Good Morning Planet. My name is Nik. I think, I live and I write. Among all three, I like writing more.
This story is about three artists. The first being – Me, of course. I have to be in the story. After all, the story is, where, I am! My father never watched TV. I am the inquisitive kind. I wanted to ask him, “Why didn’t you enjoy television, like the million others who indulge in the magnificent human insight, offered by the men and women inside that glowing tube?”
I wrote him a letter from prison. Well, calling my place of captivity, prison, would be lying, technically, ideally. But glad we do not live in an ideal, technical, world. No one needs to play by the rules. There is always a workaround.
So the story is about Me, Aisha and Karen.
Part I – The Escape
Hope you are doing great. I am having a good time, here, in this wonderful institution which takes care of my mental health. I intend to stay here, till the institution which oversees the lawful conduct of people, wishes, me, to. In the end, it’s never about love. Society is about fairness and law. Everyone is a just being. Love is a lost cause.
The things we do, in the name of love. So low..So low!
Now marriages don’t happen. Corporate mergers are the new holy union of souls.
Anyways, I often wonder, here, alone, in darkness, why do you hate television so much? We all have a need of drama in our lives. Where did you find yours?
Do write back. I would wait eagerly!
He woke up. He found himself in a strangely familiar place. If you live, life, on the run, waking up is always a confusing element of your day.
He killed his doctor. He, then, was admitted in a highly sophisticated, corporatized secured, psych ward. But false sense of security does not guarantee safety. Nothing guarantees safety. Everything decays. People, buildings, institutions, marriages; Everything burns!
“On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.”
A little mixture of the right kitchen solvents, few pile of discarded wooden furniture, another humongous pile of dead patient files and an electric malfunctioning switch; Every building burns!
Fire, is the most remarkable invention in the human history. If used properly, fire alone is an answer to all your life problems. It certainly was for Nik. Lighting fire has become, more of a hobby for him. It also serves the need of a recreational activity. Lighting the facility on fire was ‘Step 1‘. He had carefully orchestrated his escape, in his deluded head. The facility had an underground sewage disposal system. He, due to his athletic body structure, could easily get flushed, out, if the water pressure is decent.
As soon as the fire alarms rang, the officials started hosing the place with high powered water hoses, resulting in temporary flooding of the premises. You can’t store water for too long. It’s liquid. Eventually it finds a way and seeps away.
Right now the only way to seep away was the sewage pipes and Nik was stuck in them. It was a futile struggle. In nanoseconds, water kicked Nik out of the way, and, held him tight, by the neck and took him with it. His head banged hundred a times before being flushed in a sewage treatment plant. The stink was unbearable. He had no strength to flee, but the smell kicked him, in the balls. He held his breath as long as he could, while he ran. He ran away. He ran until his lungs gave up. And he collapsed.
He woke up. He found himself in a strangely familiar place. If you live life on the run, waking up is always a confusing element of your day.
There was a girl sitting in front of him. She said,
“You have intensely sad eyes.”
Thousands of persons must have said the same thing to him since, but Aisha happened to be the first in the line. Anyone likes to hear flattering sentiments, and more than others, I suppose, artists. They like to be told every hour of the day how well they use their creativity.
Part II – Aisha
I reached the house at a run and rested a while in the lobby to regain my breath. I went in, brushing back my hair with my hand and composing my features. The door was open. As I entered, I heard her voice –
“You are early! What took you so long?“
She looked both sad and profound. I sat down on a stool near her.
“You are alone. I suppose, I should not stay long.”
She choose neither to acknowledge nor answer.
I looked at my watch. She had been away from him for nearly 8 hours. I was wasting time. Time was slipping through my fingers. If I were to make good, I should utilize this chance.
“Every night you generally sit up and cry, do you?” I asked boldly.
“When we are alone and start talking, we argue and quarrel over everything. We don’t agree on most matters, and then he leaves me alone and comes back and we are all right, that’s all.”
“It’s unthinkable that anyone should find it possible to quarrel or argue with you. You look like a smile machine for poor, tortured, souls. You are such a divine creature, even colors cannot paint, your reflection.”
She asked sharply, “What do you mean?”
I explained myself plainly. I was prepared to ruin myself today if need be, but I was going to talk and tell her. If she wanted to kick me out, she could do it after listening to me. I spoke my mind. Somehow, whenever we speak, time froze. Time became as slow as a tree falling in the forest.
Aisha lives at the Vista Regency, which is nothing but brown bricks held together with sleaze, where all the mattresses are sealed inside slippery plastic covers, so many people go there to die. You sit on any bed the wrong way, and you and the sheets and blanket slide right to the floor.
“Why did you marry at all?” I asked recklessly.
She remained moody and said, “I don’t know. It just happened. I guess, LOVE.”
People always talk about love. Everyone does. Whenever I hear, “Love”, Raymond’s voice echoes in my head.
“and it ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love. All this, all of this love we’re talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I’m wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don’t know anything, and I’m the first one to admit it.”
― Raymond Carver, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love”
I see love as a cosmic event that changes the course of our lives. True selfless love, obviously, contrary to what is currently sold by popular media ; Where love is found online via matrimony websites on the virtues of income. That’s our institution of marriage. The Holy union of souls. She also has a piece of paper validating her love for him.
A piece of paper is what is needed for two people to stay in love. – Society
Things we do, in the name of Love, so low…so low!
I sighed deeply, overcome with the sadness of her life. I placed my hand on her shoulder and gently stroked it. “I am really very unhappy to think of you, such a gem lost to the world. In his place I would have made you a queen of the world.” She didn’t push away my hand. I let it travel and pushed my fingers through the locks of her hair.
Next day she visited my studio. She opened the – door, passed in, and hesitated, leaving the door half open. She stood looking at me for a moment, as on the first day.
If you really unite with your soulmate, you are doomed! Because you both would sit and talk and that is it. Now love is sex, money and revenge. An eternal revenge inflicted by two partners on each other for the sheer reason; they were not supposed to be together. Else time would freeze and it’s just that moment. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you don’t wake up, you don’t breathe, You just look into each other eyes and float in the space. You experience Nirvana, a state even the most potent opioids fail to induce.
She went in the resident artist’s bedroom and closed the door. She came out after a short while. She had taken off all her ornaments. She didn’t have gold rings in her ears, no gold chain hung around her neck, her arms were empty, her alms were empty. Apart from the tiny piece of silk cloth, covering her modesty, she did not have anything that she ever called hers. I could see her naked image, that slender frame, it must have took, God, six days to create her. On the seventh day, he created the world. That explains her divine beauty and this filthy world.
I stood up, held her neck, as I gently pushed her towards the bed, out of the way, and stepped in and locked the door on the world.
Things we do, in the name of Love, so low…so low!
to be continued….as the show must go on….. Have a lovely day ahead!