Sorry, Aanchal
10:33 pm
Sorry, I didn’t mean all dat
10:34 pm
Whatever, Vicky.
10:35 pm
This is my life.
I’m about to sleep when I get a bunch of missed call alerts from an unknown number. I punch the number into Truecaller.
Daksh Dey Home.
The phone asks me if I want to save the number. I save his number asLucky Charm.I tuck myself in with a rare smile on my face. When I close my eyes, I’m back at that coffee shop, he’s there with a book, and he’s looking at me like I’m the most interesting person in the whole world.
8.
Daksh Dey
Jagath, a legitimate monk in a software engineer’s body, forced meditation on me a year ago.
‘You’re slipping away, bro. You have to do it!’ he insisted.
I wasn’t slipping away. I was doing whatever was asked of me. Working a dead-end job, raising Rabbani, feeding everyone, making sure Baba got his medicines on time, kept the Activa and the house in running order. I was at the opposite end of slipping away.
‘Do something for yourself, for your heart, for what’s inside of you,’ he repeated to me.
I did plenty for myself. I binge-watched shows and read books.
‘For your mind, bro,’ he had argued passionately. ‘How long can you weather the storm in a weak raft? Make your mind a battleship. Because on the deck of the raft, there’s a little girl and your father. If it comes loose, the sea will swallow you whole. You can’t slip away, Daksh. You don’t have that luxury.’
I had brushed him away.
But one night, I saw his analogy in a dream. A hastily-put-together raft. Rain pouring like silver bullets. Baba crouched in the corner, screaming from the pain in his leg. A terrified Rabbani mumbling about a brother who left them alone.
In the crackling lightning, I saw Mumma’s face.
The next day, I was up at 5 a.m.
Since that day, we are on this roof every morning.
‘Good job, bro,’ says Jagath softly. ‘Let go of all thoughts. Don’t judge them. Just look at them and let them go.’
The thoughts are many.
Anger against Baba for his inability to break through the storm of his depression.
I let it go.
Irritation with Rabbani for speaking so much, for taking so much of my energy, for having to pack her lunch, something that others my age don’t have to do.
I let it go.
Hate and resentment with Baba for being ungrateful for what I do for him. Is it too much to ask him to look at me once and say thank you?
