The wait is turning tedious and draining.
I watch him at close quarters- he bites his lips ever so lightly,nervous and excited at the thought of it.An amalgam of a smile and a restrained sneer zig-zags down his face in confused arcs.He draws a deep breath,smelling the aroma of roses and earth.And temptation.This helps him out with his predicament.He allows himself another,more convinced smile,puts his i-pod on shuffle,adjusts his headset and the collar of his oddly sweaty shirt before his eyes start gleaming with someone i know for a tricky consort of mine.I relax in the familiarity.
” Next station is Janakpuri West.Doors will open on the right.Please mind the gap.”
The announcement makes him uneasy,as if he was running short of time,which most probably was true by the look on the girl’s face and her frequent glances at her watch.He casually releases the overhead strap he was hanging on to and shifts uncomfortably to his right in the crowd,manoeuvring his way through the array of inconvenience topped by a fat boy lost in his hardcover,salvaging the humanity around him with his almost condescending,bored demeanour and reeking underarms.Next he steps on the toes of an obnoxiously groomed pest of a man listening to some trash on his cellphone and being altruistic enough to sing in sync with the beats loud and clear enough to let everyone around be familiar with the lyrics,in case they were even vaguely curious or feeling left out.In a seemingly disoriented attempt at holding on to the pole next to him,he brushes his hand through her hair.A shiver of forbidden electricity runs wild through his being and he stops dead in his endeavour,keeping his hand where it fell first,softly caressing her.Apparently the girl didn’t notice at all and is still smiling at something only she is privy to.He stands frozen next to her,rooted in and bound to her intoxicating presence.A distant thought and visage crosses his mind which grabs my attention,but he shakes the hesitation off himself soon enough and i slip back into my inertia,disappointed but eager for a resurgence.
The girl decides to take something out of her purse,opens its zip,rummages through the chaos,and takes out her cellphone.With the sleek,shining phone in her dainty hand,she suddenly turns towards him.He is taken aback and prepares himself for an explanation or apology,swallowing a lump.But she flashes a benign smile and presses the digits on the keypad several times in a swift,cyclical movement of her manicured nails.I watch him loosen up and smile again tentatively,like a child testing the patience of his parents.
For the rest of the duration of his commute,he makes do with just looking at her and doing all the homework in his head.Not so when she was getting out of the train.He made a face, a convincing one for his non-existent discomfort, and pressed his body against her as she picked her carry bag up from the floor,aligning his face with her back.His entire body thrummed alive with the rush,her proximity making him go wobbly and high and light-headed.His orgasmic ordeal was punctuated only by her exit,allowing him to catch his breath.
I do not respond kindly to being thrown to the sidelines.He,of all, should know.
* * * * * *
When he reaches the stop at the end of his street,he gets off the metro feeder bus bathed in new outlook and sensations,vigour and uncertainty,vaguely inebriated on his own novelty.The feeling was like getting out of ruts ; like discovering a new side of yourself, like lying when you know you would get away with it.Suddenly his phone starts ringing and the spell is broken.Home.He picks up the call with a smile and talks with animated gestures meant at making himself believe in what he wanted.
It was the most I could do to stop jeering and sniggering in his face.Oh, do I heart me these little games of convenience people play with themselves,making sure they feel what they are supposed to !
After hanging up,he looks at the hoarding in front of him advertising a hair care product promising the classic oxymoronic promise of delivering a “new and improved” version,unsure of what he was looking at or what was he asked to do.A minute later,he brushes the confusion away and starts walking to the butcher’s shop down the street.
I grow weary of this ring-a-rosy where the cards are not mine and excruciatingly mundane.
While he waits for his order to be handed over to him at the butcher’s,he watches the man at his work.He observes him grasp the legs of a bird firmly in his right hand,raising it off the ground.The bird swings in the air,suspended with its head hanging down.The butcher touches the edge of the chicken’s neck where it meets its skull.He is transfixed by the light in the bird’s eyes and even though it makes him mildly sick,he continues to stare.With one swift stroke of his knife,the butcher slashes the neck of the bird.The decapitated chicken starts thrashing violently and spraying blood everywhere in terrifying spasms.The butcher quickly throws the torso into a tub of boiling water and covers it with a lid.Only then does he look away,feeling horrified,except not so much for real.
When he arrives at his apartment,I smile from the shadows.Home.More so for me than him.
* * * * * *
Before she opens the door for him, I lurk around ; I consider my moves, reassess my words for their worth and satisfied with the entire procedure,allow him to put on a smile.
The next instant she stands in front of him.Freshly out of the shower.Wet hair, glowing face,enchanting smile.Beauty that makes you uncomfortable,charm which makes you feel like a stranger.I can never have enough of precisely that.I ask him to go for a peck and hug as I steal the warmth out of it to relish.Unaware of his state,she actually gives herself to him.I dismiss that as a diligent pretence.I urge him to look for a spark,a connection,the very same i replaced.He finds the exercise futile and taxing, and so do I.Settling for less is our forte, our existence.I do not like it one bit when the patterns are broken.
She asks him about his day.He answers with an enthusiasm as fake as the people denying my existence or treating me as their shameful secret,their blue-eyed guilty pleasure.He tells her funny and exciting stories he made up on his way home ; she tries very hard to believe him.Both know better however.He looks at the towel in her hand and a vision of his brother handing her the same towel flashes through his mind.She was in for her shower and he recalls clearly the pointedly lecherous manner in which his brother lingered and clavered for no reason whatsoever.Why do they talk so much, he finds himself asking the question.
Why do they ? I resonate.
He entreats her carefully,guardedly about this Expecting and Loving It club she was considering to join and she expresses her absolute lack of interest for the idea immediately.She would be better off reading books on the subject.Or fucking lord knows whom, he adds silently.He asks her if she can cook the chicken herself or should he do it for his love.She kisses him on the cheeks and gets up to head for the kitchen.
Five minutes later,he hears a thud followed by a scream ,and rushes frantically to the kitchen.She is lying on the floor in a little pool of blood,articulating,gurgling words,trying not to choke on them.He hears something to the effect of calling his brother.Or his mother.He couldn’t care less.And another upsurge of buried memories swirls in the whirlpool of his psyche.A packet of condoms in her room – opened,used.That didn’t need any explanation.
I left room for none.
This was the moment I was waiting for.I rise, I rush, I take him down.I shroud him in myself and take him down the abyss at the edge of which this dance commenced.We both fall down.Forever.
He calls his brother,explains the situation to him and gets out of the house,like a man about to die- with nothing to lose,everything to fear.
ADDENDUM
Stories in Blood 