What would it mean to lose one’s identity? If there is no ‘I’ left, how would a person feel? Take for example, a rich person who is famous, good-looking and leads an extravagant life. If some day he had to wake up and look at him in the mirror and not be able to relate to the reflection. He has realized the riches, looks, cars parked under the porch, none make sense. His looks are just a way to help him differentiate from the rest and are not of any meaning beyond. The big sedan he travels with and flaunts about, is nothing more than a metal box that looks after his logistics. If he is capable of seeing this and beyond, he would unmistakably notice that he has been living an illusion all the while. He tried to entertain himself; avoided looking at the real picture and instead kept garnering more and more face value. So to say, he tried to build the “I” with a car, more money, his ego, his looks.
After all, one still remains naked within the best and best of clothes. And this truth can never be changed. But is it the ultimate?
Aman woke up with a heavy head and looked around his room. The white walls were still white. The satin grey curtains hung there with no trace of movement. The clothes lying on the adjacent dewaan, lay there, lifeless. Nothing had changed and yet something felt like otherwise. He struggled out of his bed and walked into the drawing room. The place was a mess, cluttered with empty liquor bottles, beer cans, empty shells of groundnuts scattered all over and jumbo packets of wafers on the sofa, still filled with the remnants of powdered wafers. His fat wallet, thrown on the floor, jutted out a small part of a golden colored credit card. He raised his eyes brows, swore under his breath and looked away.
He walked into the other bed room and saw his room-mate asleep on the bed like a lifeless walrus, waiting for the Almighty to shower him with fragrant flowers of Holland. Aman laughed to himself at that thought and said, loud enough, “Walrus”. His room-mate opened his eyes a bit and squinted for a split second. But then went off to sleep again, this time with a huge snore.
Aman walked back into the living room and once again glanced at the dingy. He picked up his wallet and went into his room. He couldn’t make up his mind about bathing first or cleaning the place. He threw the wallet on the bed and went in for the daily ablutions. After a quick bath, he wore a pair of short and a faded T-shirt. He ran his fingers quickly through his wet tresses and set them decent. A cup of hot tea and an omelet with toasted bread pacified his growling tummy.
An hour later after reading the newspaper and checking his mails on his laptop, he stretched his arms and legs and frowned. He knew, against his wish, he would have to clean the living room, all by himself. Well, he did just that.
It took him nearly two hours to tidy the house. But his room-mate had not even moved a finger as yet. He was still asleep in the same position. Aman thought probably the cleaning would make him feel better. Lessen his restlessness. But on the contrary, he felt irritated. He called up Meeth. Meeth and Aman had been friends since Grade One in school. And yet, understood very little of each other.
“Kya kar raha hain?”
“Mahabaleshwar! Colleagues ke saath yaar. Tu bol. Kay chalay?”
“Sara ghar saanf kiya. Ye walrus abhi bhi nahin utha.” Aman swore, so Meeth could hear him.
“Walrus? Kaun bhai?”
“Lokesh re. Ani kon. Kab se soo raha hain.”
“Chod na. Sunday ke din kya karega woh. Chill kar re. Shaam ko milte hain. Wahin. Aaj teri beer party.”
“Nahin re aaj mann nahin hain.”
“Kya? ” Meeth screamed. “Teri tabiyat tho tik hain? Tere walrus ne break up kiya kya tere saath?”
“Chup yaar. Mood nahin hain.”
“Ja. Ek laath maar walrus ko aur bol teko movie leke jaye. ”
“Hmmm”
“Uff… bata kya problem hain?”
“Hmmm meko subah se ajeeb lag raha hain. Yeh kya life hain dost? Pura hafta apun log kaam karta hain. Fir raat ko pee ke soo jate hain. Weekend pe talli ho jao. Meeth, is this all life has to offer?”
“Abey ooo! Subah subah pravachan shuru kiya tune. Ramdev baba ka channel dekha kya uththe hi?”
“Meeth yaar. I’m serious. Meri life mein yehi sab hain filhaal. I have friends. I have a family, far away. I have the latest clothes. My spanking PSP. I have a nice white Camry. Nothing is lacking. Then why am I not feeling like it?”
“Like what?”
“Like… may be just satisfied… complete… like I felt with…”
“Ufff Aman did she call you?”
“Hell no! That is the problem. She hasn’t even called me. Not even once. Not even a missed call. Not even an attempt for one. 3 months! ”
Aman continued after a long silence. “I cleaned the entire house. I washed some clothes. I read the newspaper. I saw the company’s reports, checked my mails; chatted a bit with some online folks. I did everything a normal guy does on a Sunday morning. Exhausted myself! All this, so that I can get rid of the empty feeling circulating within; just to chuck her thoughts and stop this mind-yapping.”
“Hmmm. Coming there.”
“No no Meeth. I know this won’t go even if you come here. There’s only one thing that can help me.”
“Shut up Aman! You’re not doing that. Understand? Pagal hai kya!”
“Meeth I can’t bear it yaar. This is too much. 3 months is max I can tolerate.” Aman swore louder and louder.
Meeth joined in and swore too. “Do what you want man! I hate you for this.” Meeth sounded disgusted.
“Right! Call you later.”
Aman looked at his Apple iPhone and scrolled in the contact list. He knew if he would type out the alphabets of the person he wanted to call, the name would appear faster. So he preferred scrolling one by one, because that, he felt, gave him more time. He saw that the person’s name was now highlighted. Not that he needed his iPhone to remember or remind him the number. He had the number engraved on his brain. Since 4 years now.
He suddenly threw the phone on the sofa and hurriedly paced about the drawing room. He saw around if he could find some work to do. Just to prevent himself from doing what he desired the most. He saw a heap of washed clothes on his room-mates’ study table and picked them quickly. He decided to pay a small visit to the laundry man.
He picked up his house keys and wallet and made sure to tell himself to forget carrying his mobile phone. “What a paradox!” He thought. Walked down the distance and took small, lazy steps. But to his dismay, the entire affair lasted only for 30 minutes.
Here he was back in his apartment, pacing the flat, room to room. He loudly uttered a cuss and walked to the sofa. Picked up his mobile phone and pressed a key to switch on the display. It read “Neeti”.
“Enough is enough!” He pressed the call button. The first call went unanswered. He called up the second time and after three rings he heard a familiar voice say “Hello”.
“Haan main bol raha hun.” Aman quickly grimaced and thought about the stupid way he began without greeting.
“Oh you changed your number.”
“Yes. A month back. That is why I called you.” Neeti’s heart broke. Number changed a month back! “So you know that now onwards, I’ll be reachable here. Well actually, I was scrolling through my cell phone and was deleting contacts that had changed numbers. So thought of calling you…”
“Make up your mind first. Why exactly did you call? First reason or second.”
“Doesn’t matter. So you still have this number, eh?”
“Yes Aman. Confirmed. ”
“Hmmm. Good.”
Silence. Just small disturbances due to the mobile signals.
“So you’re done I guess” said Neeti to break the queasy silence.
“Yeah. So how are you?” Aman sounded very unsure of what he was saying.
“Aman what has happened? What exactly do you want?”
“Well…”
“What Aman?”
Neeti held her breath to listen to what Aman had to say to her. She guessed he would again say things that would hurt her. She had already begun preparing herself for the brutal ordeal.
“Neeti it’s a nice Sunday. I just thought of calling you. Remember we had decided to take a Sunday trip once. Please do go for that trip whenever you can, in future of course. I won’t be able to accompany you. But you please don’t stop yourself.”
“Aman, what the hell are you saying? And why can’t you come?”
“Neeti just listen to what I say. I am cutting the call now. I have some work to do.”
“Are you sure you want to cut the line? Because I think otherwise.”
“Well since I don’t have anything more to say, I’ll cut. If you have some news, then do let me know.”
“Nothing here.” The tone was sad. The words said more that they should have.
Sometimes, words don’t seem enough. Neeti thought about Einstein’s description of the telephone. He said “It’s a technology like a cat. You pull the tail in London and the cat meows in America.” She wondered how she would know about the pulling of the cat. She had heard the mews but was interested in the circumstance that made the cat take such a long ride.
Silence had again prevailed and none had anything to say.
“OK” Aman said.
“OK” said Neeti.
Neeti understood the line would now go dead. And it did.
