The train made a steadily increasing chugging sound as it started to move. We'd taken our seats, her and I. She sat right next to me, a sister-like figure who'd grown closer to me than I'd thought or imagined. A beautiful friend. An early morning prayer next to the window seat set the standard of the day for her, while she looked outside waiting for the sunlight to eat up the sky as it crawled out of the horizon, bright and orange. She looked so fresh with belief and hope. All day. Everyday. I sat next to her, second seat from the window. The whiff of damp rainy mud wafted past us, so what if it was February? Goddamn global warming. She stared outside the window while I saw and thought about everything around me as the seconds clocked past. The tintinnabulations of my thoughts were the only sounds that existed at the time, apart from the rumbling sound that the wheels of the train made. I noticed that her index finger wrapped itself around the middle one, the basic crossed-fingers gesture that allows people to believe that what they hoped for wouldn't be jinxed. I never believed in it. She looked straight at me as her head turned close to 180 degrees, away from the window.
"I have a good feeling about this day", she said.
I'd heard that so many times. Almost everyday. And each time, her fingers remain crossed. It didn't matter if the day was bad(and that happened so frequently). She did the same the next day. I always smiled at her and said nothing. And then she'd continue looking out the window. But I was on the verge of a different vantage point today. And so I asked,
"Why do you do this everyday? I mean, it doesn't make sense. Do you not notice that the day goes the way it's destined to? And that you have more frequent bad days than good days? What's the point of hope if there's no fate to fulfill it?"
"Because hope is why I survive to see another dawn, and how I survive to be a sister to you for another day", she said.
I smiled at her. And no more words were spoken. I could see the sincerity and candor in her eyes. And everyday, just like the day before, I hoped that it would remain the same till the end of the day.
I was on the verge of mental suicide, later on in the day. It wasn't very much the day in particular, but it had a history, this predicament of mine. It had been building up and piling on for days. And everyday, there was a new item in the baggage that I carried around. I didn't know how to unstrap the baggage, and no one would help me. It was like trying to scratch your back at that inaccessible spot. You try and try for a long time, and soon everything starts hurting, so you give up and decide to let it pass on its own, not knowing for sure that it would. I felt really low and hollow. And my anxiety attacks kicked in, right on schedule. 10pm. I hyperventilated about each breath that anybody I knew took, and how many they might have left. My list of unanswered questions grew longer every night, and I didn't know how to find the answers. I'd grown so accustomed to my anxiety. Heavy breathing, a dosage of medication and consequent fogginess of the mind. I hated it, but I couldn't change it. I lied down and closed my eyes, my heart thumping and beats echoing inside my hollow soul. I realised that I could do nothing to end this drought of faith, love and self-confidence. The darkness increased within my closed eyes as I started to give up and wallow in this spacious shell I'd created for myself, which grew smaller with time. I didn't need to kill the body. Just the mind. After all, that's where the problems originated from. I'd kill everything. Every derailed train of thought, every relaying neurotransmitter, and every random access memory. I'd die in that faint wait for some goodness. Wait. Goodness. Memories. Moments. That's what I needed. I thought back in time, as I saw hope in that freshly created rotten cavern of mine. The world turned upside down, but my thoughts didn't. The feelings left my heart and coursed through my veins. Images shimmered, slowly and swiftly, and calm entered inside.
I saw her sitting next to me, and everything sounded and appeared blurry, except for her sunkissed skin. Her long black hair shone as sunlight reflected from it, and there was so much mystery in those hazel-brown eyes that kept me up at night. There was that addictive half-smile on her face. The one I'd never seen when she was with anyone else. I kissed her on the cheek while our fingers were tightly wrapped around each other's, as I locked that memory in my heart forever. She was the snow I'd always thought to be perfect, and I was never disappointed.
Another image shimmered. The four of us sat around a small table on our ancient balcony, playing UNO while a packet of Lays rested in the midst of four half-filled/half-empty glasses. It was 11.59pm on the New Year's Eve of 2009. My sister had an exam two days later, so we'd decided to stay in, while I bailed on close friends for the night. It struck 12, and a thousand fire-crackers went up, all at once, bursting in our faces as the light traveled into us, while the sound was taken away as we stared in marvel. It reminded me of the light that once existed in my life, and the family I'd never forget. They were my lungs.
The scene changed. A person. A figure who knew the best and the worst about me sat across the table. She smelled of cherry blossom. We sat inside a desolate Pizza joint, and lights were everywhere, marking Christmas season. Her home had given her a reason to get out on this night, and her eyes remained slightly red from all the crying an hour earlier. But as we spoke, I noticed the genuine happiness on her face as she got to see me after so long and at such a crucial time. It felt good to be able to bring light in another's person's moments; something I didn't think I was capable of. And so I laughed because she'd been there when I needed her. She was the breeze of my crisp winter morning.
A thousand images whirred by, like the reel in a cinema. So many memories, so many smiles everywhere. They were all my treasure. Alive is what I felt, and feeling something felt so good. My eyes opened, and I saw the light return to my world. I realised that baggage is not something you can leave behind. But it's always been about having someone to help you carry yours, while you help them carry theirs. It's not about planning something you know would go wrong in the future, but it's about enjoying the thoughts and laughs in the process. And it's not about creating a storage room where you can base your materialistic pleasures of life, but about locking your memories away deep inside; something that can never be stolen. Having faith, feeling love, and living dreams. They don't have to be big things if you don't want them to. They can be the little things you build and base your smiles on. I slept peacefully that night.
6.58am. Next morning. The train is moving with a rumble. I saw her sitting next to me. Freshly damp hair from a bath, a soft tweed jacket, hopeful eyes that stared outside the window, and crossed fingers full of belief. This was another memory to savour. And she was another person in my life who glowed. Such a lovely sister, not by blood, but by bond. She was my legs that helped me stand strong. She looked at me sharply, as expected, and asked,
"I have a good feeling about this day. Do you?"
I smiled at her. A few moments passed in silence as her eyes filled with expectancy. But I said nothing.
I just showed her my crossed fingers in response.
"I have a good feeling about this day", she said.
I'd heard that so many times. Almost everyday. And each time, her fingers remain crossed. It didn't matter if the day was bad(and that happened so frequently). She did the same the next day. I always smiled at her and said nothing. And then she'd continue looking out the window. But I was on the verge of a different vantage point today. And so I asked,
"Why do you do this everyday? I mean, it doesn't make sense. Do you not notice that the day goes the way it's destined to? And that you have more frequent bad days than good days? What's the point of hope if there's no fate to fulfill it?"
"Because hope is why I survive to see another dawn, and how I survive to be a sister to you for another day", she said.
I smiled at her. And no more words were spoken. I could see the sincerity and candor in her eyes. And everyday, just like the day before, I hoped that it would remain the same till the end of the day.
I was on the verge of mental suicide, later on in the day. It wasn't very much the day in particular, but it had a history, this predicament of mine. It had been building up and piling on for days. And everyday, there was a new item in the baggage that I carried around. I didn't know how to unstrap the baggage, and no one would help me. It was like trying to scratch your back at that inaccessible spot. You try and try for a long time, and soon everything starts hurting, so you give up and decide to let it pass on its own, not knowing for sure that it would. I felt really low and hollow. And my anxiety attacks kicked in, right on schedule. 10pm. I hyperventilated about each breath that anybody I knew took, and how many they might have left. My list of unanswered questions grew longer every night, and I didn't know how to find the answers. I'd grown so accustomed to my anxiety. Heavy breathing, a dosage of medication and consequent fogginess of the mind. I hated it, but I couldn't change it. I lied down and closed my eyes, my heart thumping and beats echoing inside my hollow soul. I realised that I could do nothing to end this drought of faith, love and self-confidence. The darkness increased within my closed eyes as I started to give up and wallow in this spacious shell I'd created for myself, which grew smaller with time. I didn't need to kill the body. Just the mind. After all, that's where the problems originated from. I'd kill everything. Every derailed train of thought, every relaying neurotransmitter, and every random access memory. I'd die in that faint wait for some goodness. Wait. Goodness. Memories. Moments. That's what I needed. I thought back in time, as I saw hope in that freshly created rotten cavern of mine. The world turned upside down, but my thoughts didn't. The feelings left my heart and coursed through my veins. Images shimmered, slowly and swiftly, and calm entered inside.
I saw her sitting next to me, and everything sounded and appeared blurry, except for her sunkissed skin. Her long black hair shone as sunlight reflected from it, and there was so much mystery in those hazel-brown eyes that kept me up at night. There was that addictive half-smile on her face. The one I'd never seen when she was with anyone else. I kissed her on the cheek while our fingers were tightly wrapped around each other's, as I locked that memory in my heart forever. She was the snow I'd always thought to be perfect, and I was never disappointed.
Another image shimmered. The four of us sat around a small table on our ancient balcony, playing UNO while a packet of Lays rested in the midst of four half-filled/half-empty glasses. It was 11.59pm on the New Year's Eve of 2009. My sister had an exam two days later, so we'd decided to stay in, while I bailed on close friends for the night. It struck 12, and a thousand fire-crackers went up, all at once, bursting in our faces as the light traveled into us, while the sound was taken away as we stared in marvel. It reminded me of the light that once existed in my life, and the family I'd never forget. They were my lungs.
The scene changed. A person. A figure who knew the best and the worst about me sat across the table. She smelled of cherry blossom. We sat inside a desolate Pizza joint, and lights were everywhere, marking Christmas season. Her home had given her a reason to get out on this night, and her eyes remained slightly red from all the crying an hour earlier. But as we spoke, I noticed the genuine happiness on her face as she got to see me after so long and at such a crucial time. It felt good to be able to bring light in another's person's moments; something I didn't think I was capable of. And so I laughed because she'd been there when I needed her. She was the breeze of my crisp winter morning.
A thousand images whirred by, like the reel in a cinema. So many memories, so many smiles everywhere. They were all my treasure. Alive is what I felt, and feeling something felt so good. My eyes opened, and I saw the light return to my world. I realised that baggage is not something you can leave behind. But it's always been about having someone to help you carry yours, while you help them carry theirs. It's not about planning something you know would go wrong in the future, but it's about enjoying the thoughts and laughs in the process. And it's not about creating a storage room where you can base your materialistic pleasures of life, but about locking your memories away deep inside; something that can never be stolen. Having faith, feeling love, and living dreams. They don't have to be big things if you don't want them to. They can be the little things you build and base your smiles on. I slept peacefully that night.
6.58am. Next morning. The train is moving with a rumble. I saw her sitting next to me. Freshly damp hair from a bath, a soft tweed jacket, hopeful eyes that stared outside the window, and crossed fingers full of belief. This was another memory to savour. And she was another person in my life who glowed. Such a lovely sister, not by blood, but by bond. She was my legs that helped me stand strong. She looked at me sharply, as expected, and asked,
"I have a good feeling about this day. Do you?"
I smiled at her. A few moments passed in silence as her eyes filled with expectancy. But I said nothing.
I just showed her my crossed fingers in response.
Making me cry and all. Silly boy
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