Christopher had a dream … he dreamt of perpetual motion.
Like the content of his dream, his dream also used to recur since he was five.
He dreamt it till he was twenty-one. Ten years now, he did not encounter it
anymore.
He has precisely eight hours now to decide if he would want
to continue his life with his wife. They got married in a jiffy five years
back. If he wants to continue to have her in his life, he will have to give up
his job, his city, his self-esteem and move to London where Tresa has got a new
job. It was her dream to settle in Europe. He was a promising young man when
they met. Among other thing, he promised her of a good life. He was a bright
engineer with a good company. Like all good engineers, he implied, he would
also have overseas prospects. He is not sure if that was the lure or it was
love on her part. She said yes to his proposal and they got married soon.
All was well. And he got offers of jobs abroad. Twice in the
States, once in Australia ... He didn’t go. He was not willing to leave India.
It seemed to him, Tresa too was not very willing. She had a good career here in
an investment bank. They were happy and he expected his life to be settled,
entrenched in this perpetual security.
But things have changed since then. Tresa has changed. He is
not sure he have, but there is no sense of togetherness between them. His home
looks like a compartment in Mumbai local train where they two are strangers for
the same destination.
Nothing is perpetual in life. Not love, not relationship.
Neither happiness, nor sadness. Is the vacuum in his heart perpetual? Isn’t
vacuum that makes the universe? Is there nothing that can be called perpetual?
Not even sadness? He wants to have a perpetual sadness in his heart. Somehow he
can connect with himself when he is sad. But sadness also does not last. When
he sees Tresa’s message in his inbox, he becomes happy. He hopes she would come
back. He hopes things will be alright; hope takes the sadness away. Even
sadness is not perpetual.
It has been a lifelong quest to find something that he can
pinpoint as perpetual. Something where he can fall back knowing at least this
will not change. He is in quest of find perpetuity … since he can remember.
After coming from school in the afternoon he would sink into
his mother’s warm bosom … his mother’s breath on his hair would feel so
familiar to him. The smell of her skin, the perfect warmth that he knew since
his days in her womb would make him lose consciousness …
The fine streak of the sunrays would sneak into the bed
sheet from the closed windowpanes; carrying strange golden dancing particles
with it … much later he got to know they were dusts floating around. But as a
kid he would watch them transfixed, not been able to fathom how can they be
with the filtered ray and not anywhere else. The dusts were silvery, golden,
shiny … the smell of the mother would assure Christopher all is well … he never
wanted to sleep and fritter away the afternoon. His friends, whose fathers were
not as well off as his, would play in the afternoon sun. They never cared for
schools or education. They had all the fun in their lives. And here lied
Christopher … lost in a room, forced to sleep after his school. He hated his
mother when she called him for sleep. But when mom hugged him tight with her
body, he felt the world a beautiful place, a cosy, comfortable place … a secure
enclave for him.
Before he would realize, he would fall asleep. Soon the
dream would come to him.
He dreamt of toy cars falling steeply from a slope – a
platform, kinda wavy pathway created for the cars to fall at a great speed from
top … a much more real version of Hot Wheels Trick Track. The track is a loop,
the speed of the falling car is enough to pull it again upwards from the other
side before the car rushes down again …
He would dream the car going through this motion
continuously, never for once it would stop doing its drill, the pull and push
of the motion, it’s weight, would not let it stop. Christopher would stare with
awe the car whizzing out putting out a heavy metallic sound in an otherwise
noiseless environment. Christopher could never pinpoint where he is in the
dream, even the environment, but just the whizzing car, the blankness around
and his breath. The only thing that changed in the dream as he grew old was his
lub dub … it fainted as he progressed in his age.
On occasions, in special versions of his dreams, he would
put one or two more cars on the track. He would see transfixed they all moving
perpetually, in a same monotonous manner, maintaining the same distance at any
particular point on the track. They never touch each other. Sure when the car
before one slows down in its accent, the falling one behind threatens to touch
it, but it also loses momentum after that, struggling under its own weight to
climb up but obeying to the pull and push of physics …
As a kid Christopher always looked out for his dream in real
life. He struggled to make it understand to his father. his father got him many
toys, mostly cars, and many trick tracks, but none could offer the perpetual
motion. The cars ended up getting thrown away at the end of the track.
Christopher would throw his hand in despair. The world doesn’t understand his
needs. His own can’t give him a simple gift. It surely does exist in some
space, so why can’t it come to him? Just the track, just the loop from where
his toy cars slide down in great haste and trudges up from the other side … a
simple mechanism.
He grew up to realize his dream may be just a dream. Reality
may not be that simple. As he grew up more, he was introduced to the concept of
friction. He took science. And then studied engineering. He was told perpetual
motion is the holy grail of Physics. It does not exist. Like an ideal life
doesn’t exist where everything is warm, fluffy and cosy -- a world where flakes
of golden dusts dance around in merry abundance.
The perpetuity should come to an end one day. Suddenly. Just
as the real life trick tracks will eventually throw the toy-car away,
everything that seems perpetual gets thrown out from its track abruptly. Just
as one day they told him he has to sleep alone from now on. His mother had gone
to the hospital to bring him a sister. Mom never returned. He saw his infant
sister, a scary ball of translucent pink, placed in his room. Nobody took his
permission if he would be okay with a roommate, but it was implied the room is
not exclusively of his anymore. He didn’t protest, because he knew none who he
can protest. He knew that no one would care for his foot stomping. his
perpetual right of sulking was over, he knew that at the small age of seven.
The world simply doesn’t give a damn. The only one who would have is no more.
Like a stray puppy, Christopher came in terms with the rules of the world. At
least he got a broad outline. He didn’t protest when the wet nurse for his
sister slept at the spot where his mother used to sleep. He couldn’t protest
when the nurse slapped his cheeks red for trying to remove the towel put on the
broken windowpanes to prevent the rays coming inside the room.
Christopher wanted to see the dancing golden flakes. The
nurse wanted to snore. Christopher used to crawl to his sister’s cot and stared
at her. Froth coming from her mouth, she looked like smiling. She was happy and
content with her life. Even as she never knew the smell of her mother.
Later when she grew up to be a beautiful young lady,
Christopher was amazed to notice she actually didn’t need anyone to be happy.
She was happy of herself. She didn’t need anyone. Christopher used to joke,
“you are perpetually happy.” But then, she fell in love with one of
Christopher’s junior in college, a fellow band member of the Church choir. To
Christopher’s horror she cried to him once and confided she can’t live without
Joesph! So what he is already married! She fled with Joseph one evening. He
never heard of them.
Has she got the perpetual happiness? He used to feel sad and
guilty seeing Joseph’s wife. He thought she was perpetually sad. But then she
married Joseph’s best friend. they seem to be happy. There is no perpetual
anything then.
Christopher was a loner. He didn’t have many friends, but he
had a fierce band of friends. They were loyal to him. Tresa was one of them.
They are married for five years now.
Christopher looked at the email again. “I have to tell my
office if they have to arrange for two. Let me know by 10 in the morning.”
It’s actually Tresa’s final call. If Christopher says no to
it, it would be the end of their relationship. If he says yes, it would be the
end of his existence.
Christopher lighted a cigarette. Tresa’s office has given
her an apartment in the town. He didn’t move there. He preferred to stay back
at his rented place at the suburbs. Until two years back, they were planning to
buy an apartment jointly. They can’t even think of it anymore.
Christopher lit his cigarette. They were backpacking the
hills of Himalayas when he popped the question to Tresa. She just had a breakup
with her boyfriend of two years. Christopher had just chucked a stupid girl out
of his life. He was tired of the girl’s stupidity and was horrified when he
found she thought the purpose of any man-woman relationship is marriage.
“Do you ever want to get married,” he had asked Tresa.
“Yes, if it’s you,” she had said that casually as they were
making their tents near the river.
“Marry me then,” he had said that in a matter of fact
manner.
“Okay,” Tresa said adjusting the ropes.
And they were married within six months. There was no
courtship. No effort in knowing each other. After returning from Himalayas,
they just prepared for the marriage. As if it was just hitting the bar for a
pitcher of a beer they were to share.
But deep down he thought Tresa expected a better life. She
was fond of Europe. Christopher knew she would want to settle there.
Christopher can, Tresa knew that. He wanted to make Tresa happy. He wanted to
have a normal life, a life of a man with a family, kids …
Christopher never had the dream again. He was not bothered.
At night they slept like babies hugging each other. They didn’t have separate
dreams, for a while. He was not sure if it was love. But surely there was care.
There was this feel good factor in the company of each other. He thought he
attained his perpetuity.
He fiddled with his mobile. Is it okay if he calls her now?
It’s two in the morning. What the heck, she is his wife. He has the right. And
he was determined to exercise it.
The phone didn’t ring for long before he could hear the
familiar voice.
“what are you doing?”
“was trying to sleep. What makes you call? Is it something
urgent? Can we talk in the morning? I have to leave for a meeting early
morning.”
“not urgent. Sorry to disturb. Sleep well,” Christopher felt
helpless. He didn’t know why he called.
“I was waiting for your call.”
“why?”
“I knew you would.”
“You have to leave in the morning.”
“yeah. So? What do you have to say?”
“nothing.”
There was pause. Christopher looked at the road outside his
window. There is still traffic there. This city never sleeps. He puffed his
cigarette. He could listen to Tresa’s breath.
“Have you replied to the mail? I didn’t get any response on
my blackberry.”
“no I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know what.”
“you still don’t know.”
“no.”
“you never knew.”
“yes, may be.”
There was a pause again. Tresa’s voice came faintly.
“I am ready to forgive you.”
“for what? I haven’t done anything that would need your
forgiveness. Don’t pretend to be my saviour.”
“you have cheated me.”
“you have done a greater crime.”
“I never cheated you. I was always there for you. I never
thought of anyone else except you. I was always there for you. what’s the crime
you are talking about?”
“think.”
“I don’t need to. Illuminate me of my crimes against you.”
“you tried to rob me from others, from myself. You tried to
throw my identity out in the oblivion. You wanted me in your purse.”
“men have strange sense of self-pity. What is did was what
we women call love. If I possessed you, consider yourself a lucky dog. If I
would not have possessed you, you would have known. Just as you know now.”
“but you wanted me to forget my past. you wanted me to
forget my friends, you wanted me to have a life where no-one else but you
mattered. Don’t you think that was a great crime?
“may be it is. But I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to
know I care.”
“yeah … that’s the whole messup. Care with a tab.”
“So I did a crime. What’s your alibi for your infidelity?”
“you won’t understand.”
“that’s what you have always said. Even the day I left you.
I didn’t want to leave you, but you didn’t give me any option. At least tell me
now. I don’t know if tomorrow exists for us.”
“I can’t explain even today.”
“you got tired of me.”
“no. my infidelity was not with you.”
“waddya mean? You slept around when you had a wife at home!
And you say the infidelity was not with me?”
“you may not be only your body, Tresa.”
“who am I then? If not my body? in which space I live
without my body? stop trying to justify your actions with your sad philosophy
bastard. You cheated me and that’s the crux of the matter.”
“okay, if you insist.”
There was a silence. He could hear Tresa sobbing. Tresa
won’t understand if he tells him he wanted his cosy enclave, the warmth of his
mother’s bosom back. He slept with many women searching for that warmth that was
snatched from him when he was kid. He cared for Tresa. She was not like others.
She gave him a feeling that she won’t tie him down as the other girls tried.
May be he loved her too. For at one point he felt guilty of sleeping with her
friend. he confessed.
“look, you have insulted me. Still, we can have a new future
where we both can start it again,” Tresa’s voice was pleading. He felt sad for
her. Poor girl, she still loves him.
“yes, we can. But at what cost?”
“can’t you just come with me? Will you not come with me and
start a new life with a clean slate? Please reply yes to my mail.”
“no Tresa. I am not the hanky of your purse.”
“Christopher! Please! I love you!”
“I love you too, Tresa. But nothing is perpetual in life,”
he disconnected the call and then switched it off.
As he laid on the couch, tired of himself, he started
feeling dizzy.
He dreamt of toy cars falling steeply from a trick track …
the cars were not touching each other … yet they were going on with their
business without for a moment stopping. Christopher dreamt of perpetual motion.
5 comments:
touching and real.....would have loved to know tresa's thoughts as well
hi anon,
thank you very much for your comment. i wanted to write it just from Christopher point of view to show how disconnected they both are from each other. As if they both don't understand each other. I see no scope of Tresa's mind to come because she is just incidental in Christopher's scheme of things, which is a confused mess of thoughts dragged down by the past.
Also, there is one more reason why i didn't feel confident to put Tresa's thoughts. Wish I knew you to tell you personally. Can't discuss here.
Ghetu,
This is good. Time to get these published instead of well...you-know-what.
great imagery! but thought the end (especially the conversation) kind of fizzled out..
May your short stories flourish! Long may they escape the well ... you-know-what.
Post a Comment