My name doesn't matter. Therefore I will tell you. It is Jean. In fact it is Subha, but they also call me Jean at work. Didn't I tell you that it doesn't matter?
What matters to me right now is Nothingness, the unbearable lightness of being. I am contemplating various options to end it all. My multicoloured dupattas hang ineffectually on the hooks tacked on this side of the door. There is a bottle of sleeping pills in my dresser drawer that Rahul doesn't know anything about. In fact, there are a lot of things in my dresser drawer that Rahul doesn't know anything about. I look out of the window. 14 floors down is a long way to go. Actually 13 floors, but people call it the 14th floor. Does it really make a difference? Of all these options, the jump down seems the most inviting of the lot.
I stand like this every morning and think these thoughts, weigh the options and then get on with my life. Today I will get on with my death, I swear.
I can hear Dhruv lisping and cooing outside my room and Rahul dressing him. In 15 mins time, they will go off. Rahul to office and Dhruv to the day care. Is that really where they go? Do they also think these thoughts every morning? Does Rahul deliberately wait 2 seconds more than necessary at the signal when the lights turn green and there is a huge truck just behind? Does Dhruv ever look down the balcony railings and wait for the day when he will be able to climb on it and go over the edge?
I must wait. I must let them go off. When Rahul calls out to bid me good bye, I must not open the door. I must pretend to be bathing. Then he will go off. Then I can get on with my...life.
They have gone. I still don't have the courage to do it. I am afraid of falling. :)
There is a painter. He is harnessed safely and the ropes are tethered to the rooftop. He holds a large brush and a can of paint and he swings from wall to wall painting it in broad strokes. He is painting the wall right opposite my window, the D block wall. He has turned around now. He swivels his neck to make sure that I am watching him. He is grinning. Is that all it takes to make this man happy? A woman in a thin cotton night shift looking out of the window with the morning sun shining down on her? Well, lucky man. It takes much more than this to make my day. More money, more love, less commitment, less responsibility, more success,less work. Then maybe, I would be happy and grin like this. Well, I will never know, will I ?
Hell! If I am going, might as well as do one last good turn. I am going to unbutton my shift and give this grinning idiot something to think about.
Its been a while now. He has given up all efforts at painting. He is desperately trying to swivel around and keep the ropes still, but the ropes keep turning round and round. Oh, cruel cruel fate! He must have a crick in his neck by now. I am smoking my 3rd cigarette.
If I hurtled down now, would it scar him for life?
Why is he not making a move to my wall? Perhaps he cant swing this far. He sure could come down, and then make a beeline for my apartment. Perhaps, he thinks that I am not real. It is pleasant but not real. If he were to break this spell, get out of this moment, he would wind up with a fistful of nothingness. I must stay this way, for now, for this man. There are 2 packets of cigarettes left in the dresser drawer
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