” You don’t resemble the old you.”
“Why the hell are you behaving so unusual today?”
“She is such an aggressive, stubborn ass.”
Everyone started firing those filthy question on me, which wounded my soul. Everyone failed at recognising my absent presence. I felt a ton of worry dragging me down into the bathroom floor on which I knelt. I cried… I cried my heart out. Not because they took me for what I am not, but because no one dared to ask me what had happened to me that has changed me. No one came to me. No one hugged me. None of them made an effort to listen to me. Everyone just judged me, tagged me, put me in categories.
I cried out silently, “come sit with me; hold my hand. Please. Understand. Because I am falling.” I have been keeping all those buried for a long time. I can’t hold it anymore. Tick-tock, tick-tock… the sound adding the background music to my loneliness. Everything near me seems gloomy, dull and filthy. Individuals around me, aren’t humans, they are merely flesh and bones and stock of other meaningless things. These moving bodies scare me the most. I am afraid. I am scared. I am living, but I don’t feel alive. I feel like I am drowning in an abysmal nothing. I love to draw and paint and to play with colours. Yes, I am really good at it. I can show you my art book. But… But, I am not the same anymore. Now, I can’t differentiate between the hues of blue. But now, I just sit blankly in front of this white sheet. I ponder, this doesn’t need to be smudged and tarnished with any colour. Maybe, this is my excuse for not coming up with any brilliant idea, like I used to have earlier. This colour tray disgusts me. Now, I desire to give out these brushes and crayons and all these worthless disgusting watercolours.
Believe me. Please, trust me, I am not obstinate. I am not an aggressive stubborn ass. No, I am not. My mama once said, “You are the sweetest daughter, my angel.” And… and believe me, she doesn’t lie. Mothers don’t lie, you know. I am sweet. I am a good person. Yes, very… good. You don’t believe, hmm? You can ask Zed, my doggo, my sweet little doggo. I love him and he loves me back. I play with him. I give him food on time. But, now, he annoys me. I have stopped liking him, I think. Can we give up liking someone after some time? Oh… yes… Yes, of course, we dismiss. If everyone can do this to me, why can’t I quit loving my dog? This place, my friends, Zed, everything is supposed to be good and comforting. I know it from the fairy tale Dadi Maa narrated me last year. But everyone lies. Why is that white beautiful unicorn not coming to my rescue? Am I bad? My Dadi says, “You don’t choose a story, story chooses you.” But what if I want to become a poem instead of a story? This place is ridiculous. Here I feel alone in midst of a crowd. If I had known any cuss words I would have said all of it, every single of it. But, papa says it’s a bad habit and I am a good girl.
Breathing…. Breathing heavily… I want to sleep now. I haven’t slept for the last three days. I want to sleep. I want to dwell deeper into slumber. This sleep would mend everything. I must sleep now. Breathing… breathing softly…