By the Way

Her eyes itched with the impending sleep she missed the previous night. Aankhi battled it with the weekly determination of her Tumultuous Tuesday. On such a day, the diet went topsy-turvy, the rituals of the road stayed incensed with faith. She had carefully selected her God to bestow upon her the desired Blessing. The God could not ask her to not have sugar, or, tomatoes, like the Friday God did. Yes, she would steer clear from the meat, onions and garlic. Aankhi was four months into this self-imposed regime. Two more months she thought, sleepily. Thankfully it was not a Tuesday. She went to the fridge and fished out a aluminium foil of left over chicken pasta and absently put it in the microwave.

As she turned back to pull out the seasonings, the sparks inside the microwave brought her back to life. They looked like fire crackers on the darkest night. Quickly, she switched it off, pulled out the plug and took out the indifferent pasta. She looked inside, the penne strands stuck to each other in frozen amity. Ten years back she would scream, pace, do all such natural course of activities that are a follow up of any Big Event like locating a lizard, or a cockroach, or, making much ado about a cup that broke or a matchstick that refused to burn. Ten years changed Aankhi though.

Ten long years that felt like ten knotted moments in the rope of life. Sometimes she wished to tie the rope around her neck. But she did not. She hoped for a future and seeked Blessings. This time she wanted to leave the city. It had done much to devour bits off her soul. She believed that a once a week discourse of restrain in meal times would alter her destiny.

Last evening, while at office, when Vikram Singh from the advertising desk casually invited her over for dinner, she would not have anticipated it to be the one that it became. She had had her vegetables and salads and avoided the meat. But she drank a lot. A real lot. From where it was only commendable that Vikram came along to drop her off. As she separated one penne from the other with her fork, the black sip of coffee inside her mouth, rolling and waiting to be gulped, she thought of him inside her room, undressed. Unconscious in his pool of ecstasy. 

She could not care less. Divorce had made her accessible to more men. Or, more men accessible to her. And allowed her to test her tastes. 

She gulped in the coffee, and could almost die of the unhappiness that engulfed her. Routinely. She had a bite of fish finger by mistake. It was the damned rum that made her weak. It was the deliberation. It was destiny. Aankhi could not leave the city.