She quickly closed her eyes and fumbled to herself:
Please receive this prayer with utmost care and handle it with informed prudence. Look at the human beings, they don’t have time for their fellow mate- for other human beings- they don’t have time to think about you. They are working like the very machines they created. They are fed with some stupid purpose which is as transient and transitory as they themselves are. They don’t understand, they can’t look through, they are so caught. They don’t understand that this is a web of system which they created for themselves. They are always so anxious; worried that they might fail or lose. They think of money, they think of time, they think of excelling, they don’t want to lose, they think of achievements and accomplishments which are hollow and meaning-less.
All I want you to do for me is to think of us, the present world, the disappointment around, the world has been growing dark, people don’t believe you exist, show them you are there. You are the God and you will look after them; say them that they are not alone; they won’t be left unloved and uncared.
I hope, for someone in your capacity, it’s not an uphill task.
It did not quite really send any sense of relief through her spines as expected. She waited for few more minutes to see how it felt after praying to god. There was no relief. She still felt like crying. It was more than eight hours that she had spent on bed without even caring to get up and greet the sunlight. She had been crying all through the day in continual installments and in varied frequency. She had the liberty to modulate the pitch of her sobs in this quite alone room in one of the corners of the apartment, something she never had when she was home with her family.
It was disappointing, disgusting, demoralizing and of course discouraging, she thought. There was a general despondency in the air. She had shut her windows because the blaring noise of the street reminded her of the world outside. In the last twelve years, this was not the first time she did not want to take calls, respond to e-mails, to doorbells, to greetings. Everything around her seemed to convey the same thing, reflect the same dismal mood that had seeped into her.
she began writing. While everything else seemed so made up- artificial, seeing her handwriting reflecting her thoughts back at her was a relief. She wanted to write…write something to pacify herself. She wrote a letter addressed to her.
“This is what I have been doing.
The journey is not so pleasant but I dread its end. Soon, I will get up, wash myself and one of these days I will get back to business, life will again be, what they say, “normal”.
There is no hope that things will change. The end isn’t approaching because somewhere the process has been abruptly stopped. We never have the courage to speak to the world directly and ask them to stop this maddening rage and craze of “progress”.
I know I am trying to shut myself up and I also know that it isn’t a solution. In fact, I witness these changes in me and in others too but I am too helpless, I think, to interfere in the process.
I no longer know if I am turning indifferent to it or is life turning insensitive towards me. I am detaching myself, isolating avoiding, ignoring and limiting. But here, this is not something I am doing deliberately rather this is how I feel like being.
I want to touch my thoughts to derive meaning of these things.
I am messed in our self- created mesh. . I want to be inquisitive…divulge into the problem. I think the state is not that of confusion but what it is, remains unreasoned.”
Once in a while, these days, Ishika used to dip into such philosophical sojourn looking for reasons to existence. These were unending questions she never received answer for. She sometimes felt like Lord Buddha but she did not have the patience to look for these answers like him. However, this was the longest duration she had tried to find an answer and mourned on her inability to find a solution for herself and for the world.
She moved to the window and saw the city lighted up for the night. She wanted to go out and see Aditya. She caught a glimpse of her face in the window pane and realized that she needed to work on herself a little for the evening. She called up Aditya and asked him to stay at home.
They had met only once before this. It had a strange beginning. While in shower, she thought that an encyclopedic entry of the way they met was impossible. Her brain has earned a bad name over the last few decades for its incompetent storage power. But she tried to revisit that day in her head when she had met Aditya for the first time. She realized that her memory wasn’t that bad as people thought it to be.
It was not a plain story, she thought.
It was the sense of meeting your soul’s complementary part before death. It was the consequence of believing in Plato’s Ancient Greek story of soul mates in Symposium in this scientific age. It was the immaturity of losing the “self” in a strange land with the unrealistic ambition of getting annihilated for the better…to transcend the human form. It was the result of a stupid desire to see one’s extension and reflection in another fellow human being. That other fellow human being was what she thought Aditya was to her. It was that love between them which had made her aware of the world which lacked it.
She checked herself in the mirror one last time and locked the door behind her. She reached Aditya’s place in less than an hour, and the entire time she found herself waiting to hold him and ask him to hijack her from the world. She met him at the door itself, waiting for her. She reached for his hand and pulled him inside and closed the door behind. She wanted to look at him more closely, fill herself with him.
She sat there with him on the floor, bent a little towards him, “Can I rest my head here, on your chest?”
He smiled a little and said, “Are you sure? I mean I can probably suggest you a better place unless you are too desperate to get disturbed by my racing heart-beat.”
They laughed together clinging to each other and Ishika said, “When I look at the sky, I face the immortal expanse of void that stretches there and I can’t stop smiling at the paradox of the mortal expanse of plenitude in our love here!”