content warnings
references to depression, suicidal thoughts, and death
[450 words]
there are times when I feel my life ought to end, now.
the sky no more cerulean blue – soused in black ink, with it its moon and stars too. It is forever pit dark.
and the waters no more glint, no more quench my thirst. Just soak and rot every bit of me. Every breath taken, reeks like open sewage lines along alleys, and lanes in gullies, where garbage dumped rot. And no mushy sugary fragrance sprite out of golden champa, bright white mogra, and tender parijat flowers bloom so thunderously about me.
and even soft melodious Saraswati vina is noise, my ears can’t bear.
I remember that moment, when I thought I was going to step out, get out of the car in which I sat with my sister by my side, take me back home from the hospital I had been taken to. My mind frail, held by thoughts continuously tell, enough. Walk out now, and place yourself out there, now. In front of speeding half yellow, half red, painted buses stuffed with sweating people akin to cut mangoes pushed into jars and soused, mixed in, and coated with raw dripping pounded paste of hot red chillies, spices, and mustard oil. Their drivers grab and press the horn, and honk, as if to slit open everyone’s eardrums, not just those who don’t see them coming. And speed by, as if attending some sudden, urgent nature’s call.
what stopped me? Was it the thought, what such death means.
like brown, green, and grey, yellow frogs croak, leap out of murky pale green pools, and out of black hollow wells. People question, society judge, every action. Guns aimed, and bullets fired explode tough guts. Missiles agile heads like inquisitive monkeys quest, to know the unknown, dare to question the known.
the fish flaps its tail, and bounces about violently, its red mouth caught in a hook dangle down a Man’s Rod tall, solid. A formidable potentate. My sister like myself flaps hers, caught in what is told, unable to go beyond what is known.
not able to see me, what is going on in me.
I like a kingfisher settled on a branch of a fig tree, veiled, and hidden by large leaves, wait to see myself fly and glide like birds do, on seeing the Sun rise. Flap their wings, and soar to meet the sky slowly turn bright blue, appear like an immense glistening swimming pool to dive up, and swim all over in it.
ever moving music, lyrics, songs of free air – unconstrained space – soothe and heal every cell and life in me like sitars, tablas, flutes played, and Sanskritmantras chanted, bhajans sung in heaven’s land.
Devayani Anvekar is illustrator and caricaturist of social and domestic issues. She lives in Goa, India. When drawing fails to help her understand the many faces of human nature, society, and the world–and their dilemmas and predicaments–she turns to books, long walks, and sprawling trees, and she writes poetry as well as fiction and nonfiction prose.
