets and the mighty white moon do me no good. I wish tomorrow's day doesn't come. I can tear it off my calendar but not from the world.

Removing one's clothes always feels so good. You feel like you've been spared off the excesses. Atleast, physically. And this is all I've left of me: sagging skin and under eye bags. Doesn't feel good and the age-miracle cream doesn't help my skin feel or look any younger.

Sleep somehow permeates my eye and after a long battle between sleep and my eyes; I am taken into a motionless slumber.

12th November 2009 - A divorced old lady; no one knows anything about: people do not even know where my husband is or anything about him. Nor do I want to know where he is, thank you. I'd stopped wanting to know the day I came to know he was secretly married to someone else. One year of contemplation for the court, and the gavel was hit. We were free.

And yes, divorced.

Siddharth, of course, eighteen then, was with me. Until two years later.

This was the day it all happened. I lost my son, my Siddharth. The pools of blood surrounding his body are still fresh in my memory as they were, twenty years back. The policeman meanwhile told me. A case of drunken driving by your son!

It was all over for me.

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