On this particular day #1

Mornings used to be easy. Her body would force itself out of sleep somewhere between 6am and 6.30am and she always joked that she never needed to set an alarm. Even when she was on holiday, she would be awake by 6.30am, savouring those moments of quiet before the people she was sharing a room with woke up. This had changed in the last few weeks. Now she had to force her eyes open and it was always past 7am when she was finally able to focus her eyes on the clock that was only two metres away from her bed. Then she would lie there, on the bed, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and right above her upper lip.

Not fully awake and not exactly asleep, she would imagine an alternative life. She didn’t know how far in the past it was but she knew it was not set during a time of phones and computers. She lived by the sea in this fantasy. A small hut, thatched roof, yellow walls. She didn’t particularly like yellow as a colour, especially not on walls, but her hut by the ocean was always yellow. And in it was a single wooden chair and a small bed. On some mornings, she pictures herself walking to a green hut and exchanging a pie she baked for some rice or fish. She saw herself exchanging berries for potatoes with the old lady in the pink hut.

In these fantasies, she never had a name. No one did. And none of the faces belonged to the people she loved and cared for. She would indulge in this fantasy for a few minutes before she reached under her bed for her phone. A few messages on the family WhatsApp group. A notification on Twitter. She skipped through a few Stories her friends had posted on Instagram. None of this interested her anymore.

Will she ever be happy, she wondered as she brushed her teeth. This question was always on her mind. Will she ever be happy? It would be immediately followed by another question: Did it matter if she was never happy?

The quiet and simple life by the ocean that she made up during those first few minutes every morning came back to her on her way to work. She loved taking the train because the railway line was along the coast and she could either look at the waves crashing into each other, spraying white froth over rocks, or observe the lives of people on the other side of the railway line. Lives in huts and small houses, sure, but lives that were not simple. Men who looked like they did nothing but drink and gamble away what little they earned. Women who looked tough and tired. Children in faded and torn clothes.

But these were lives she made assumptions about based on what she had read in books or seen on TV. They were not assumptions she made based on what she had learned from them. In fact, whenever she pictured these lives in this way, based on stereotypes, no doubt, she felt an immense amount of guilt. And yet, she couldn’t help herself from weaving these made up lives for strangers she would never see again.

Inside the train, too, there were people to observe. The man dozing off, a black briefcase on his lap. The old woman chewing betel. The woman in a sari reading a novel. The old man licking his lips as his gaze rests on a young girl in a floral dress. A young couple whispering and giggling. An older couple discussing their children.

She sometimes tried to imagine what their lives were like. She wondered if they would fit perfectly in that life she fantasised about. Would any of them survive for long without a phone or social media or an internet connection? Could they survive on rice and fish and potatoes?

She knew that she wouldn’t be able to last in this fantasy of hers for more than a week. The simplicity and emptiness of that life would make her tear at her skin and be overwhelmed by the voices in her head, the way she felt when she was alone at home for more than six hours. She wouldn’t survive without her phone or social media. How weak, she thought.

She realised the beginnings of a smirk were forming on her face and she quickly reverted back to her usual expression. A friend had once said to her, “You know, your default facial expression is a mix between ‘I want to kill someone’ and ‘I don’t want to be alive anymore’. It’s this weird mix of anger and sadness.” She didn’t mind this. It never bothered her because her default facial expression stopped people from approaching her or paying her any attention.

However, sometimes, and she would never admit this to anyone, she hated that she looked so angry and so sad. That the way she felt inside was visible to the world. That even a stranger who doesn’t spend more than a few seconds looking at her could figure out exactly what she was feeling.

She didn’t have to be at work until late on this particular day. She was used to working until 8PM or 9PM. One day, she checked her watch and realised it was almost 10PM. She liked working till late. She liked having something to do with her life. But sometimes, she wanted her life to be more than what it was. It wasn’t that she was unhappy at her job or didn’t enjoy the work she did. She did like it all but she also couldn’t help but want something else, something more. An escape from how ordinary and boring she was.

Today, she had to meet friends for dinner and drinks. These were people she liked and people she loved. They made her forget how lonely she was. They made her have at least an ounce of hope about the future.

She sat on the floor, along with a few others. Glasses filled with arrack and coca-cola. Bowls of manioc chips and guava with pepper and salt. They were trying to decide between pizza and koththu for dinner, even though it was too early to order. It was just past six and most of the group were still on their way. She felt herself relax with every sip she took. It warmed her, but it also made it easier to talk with people, to laugh, to enjoy herself.

Her phone started ringing and she looked at the screen. ‘Amma’ it said. Her mother was probably calling to check where she was and if she was coming home for dinner. She walked out to the balcony with her phone and drink.

“Ya, Amma?” she said, making yet another note to stop answering calls this way.

“Are you coming home for dinner?”

“No, I told you. I’m meeting people for dinner.”

“Oh. I thought of making pasta.”

“Okay then. Leave some for me. I’ll call you when I leave.”

“Will you be getting late?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Let me know then.”

“Okay.”

In some ways, she was thankful she had a good relationship with her mother. But in other ways, their relationship was strained. She was terrified by the thought that she would someday have to live a life that her mother was not part of but it also terrified her that she could never leave her mother. She could never move out of that house and live the life she wanted. It made her feel conflicted and this train of thought always left her exhausted and miserable.

A friend had once asked her what being free meant to her. And she had said, “I think it’s having the freedom to leave, whether or not you actually leave.” And this was something she still thought about. Her mother would not object to her moving out but she also didn’t want to leave her mother by herself.

She stood there, at the balcony, and took a sip from her drink. Her friends’ voices and laughter soothed her. She would join them in a bit but she wanted to stay here for a while longer. It was peaceful. And it was also beautiful.

She loved this time of the day. It looked like the world was on fire. Everything glowed a warm shade of yellow. It looked magical. She was always taken aback by how beautiful the world looked when the sun was setting. And it was never something she waited for. Unlike the times she had sat outside while on holiday to catch the sunrise. Or even the times she watched the sunset at the beach.

This was different. The sun was never to be seen. The sun didn’t steal the show. Instead, it bathed the world in its glow, making it look like a place that had the potential of being better.

She stood there, with her eyes closed. Her phone was in her pocket. Her drink was in her hand. She inhaled and exhaled. She heard footsteps approaching her, but no one said anything. She felt someone stand next to her. She didn’t have to see their face or hear their voice to know who it was. This was someone she loved with an intensity that sometimes scared her. She had once said, “I need her in my life” when describing this particular friend to someone. And she wasn’t embarrassed by this want or need she felt and the vulnerability that came with it.

They stood there, in silence, not knowing what the other was thinking. And as let her mind wander, that question of happiness came back to her. She pictured them, next to each other, ice melting in their glasses, the sun slowly setting.

And she realised in that moment that this was what it was like to be content.