Day 23 of Covid Lockdown.
My WhatsApp chimes, a message. Someone has joined the group.
The black oval vintage clock on my desk comes alive.
tick… tock… tick… tock…
Then a call. It’s her.
Her: “Hello! Seems like ages, how have you been?”
Tockticktocktick…
Time moves faster, in reverse.
zzzzzuppppppppppppp
Flashback.
Her: “Stop calling me, do not call me again…”
Me: (पुराने TV पे no signal वाली white noise) — jhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
Her: “…EVER.”
Me: jhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… still no picture…
रुकावट के लिए खेद है!
Sorry for the interruption!
teeeeeeeeeeeeeee… shrill, piercing, drilling into my skull.
My eardrums throb, then it stops.
My heart takes over: lub-dub, lub-dub, loud like a temple drum. Then distant, faint, fading. I sink into the sound until a hazy, noisy black-and-white picture appears.
A switch to a parallel universe.
I: “Why did she? Or did she just? Oh yes, she did! पर क्यूँ, बता? Why?” I ask, leaning forward.
She: “Maybe she was in love with you.”
I: “Na, she has a boyfriend.”
She: “So?”
I: “So??”
She: “Girls, decisions, confusion, होता है, it happens, you know.”
I: “No, I don’t know.”
She: “समझ ना, try to understand” she says softly.
I: “I was not in love with her… I liked her but not like that.”
She: “Then how?”
I: “Not girlfriend-type… more दोस्त, friend type.”
Maine Pyar Kiya’s tune plays. A pigeon flaps away. Mohnish Behl lectures Salman: एक लड़का और लड़की कभी दोस्त नहीं हो सकते. A boy and a girl can never be just friends. The tune repeats.
I: “तू भी तो है!” I tell her that she too is one.
She: “क्या?” She asks, “What am I?”
I: “Yes.”
She: “What?”, she repeats.
I: “A friend.”
She: “This is different.”
I: “How is it different?”
She: “चल दफ़ा कर,” she says, brushing it off with a wave. “Did she say anything else? Any reason?”
I: “Na.”
She: “Hmmm…”
Zzzzzzuppppppppppp.
Back to the future. I am back on the call with her.
Her: “Are you still in the Army?”
My lips move, but the words stick. The tongue clings to the roof of my mouth.
Teeeeick… Toaaaack…
Time slows. The minute hand drags, shrieks, then kills itself.
Her: “Hey! Are you there?”
Me: “Ya, I am. Where else would I go…”
Footsteps echo in the empty room. I look up, but there is no one there. The clock’s glass ripples like water. A crack spreads like frost, thin veins branching. A thick, dark liquid seeps out, smelling faintly of rust.
The universe flips again.
She: “So… where else would you go then?”
I: “Somewhere, anywhere.”
She: “Run away from the present?”
I: “Maybe. I have thought about escaping time. मुष्किल है बड़ा. Quite difficult”
She begins to say something, then stops.
The room feels smaller, shrinking into the frame of a photograph. My words drone in the air, waiting to be snapped and swallowed by her pause.
She laughs softly. “Escaping time? You can’t even escape this damn conversation, can you?”
I glance at the cracked clock, the rust-scented liquid. “I tried once. Tried to break time. But it doesn’t break. It bends, stretches, pulls you along, tangles you in its web.”
She: “And?”
I: “I ended up stuck in the same loop. Static ringing in my ears. Flickering images of the past. Like that Ekta Kapoor show mum used to watch. Endless episodes, it never ends.””
The air thickens. Shadows lengthen, creeping up the walls. The sun goes… somewhere else.
I: “You know what it feels like? Like I am a scratched vinyl record, the needle forever circling the same groove.”
She: “Matrix!? Is that why you are still stuck, you think you are in one?”
I: “Maybe. Or maybe I am just waiting for something to change, even though everything’s gone stale.”
Silence again, the kind that swallows time itself. The crack in the clock widens. The minute hand bleeds, blood oozes.
She: “You can wake up from it all, if you want to.”
I: “Should I?”
There’s the faint sound of a radio tuning in. The static clears, and a familiar voice comes through.
“अब पेश है ‘फौजी भाइयों के लिए’ कार्यक्रम की अंतिम फरमाइश। बोल लिखे हैं साहिर लुधियानवी और धुन बनाई है रवि ने। तो सुनिए गुमराह फिल्म से, महिंदर कपूर का गाया ये बेहतरीन गीत…”
A strange calm settles, as if time itself has paused to breathe. In that pause the universe warps again.
Her: “Ya, where else can we go? We are all here.”
Me: “Yes… we are.”
The song plays on:
“वो अफ़साना जिसे अंजाम तक लाना न हो मुमकिन,
उसे इक खूबसूरत मोड़ दे कर छोड़ना अच्छा।
चलो इक बार फिर से अजनबी बन जाएं हम दोनों…”
The music washes over me. For a moment, the loop loosens, the crack mends, the oozing stops. I wipe away the spilled morning tea from near the clock.
Then, faintly, the WhatsApp chime sounds.
tick… tock… tick… tock…
A message.
Someone has joined the group.
Thoughts on this story?
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