The chair squeaked and moved unsteadily under him. He was not at peace with either the chair or himself. Or this little room was attacking each and every claustrophobic cell in his frail body. His chest continued to heave and then remain still for a few seconds as if someone was trying to strangle him. The air was growing thick and heavy and I too felt the nausea slowly climbing up my trachea, making me dizzy and sick. May be it was time to utter some nonsense and laugh it off. Wash the sickness away with words and sounds, a bright idea that was, I thought. And I begin in a monotonous way.
“I was alone for three days and nights, all to myself, in a strange city, doing nothing but sleep and keep awaking on a cold bed in a dingy hotel room.” Another gulp of air is stuck in him and his poor chest is unwilling to deflate. I look the other way and cannot help but continue. “People had gone crazy with their communal instincts and many were dead and gone in a few days time. Hacked, stabbed, shot, raped, mutilated…the killings had the variety which no entertainment shows could brag off. The dawn-to-dusk curfew had already been imposed when the train carrying me broke into the deathly stillness of the station, wearily but cautiously. The sun had set and the chill sparked off by hatred had thrown a thick blanket over the entire city.
“There were strange men all around, in hooded jackets with the bayonets sticking out from behind their pockmarked faces. But we were many, hapless souls, destined to spend the chilly night at the station. Nothing to fear when there are so many people around us with those anxious looks.”
He has his eyes stuck on the floor beneath. There’s nothing but the pale and discoloured floor tiles staring back at him, I believe. I follow his gaze, but soon withdraw as I see on the floor a face vivid with sorrow looking up straight into my eyes. Has he dropped his face on the floor?
“But you know what? Loneliness strikes us like a mortar shell when we have nobody to speak to. And it’s when we are tired of speaking to ourselves that we fall asleep. Two days and two nights had passed since I took shelter in that small hotel room. They had lifted the curfew for a few hours, but immobility had gripped my aching body. A stair down, the restaurant gave me the strength to sustain. But a few long stares made me a little bit nervous. But once shut inside, the world outside my door was too far and there was total silence. I slept, stirred in my sleep, spoke to so many people and travelled in trains to enter stations devoid of strange and armed men.
“Was there a knock at the door? I wake up and stare at the door that bore filthy stains all across. Someone is shouting in a croaky voice. It’s a strange language and I am at a loss. I hear more voices, more terrifying due to the incomprehensibility. Hell has broken loose outside the room and I see myself moving towards the door. A heavy rush of light blinds me as I open the door. I can see nothing and my heart skips a beat when I realise that the voices have stopped. I knew they were staring at me, watching me from the front, left and right. I stood there unmoving, trying hard with my eyeballs to push out the light that blinded me.
How long I stood there, I don’t know. I heard no voices. Did I ever think they were going to strike? The light cleared my eyes, and I was lying on the bed, all in sweat and gasping for breath. The door was shut, and somebody was talking outside, somewhere in the lobby, but in a low voice, hardly perceivable. Did I open the door a few minutes ago? I couldn’t say for sure.
Did I really cross the narrow and slippery border between dreams and reality? Or did I cross it in my dream? I turn my face and look at him. He is not there and the chair is empty. Where has he gone, or wasn’t he here on that chair when I began talking?
But, was there a knock at the door? Someone is shouting in a husky voice. More voices follow and unsteadily, I move towards the door.
“I was alone for three days and nights, all to myself, in a strange city, doing nothing but sleep and keep awaking on a cold bed in a dingy hotel room.” Another gulp of air is stuck in him and his poor chest is unwilling to deflate. I look the other way and cannot help but continue. “People had gone crazy with their communal instincts and many were dead and gone in a few days time. Hacked, stabbed, shot, raped, mutilated…the killings had the variety which no entertainment shows could brag off. The dawn-to-dusk curfew had already been imposed when the train carrying me broke into the deathly stillness of the station, wearily but cautiously. The sun had set and the chill sparked off by hatred had thrown a thick blanket over the entire city.
“There were strange men all around, in hooded jackets with the bayonets sticking out from behind their pockmarked faces. But we were many, hapless souls, destined to spend the chilly night at the station. Nothing to fear when there are so many people around us with those anxious looks.”
He has his eyes stuck on the floor beneath. There’s nothing but the pale and discoloured floor tiles staring back at him, I believe. I follow his gaze, but soon withdraw as I see on the floor a face vivid with sorrow looking up straight into my eyes. Has he dropped his face on the floor?
“But you know what? Loneliness strikes us like a mortar shell when we have nobody to speak to. And it’s when we are tired of speaking to ourselves that we fall asleep. Two days and two nights had passed since I took shelter in that small hotel room. They had lifted the curfew for a few hours, but immobility had gripped my aching body. A stair down, the restaurant gave me the strength to sustain. But a few long stares made me a little bit nervous. But once shut inside, the world outside my door was too far and there was total silence. I slept, stirred in my sleep, spoke to so many people and travelled in trains to enter stations devoid of strange and armed men.
“Was there a knock at the door? I wake up and stare at the door that bore filthy stains all across. Someone is shouting in a croaky voice. It’s a strange language and I am at a loss. I hear more voices, more terrifying due to the incomprehensibility. Hell has broken loose outside the room and I see myself moving towards the door. A heavy rush of light blinds me as I open the door. I can see nothing and my heart skips a beat when I realise that the voices have stopped. I knew they were staring at me, watching me from the front, left and right. I stood there unmoving, trying hard with my eyeballs to push out the light that blinded me.
How long I stood there, I don’t know. I heard no voices. Did I ever think they were going to strike? The light cleared my eyes, and I was lying on the bed, all in sweat and gasping for breath. The door was shut, and somebody was talking outside, somewhere in the lobby, but in a low voice, hardly perceivable. Did I open the door a few minutes ago? I couldn’t say for sure.
Did I really cross the narrow and slippery border between dreams and reality? Or did I cross it in my dream? I turn my face and look at him. He is not there and the chair is empty. Where has he gone, or wasn’t he here on that chair when I began talking?
But, was there a knock at the door? Someone is shouting in a husky voice. More voices follow and unsteadily, I move towards the door.
