The Thud

The pain wasn’t searing. It was a dull thud. Like the sound made by a sack of grain when you drop it to the floor. Thud. The feeling within, too, was dull. She felt distant from herself, as though submerged in water or trapped in a dream, her awareness hazy. She dealt with the pain as if it belonged to someone else.

The breakup happened out of the blue, just when she was expecting their relationship to turn into something larger, more meaningful. The blow felt like one from a hammer. Thud. Strong, yet heavy and dull. She struggled to process the what, why, and how of it, but her brain felt slow and heavy, like the very hammer that had hit her.

There were no major fights, no unbridgeable differences. Yet he had dumped her and walked away, like dropping a weight by accident at the gym. Thud. He had told her his reason, but to her, it felt silly and stupid. She couldn’t even get her emotions out in the form of tears. Everything felt frozen inside.

She applied for leave and headed to her hometown, assuming a few days with her loving—but clueless about her love life—parents would help her process her plight. It was festival time, but she couldn’t participate in any of the fervor. She heard the same real-life thud as her mom and dad pounded away the rice to prepare kajjaya, the traditional sweet. Her heart thudded too. Her perceptive mom asked if everything was alright, and she carefully avoided talking about him. Why bother them and make them worry more?

He wasn’t a bad guy, far from it. He had stood by her during their six years together. In his company, she had grown, shedding her morose, sad veneer. She had learned to embrace happiness and stay happy, letting go of the fear that sadness was lurking, waiting to pounce. He had taught her how not to nurse grudges, how to handle fights, and, importantly, how to start every day afresh. Yet today, it felt as if all those lessons were merely preparation for this eventuality, thudding down to terra firma.

Who was to blame? Did he cause it? Was she responsible? Did she ignore any signs? The more she thought about it, the more her heart thudded. She knew she was slipping into depression, and she didn’t know a way out. When friends asked, she struggled to respond; she couldn’t blame him. He and she still exchanged messages and tended to the pets they both had raised—she brought them to her place whenever he traveled instead of letting them stay at a pet minder. She wondered if she wasn’t willing to let go, secretly expecting him to reconcile. Her struggles were accentuated further by the fact that she was a therapist herself!

Months passed. She still stayed stuck. He didn’t tell her he had begun dating someone else, nor did he let her in on his plans to move out of the country and marry the person he was newly invested in. But the news still reached her ears. Had he broken up because he found this new person, or was this after they broke up? She concluded she would never know. It shouldn’t matter—it was in the past. But it did, because she still lived in the past in her head, moping daily about her memories, and struggling to see life beyond the breakup.

Her older, perceptive brother reached out and gently asked her to talk to him. “I’ve noticed how you’re struggling to look normal. I know it’s a façade. Do not hide. You know you can share with me.” With great reluctance, and also to unburden herself, she told him bits and pieces. “My little one, you’re struggling to seek help. Let go of your embarrassment about approaching another. You cannot be your own therapist.” He had struck at the root of the matter. She agreed to see one.

One session led to some more. She liked the conversations with the therapist and finally realized what she had failed to do.

She contacted her ex and said she wanted to talk. She finally told him, her heart thudding away, what she felt about the breakup and the impact it had had on her, calling him out for being an asshole who had made her feel the fault was hers while he might have been planning his exit all along. She knew now the real problem wasn't the weight he dropped, but the heavy weight of silence she had been carrying alone. 

A year passed. It was the same festival time, and she was back at home. She woke up to her mother pounding the rice to make the same traditional sweet. She joined her with a smile, and said, “Let me do it this time.” She brought the pestle down. It was a solid thud, but this time, it was the sound of being alive, not defeat. Her brother, who was helping their mother in the task, smiled. She smiled back, and thought, “Thank you for saving me from myself”. 

Life. Lessons.

Phone rings as I am considering leaving the office to the hospital. Close friend on the line. It is about the hush-hush plans we are having about a holiday. “I’ve booked the tickets”, he announces. “Now, tell me where are we supposed to book our hotels in”. 

I answer that question and add, “But, there’s a hitch”. 

“What now? Don’t tell me you’re changing dates and plans!” I could hear the annoyance in his voice. 

“No, it’s just that dad is unwell.”

“Why? What happened?”

I hesitate for a moment and then respond.

“He suffered a mild stroke the day before. So, I am a little unsure about my dates of travel”.

“Oh! So sorry to hear. Let’s cancel the plans then. We may do this another time”.

“Nope. My original plan was to reach much earlier than you guys. Now, I’ll reach almost at the same time as you all. This has been in the making for quite a while”. 

“How’s the prognosis?”

I explain it once again - have lost count how many times I’ve already done. That his left limb isn’t yet responding well, and intense physiotherapy is the solution since the tissue in the cortex is gone because of a block. 

“How is he taking all this?”

“Oh he’s cheerful as ever. Tells he’s lived well and on his own terms, and all that. He’s giving life lessons to everyone who’s visiting, and to the doctors and staff at the hospital!” 

We both laugh at this and the friend says, without missing a beat. 

“Now this brings amazing clarity”.

“What is it?”, I am curious.

“The ability and skill to preach and lecture have come to you as a hereditary gift”, and laughs hard. 

I seethe and smile at the same time!

She Said He Heard…

A view of Hilsa 

We are into the last leg of our Kailash Yatra. Despite concerns and doubts, and a lot of conflicting information, we manage to start off from Taklakot (Purang, in China). Having reached China-Nepal border at Hilsa, we rest at a small hotel named, Moksha, and await our turn for the chopper. 

Hilsa is a small village and has barely a handful of houses that turn into home stays for the Kailash yatris during the Kailash Yatra season. These village doesn’t even have metalled roads. Hotel Moksha is a new building that has come up recently, and a couple of other hotels too have come up. These are pretty basic in terms of the facilities they offer. Our aim is to have a lunch here and take off to Simikot. From there, the journey would be to Nepalgunj.  

Many other Yatris that were there begin to leave, and some new ones arrive. Most of them are staying put as their choppers aren’t scheduled for another day (at least). 

Some yatris that have arrived at the place we are resting realise Moksha isnt their resting place (yet) and they need to go to another hotel. So, the patriarch shouts orders to one of the younger ones to find out which is their hotel. The girl who runs the establishment finds out and tells this group that it’s ’Snow Line’. 

The man and his fellow travellers collect their small bags to leave. As they’re leaving, the old man wonders aloud. “Why is the hotel named Slow? Do things move at snail’s pace here?”, in Hindi! 

Anecdote 2

"Sir an auto driver is here to see you" My PA came in and announced. I assumed it to be BS's auto-driver who comes everyday to pick him up and drop him at his work place. But BS did leave with him in the morning, what's it that he wants I wondered as I asked him to be shown in. The guy who walked in wasn't the same driver. I didn't recall seeing him earlier. "Sir, do you remember you came by my auto with another lady three days back?" he asked me. I couldn't recollect. I gave him a blank look. "Is this another ploy to swindle money?" was my first thought. What plan it was I couldn't fathom though. "You got down first sir and the lady got down near your house", he continued. 'Ah, yeah, I remember" I exclaimed, "It was my sister with me"! "Yes Sir, but madam forgot a book in my auto". But Kumi hadn't even mentioned having left behind or lost anything. She'd even left for the UK the previous day! "This book Sir", he showed. It was surely what Kumi and I had bought at the Gangaram's. A book on infant dermatology. "Yes I remember that book" and I gleefully accepted the book.

"If it were a cheap book Sir I'd have probably sold it off. But I saw that it was expensive. I even came twice to your place while on this side but there was none at your place. And, the servant couldn't speak either Kannada or Hindi. Then today she said, 'saar's aafice is opposite'. I could understand that much telugu of hers and came here". I really was touched by what he said. I was lmoved by his act of honesty and his integrity. I asked him his name. 'Chaand sir, Chaand Pasha'. Two preconceived notions that one can have about people were crumbling right in front of my eyes.

I offered him money. He refused all that and said, "Sir just give me the auto fare as I'd to specifically come here this time and it'd be 20Rs" he said. I paid him as he asked, took a snap of his along with his auto. I was left speechless for quite a long time after...Later in the day, Kumi called to say, 'Su I think the bokstore people did NOT give me the book I'd bought the other day". "No Kumi, they'd given it. You'd left it behind in the auto. The driver brought it to the office today". "WHAT???" she screamed.