That damned cell
That damned cell. He never had the need for it earlier. He liked his independence and his space. Somewhere things got complicated and he'd bought it so that he could talk to her regularly. He was so used to her in his life that the cell seemed a lifeline to bridge the sudden distance he could sense in their relation. Now it seemed a torture. It just lay there besides him tantalising, tormenting, insulting.
This was a new feeling. That insecurity. That feeling of loneliness. That helplessness. That damned overpowering cell. He just couldn't get his eyes away from it.
You're being stupid. She'll not come back. You're alone now. Theres no going back.
He tried reading. Couldn't. Tried sleeping. But the sofa in the hall was rumpled and it hurt his back. He adjusted himself. The hall opened up to a makeshift garden and the moonlight and the neon light lit it up quite well. It looked much better than in the day time. Everything looks better at night. Still he always dreaded the nights.
He got up from the sofa and lit a cigarette. Contemplated whether to take the cell with him. 'Fuck you! Get over it'. Outside the breeze felt good against his skin. Bangalore is paradise when you've stayed for close to three summer months in Chennai. And he'd lived in Bangalore for close to four years earlier. Yet Bangalore strangely seemed a new place to him this return. The cigarette hurt him. He wasn't used to smoking this much. He finished the stick anyway and then decided against lighting another.
When he came back into the hall, the lights of all the bedrooms were turned off. Despite the cigarette, this time sleep came easily.
He was awoken rudely by a ringing sound. It was the alarm ringing in that damned cell. He looked at his watch. He had slept for close to three hours. His friends were still sleeping. They would still be sleeping when he would leave for office. Atleast that way there would be no questions as to why he made such a ruckus over coming to Bangalore. In two days he would be moving to a place of his own. Maybe he would be able to sleep better there.
This was a new feeling. That insecurity. That feeling of loneliness. That helplessness. That damned overpowering cell. He just couldn't get his eyes away from it.
You're being stupid. She'll not come back. You're alone now. Theres no going back.
He tried reading. Couldn't. Tried sleeping. But the sofa in the hall was rumpled and it hurt his back. He adjusted himself. The hall opened up to a makeshift garden and the moonlight and the neon light lit it up quite well. It looked much better than in the day time. Everything looks better at night. Still he always dreaded the nights.
He got up from the sofa and lit a cigarette. Contemplated whether to take the cell with him. 'Fuck you! Get over it'. Outside the breeze felt good against his skin. Bangalore is paradise when you've stayed for close to three summer months in Chennai. And he'd lived in Bangalore for close to four years earlier. Yet Bangalore strangely seemed a new place to him this return. The cigarette hurt him. He wasn't used to smoking this much. He finished the stick anyway and then decided against lighting another.
When he came back into the hall, the lights of all the bedrooms were turned off. Despite the cigarette, this time sleep came easily.
He was awoken rudely by a ringing sound. It was the alarm ringing in that damned cell. He looked at his watch. He had slept for close to three hours. His friends were still sleeping. They would still be sleeping when he would leave for office. Atleast that way there would be no questions as to why he made such a ruckus over coming to Bangalore. In two days he would be moving to a place of his own. Maybe he would be able to sleep better there.
Labels: creativity, life
posted by Sameer Sarma at 11:38 AM
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