separation anxiety

your month, different from mine, in a stranger's world, wish for the sun to keep you warm and happy & a cup of tea and a lot of words for myself to burrow in.

Chapter 1

We hear some sort of scrambling noise outside, on the tin roof. Not the tantrum of raindrops, but a silent sort of humdrum, of paws and feet. 

The usual office chatter, minds gathered together, rapid thinking in process. Somewhere inside the kitchen, a tiny cat lies sprawled on the felt mat, his claw marks forming an intricate pattern on the purple. A young boy, thin, bright-eyed follows the little cat around, talking, cajoling, mind-bending, pampering. Amused eyes dart here and there, trying in vain to keep up with the lightning-quick swish of a brown tail, a jump here, a prance there and sudden slumber on top of the microwave. 

Tiny cat in trouble. Dogs, otherwise innocent-looking with big melting saucers for eyes, surround our little junglejoy. He stands his ground, hair standing on top of his head, the slim tail puffed up in aversion and maybe just a little bit of fear. Our boy arrives out of nowhere, we can almost see a cape flutter in the air. He runs right into the circle of menace and picks up our little fellow. We can see the dogs back away slowly. We observe some imperceptible shrugs. 

Bombay evening falls slowly, the sun disappearing behind the pale pink sea-sky. We see the silhouette of boy and cat against the gate, in silent companionship, the best kind there is, you know. 

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সেকি সে যে বড় সেয়ানা। যেখান সেখান থেকে চলে আসে ঝাপিয়ে হাপিয়ে। এসে বলে, "শুনছ !" আমি এদিক ওদিক তাকাই  অনেক্ষণ  ধরে। কাউকে দেখতে পাইনা বড়। কখন আসে বুঝতে পারিনা কিচ্ছুতেই।তোমরা  দেখতে পাও নিশ্চই। হঠাত ঘুমের চোখে , কখনো কোনো আদরের চাহনিতে, কোনো সম্বাদে, কোনো দেশে।কখনো খারাপ লাগে না ?  তখন কি করো? িশ্বাস কর, আমি কখনো কারোর ক্ষতি চাইনি। তোমাদেরও নয়. আমি চাই সবাই খুশি চাই. ালো থেকো। 

I keep forgetting how much I put you through, and hey never say I didn't warn you. I came with enough issues to last an year in Iceland. And I lose my sanity to nightmares and nothing's ever enough. I wish some calming white substance, a recurring theme, would come to my rescue right about now - this afternoon that the trees noisily declare SPRING and it's an assault to my wrecked senses. I can see your brown eyes becoming sadder with every passing day and I want you to be happy. I wish I could extract some teeth instead in this lost world and hang it around my neck like a trophy. There there, I tell myself, everything will be fine, doesn't it always happen that way? How else would you want it, the world on a platter? So what if tonight I can't sleep and the bile reaches the roof of my tongue and all the thoughts and voice are an incoherent mess, lapping against each other like possessed twins. I have to accept and inhabit this atomic space provided to me in this world and  not make sense at all.

It was all good, she said. She blinked slowly. She mentioned the pain but not the slow, throbbing drumbeat that accompanied it. Nor the voices that had to be curbed every night. Nor the little things that had to go on happening, daily things, you know. Just the usual stuff. Just the stirring, the brushing, the waking up, the sloth, the tea peppered with a just a tiny pinch of cinnamon powder, the looking ahead. She mentioned nothing at all.