Random Rantings

The warm rays of the late morning sun reached out and gently touched her skin. The cobwebs and dust that had gathered on the dull glass of the closed window could do little to protect their mistress. After a while, the creases of Gayani’s neck were damp with sweat. She deftly wiped herself with the edge of her covering sheet. The sheet had once boasted of a bold and colourful design, but was now faded and soft to the touch. Gayani adored all things faded and all her favourite clothes were invariably washed out.

Today was the 18th. She knew, because of her ‘Drifters Diary’, which she faithfully updated, on most nights. Among other things, it helped keep track of the days - days that seem to flow rapidly past her, without really touching her. Had she planned to do something today? Wondered Gayani. She vaguely remembered something… A special Tele drama maybe… one of those increasingly rare ones that won’t make you want to gnaw on the antenna wire or burn the Idiot Box and then bring the great dramatist, Samuel Beckett back to life, so that he would pee on it. No thought Gayani smiling to herself, it cannot be a Tele drama. Then what? She had folded her hands behind her head and staring into space, trying to figure out if there was anything special about that day, when she suddenly remembered and her body stiffened with a jolt. Her head felt woozy and her panicky heart, beat to a sickening thump. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. How could she have forgotten? She had promised her parents and the doctor that on the 18th she would definitely (for she had postponed it several times) start on the therapy recommended by the doctor.

For months on end, Gayani had not left the house by herself. If she had gone out at all, it was with her mother and that too only for the monthly visit to the doctor. Whenever guests arrived, Gayani flew into her little room and closed the door, which she would have preferred to lock, but the key of which had disappeared mysteriously. From past experiences, she made sure the bucket was there, and then as noiselessly as possible blocked the door with a chair which she then made heavier by loading its seat with books she had read over and over. However the lack of a lock made Gayani strangely vulnerable and reminded her of using the toilet in some strange house with the toilet door not having a bolt. Snatches of conversation and detached words managed to slither into Gayani’s room from under the door and float around her head, making her confused and angry…angry most at herself for having turned into a right royal wreck at the prime of her life. Later, when Gayani was sure all the guests had left she would open her door and have her meal in meek silence, trying hard to ignore the dark looks from the rest of the family. It was only when, the soothing chill of the late night was about to give way to yet another dawn, that Gayani would be able to even touch, and then unravel, some of the constricting knots that the previous day’s hurt had bought about, and thus unburdened would drift off to a troubled sleep.

‘Eat your breakfast soon. Today is the 18th, remember?’ It was her mother in the cheeriest voice she could muster.

‘Yes! Yes!’ Mumbled Gayani. She had barely managed to drag herself out of her room and was now trying to hide the raw fear that was welling up inside her and her annoyance at being treated like a child.

She usually felt no hunger at breakfast time. However, due to the side effects of her medications, by lunchtime and especially at dinnertime, she felt ravenous and she could eat two plates of rice instead of one. In fact, she had done this for some time until she noticed that she was putting on weight. Since then she had been fighting a loosing battle to maintain her figure. Gayani pushed the broken pieces of uneaten bread around the plate of dhal; by now, she was an expert at it and unless someone was watching her carefully, they wouldn’t have noticed that the food had never left the plate. It was one of the few tricks she could perform without being found out, due to the fact that since her illness, those around her had become more watchful and in the process had made her life a series of puppet shows, exhibited only for the viewing pleasure and approval of the audience. She found herself staring at the naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. No cobwebs or dust here. In fact it would have been a revelation if even a speck of dust were to be found in any part of the house other than her room. That was because her mother was forever cleaning wiping or sweeping.

‘Do I have got to go today?’ Gayani finally voiced her grievance.

‘Yes!’ retorted her mother, knowing that this familiar question would be asked. ‘Today is the day we decided, isn’t it? How long you have been postponing… So be a good girl and go out just today and finish it, once and for all’

‘But I don’t feel well’ Gayani pleaded.

‘That’s what you say everyday, do you want to be stuck in that room for the rest of your life? Is that what you want? Don’t you remember what the doctor said? It is for your own good…so please go. Go out somewhere and come back in the evening, then you will gradually get used to meeting people and you will feel much better too. I have kept money on top of the kitchen table for bus fare and for an emergency’. Gayani’s mother got up from the table and walked slowly towards the kitchen, not certain as to whether she had talked enough sense to convince her daughter. On reaching the kitchen, she automatically took the well-worn coir broom from the corner where it stood and started to sweep the house.

After her feigned breakfast Gayani was seated on her bed, and the fear had returned with all its fury. It reminded her of the blurred feelings she had on the day of an important exam…Yet she did pass all her exams at school rather well didn’t she? What was she now – nothing, just a wreck, ‘a nobody’ - minus the idealism given to that expression by dear Emily Dickinson… Something was wrong with the education system… Or her… Or both. Now she was reduced to blindly following the advice of a shrink. If only she could stay back today too wished Gayani. How less painful that would be…No meeting people, no talking to them, no staring eyes, no wagging tongues… sheesh!

With a sigh Gayani wondered what she had to do next. A bath. Most definitely a bath, she had not had a bath for a long time and her hair was dirty and lifeless. What if ‘he’ saw her now? Wondered Gayani. Even after all those years, his memory still warmed her heart. Stupid guy; going off and marrying that hussy Mohie, who kept whispering sweet nothings into his ear in front of everybody. But Gayani didn’t know for sure if they actually got married. She did not try to find out either and this knowledge or rather; the lack of it was what kept the fragile flame of hope alive in Gayani’s heart for so long. A sage had once said that love was the greatest power in the universe and who knows; mused Gayani; in this unlimited universe he might belong to her…in another birth or another dimension. On getting back to terra firma, Gayani decided she also needed to trim her overgrown nails, and try to tame her knotted hair by oiling it and give it a good brushing and then…where would she go? She would decide that later, besides the doctor had said that it did not matter where she went, so long as she went somewhere.

What would she wear? Something comfortable, but definitely not anything green, not that she disliked it as a colour per se, in fact when she was younger she liked some shades of green; particularly the lighter shades and the mellow darker ones. However Later on, she had developed an aversion for anything green since she learnt to hate the right wing political party that danced to the tune of the rich businessmen and multinational companies while exploiting everything else on its path. The official colour of this party was green. Gayani’s family knew about her quirk, but not about the reason behind it. The bright new dress was a definite no, no thought Gayani. There were two dresses she liked, but both were too tight. She finally decided to wear a loose light orange dress, which was soft, hid the extra weight she had gained and best of all… faded. Having chosen the dress Gayani went into the bathroom for a long overdue shower that she did not particularly look forward to.

Fresh after a bath, her hair oiled with scented king coconut oil and combed neatly, dressed in the short sleeved, tiered orange hued dress; Gayani looked more presentable, though her long seclusion from society had left in her a certain mien of wildness which was difficult to pinpoint. Meanwhile her mother had been knocking on her door at regular intervals informing Gayani of the time and how late she was. Her mother’s latest series of impatient thumping had startled Gayani who had been wincing in front of the mirror and at the thought of facing people outside. Having convinced her mother she was almost ready, she got back to stare at her mirror… Was it not enough to be the village idiot, did she really need to look one too? Gayani asked her reflection. Finally not wanting to be startled yet again by her mother’s knocking, she reluctantly left the mirror, brushed down her dress with her hands, before moving the chair and cautiously opening the room door.

‘Haven’t you got anything else to wear?’ Demanded her mother on seeing what she had worn.

Gayani grinned sheepishly to avoid the issue.

‘So where are you going?’ asked her mother, anxious to find out her daughter’s plans.

‘Didn’t decide yet’ replied Gayani and on noticing her mother’s eyes narrowing, hastily reminded her mother what the doctor had said.

Gayani walked over to the tidy kitchen, feeling awkward in her ‘good’ slippers and found twenty rupees in change together with a fifty-rupee note kept on the table for her. She opened her virtually empty purse and put the twenty rupees inside. Then she carefully folded the remaining note and tucked it under the jacket of her diary, which she carried around with her, for privacy’s sake and to show the neighbours that although she might be mad, she was not uneducated.

‘Is anybody outside?’ asked Gayani walking into the compact and slightly old-fashioned sitting area of the house.

Her mother who was leaning against the frame of the front door simply said ‘no’. And then turned sharply and added ‘even if they are out, so what? Now go! It is almost eleven o’clock!’

‘Then I am going… Are you sure?’

‘Of what?’

‘That no one is outside their houses?’

‘Here, if you want, look from the window’ said her mother beginning to lose her patience.

With some hesitation, Gayani stepped out of the door. Already her underarms were damp with sweat and her fingers were cold and clammy. There was a hard knot, tightening deep within her stomach and her feet felt unsteady, but she continued walking. Knowing her great luck, she knew she was bound to meet someone known on the way. Looking only downwards, she walked briskly. She prayed silently to some unseen god that she would meet no one. Much later she would chide herself on how easy it was to take refuge in blind faith.

After some time, when much to her relief, Gayani didn’t meet anybody she knew, she felt less tensed up. She cautiously raised her head a few inches away from her neck… how different everything looked, since she was out last! Gayani was passing that great gossip - Mrs. Silva’s and thankfully she was not to be seen, but the scraggy young Mara tree bordering her house had spread its branches and reached out in a profusion of tiny tender green leaves. Leaves shouldn’t be green wished Gayani. It seemed that Mother Nature was going out of her way to endorse the capitalistic political party by flaunting its official colour! Politicians of this particular party make use of nature’s predominant colour as a subliminal message to the masses, and then they have the audacity to indiscriminately cut those very trees whenever they are in power, destroy the ecosystem and get loaded in the process. This slant made Gayani, by now in her world of her own, smirk until she suddenly noticed a smugly smiling Mrs. Silva - almost right in front of her face. Gayani nearly jumped out of her skin. When she regained her composure, she was at a loss as what to say. Mrs. Silva kept on smiling, this time benevolently.

‘Aunty, I have to go now.’ Gayani said, in an attempt to avoid any conversation with this patronising woman, but knowing only too well that it wouldn’t be so easy.

‘Right, …aren’t you already late? Replied Mrs. Silva walking on, much to the amazement of Gayani.

That was not so bad thought Gayani, but Mrs. Silva seemed strangely unconcerned about a fellow neighbour’s movements or… was it that the whole neighbourhood knew of her little trip on the doctor’s orders? Suddenly it struck her. That was why all the houses seemed empty …that was why there was no one outside…and Mrs. Silva had not changed, she simply knew everything! Gayani’s shoulders sagged and feelings of hurt and betrayal clouded her head as she plodded on dejectedly. Of course, she could be imagining things…that would be the most certain answer her mother will give, reflected Gayani bitterly.

She had still not actually decided where exactly she was to go… and now it did not seem to matter. Gayani stopped following the pathways she was familiar with and with her diary held firmly in front of her chest, deliberately walked down paths she did not know. In this way, she thought, at least she would get lost, but she knew that that wouldn’t be easy either.

A few weeks later Gayani was clutching the bars of the locked door of a ward in the state psychiatric hospital, longing to go back home. At least they had cured her urge to get lost.

- Omar K. Chunchi