《The Cursed Survivor》


 1.1

    I wake up to the six o¡¯clock alarm. I promptly turn it off and go back to sleep. Three more alarms follow before I finally wake up at seven. The succession of alarms has been something I have kept from my college days. The joy of waking up to the first alarm and knowing you have time in your hand to maybe fall asleep for some more time is the best feeling ever. I am kinda addicted to it. My wife doesn''t disapprove of it, so I guess I am good there.


    I check my phone for any messages from her. She is doing her night shift. It''s the first of the month. She has one more. She intends to take it after I leave for work. There aren¡¯t any messages from her. I ping her on WhatsApp. A single tick appears. It doesn¡¯t turn double. It certainly won¡¯t turn blue.


    I have kept that feature off for quite some time now. I have understood that if it is on then people would expect you to reply after they see their ticks turn blue. Cause you have read their message. I don¡¯t like that. I want to reply when I want to. That is how I am now. Earlier, I used to be prompt in replying. I felt that if one didn¡¯t reply within a few minutes then it gave a bad feeling to the sender. So I would religiously reply to the messages I got. One day I realized that even though I was following this, the same wasn¡¯t being reciprocated. Initially, I felt bad. I took a bit of time to process this and finally came to the conclusion that people are busy with their lives. I can¡¯t go about demanding that they reply to my messages when they see them.


    I applied this to myself. I wouldn¡¯t reply immediately. I would take my time and reply. I received a bit of flak for this from some of my close friends but other than that no one else noticed. I switched off the blue ticks once and for all. It has remained like that ever since. My wife has asked me to switch it on. But I didn¡¯t. She gave me the looks and asked me the reason for it. I gave her my thought on it. She let it go. So yeah, that¡¯s the story with the blue ticks.


    It''s been five minutes now. I am scrolling through my Instagram feed. Nothing new or interesting, just a few stories from my friends across the globe. I revert back to WhatsApp. No double tick yet. I keep the phone aside, pull on my bed sheet and go back to sleep. I have another twenty minutes. She normally gets relieved by seven-forty. Her call comes around that time, to come and pick her up. I just have to get up, brush my teeth, and wear my pants and tee. I will reach her under ten minutes. We should be back by quarter past eight. There are plans to have breakfast from a restaurant - Masala dosa from Indian Coffee House. I am not a big fan of masala dosa. I would rather prefer a good ghee roast with sambar and chutneys - the more the merrier - than masala dosa. But here the masala has beetroot in it, a twist to the usual tale of masala dosas. Normally they make the masala filling with potatoes and the basic condiments. Here they put beetroot in the masala, giving it a dark purplish color along with a different taste. Their coffee is also great. And vada too. She likes to have a vada always. It is kind of like her staple order. Today I might try puri masala.


    I fall asleep and wake up to the seven-thirty alarm. Once again I stretch out my arms and switch it off. The sun is bright and shining in from the window. I pick up the phone and unlock it. It takes me to WhatsApp. I see that the message hasn¡¯t been delivered yet. I open her chat and text her once again, calling out her name and stretching her last letter, followed by full stops. I send it. The waiting symbol shows up and stays. I look at it hard. Then I look at the top of the screen. Both my networks are up. I am using the internet in the primary one. I turn my phone into airplane mode and wait for a few seconds before I turn it back on. It took some time for the network to get established. That doesn''t happen normally. I guess there is some issue with the network this morning. Maybe that is why the message isn¡¯t getting delivered. Or the servers might have crashed. I am in no mood to go and search for it on the internet. If something of that sort has happened, then I will get to know about it as the day goes by. It is sure to come on Twitter as hot news, memes, and whatnot. Nowadays content gets created and destroyed in seconds. Anyways I laze around in my bed. Maybe her battery must be down and she has switched off her internet to conserve it. I think I should give her a call and ask her when to come. She does get late some days when there are some last-minute problems with her patients and she has to cater to their needs and sit and update them in the register.


    This duty was scheduled for the day before yesterday. It was our first wedding anniversary. She managed to exchange it with her colleague. We went out for a nice dinner at one of the fancy restaurants in the town. With all the Covid cases rising, it was difficult to find a good place. But we had been to one and we really liked the ambience and the food. We couldn¡¯t sit at the poolside on that occasion, as a wedding reception was underway. This time we got to. It was really nice. Although we felt a bit humid when we sat down, we got over it soon enough. It felt soothing and peaceful. There wasn¡¯t much crowd, which was a bonus for us. It felt as if the place was ours. We sat and chatted away while the food arrived. We ordered the non-veg platter. It was a sure-shot dish that couldn¡¯t go wrong. Whenever we go out to some fancy restaurants we try their platter. It has been one of our things. From all the gathered experiences, the platter being offered here was one of the best. For the next dish, we decided to go for a beef steak. She was apprehensive about it. I hoped for it to turn out well. It did. She liked it. When it came to the button mushrooms that were served alongside the steak, she resorted to having a single bite of it. I had to gobble down the rest of them. She is not a mushroom person.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The highlight of the evening was none of this. It came after dinner. While we were leaving, we decided to click a few selfies. After a couple of them, I asked her to stand near a wall that had a nice texture to it. The light was falling in a good way. I clicked a couple of her pictures and boy, they turned out to be the best ones I have clicked of her to date. She wholeheartedly agreed to it. She was quick to point out to me that I had taken a whole year to click a good picture of her. She was elated. I could see it on her face. I was happy too. I will probably print it and stick it to our album. We have an empty album lying around. We have decided to fill it with our photos as and when we print them. That is a task in itself, although it has become way easier now. It''s just that I do get lazy at times and then I postponed it infinitely. Then something or the other finally leads me to take initiative and get it done. It has been my life story. To sit and procrastinate away time is my hobby.


    I have been a lazy bum from the beginning. During my school days, I was much more active. I used to go out and play football daily in the evening with my friends for nearly two hours. Then I would come back, take a bath, sit and watch something. I might open my PC and play something on it. That depends on whether I have my exams approaching or not. I mostly never studied on a daily basis. Sometimes I did. But if I felt I was lacking in something and was feeling left behind, unable to grasp, or unable to solve, then I would sit and study and understand it and solve it. I would not procrastinate then. Now, I cannot.


    I dial her number. The call gets dropped in an instant. I dial it again. Same thing. I check for the network. Three-fourths of it are being shown. That should do it, and yet the call is not getting connected. I try calling her with the other network. Normally I use the primary one. It has been my number from 2008 onwards. I haven¡¯t changed it nor have I ported to another network. I would have happily remained in it if it weren¡¯t for their unwillingness to upgrade and update themselves when the world around them was doing so. A new competitor came into play and lured us all in. I too followed the lot and took their sim card after I got a new phone. My previous one didn¡¯t have the capacity to handle the new tech. So I took the new network and have been using it as my mobile internet. It hasn¡¯t disappointed me yet. It has consistently delivered. Although in one situation it failed. So did the other networks. Except for my primary one. It helped us to recover something we thought we had lost. That story is for some other day.


    I switched my networks and dial her. I hear a couple of beeps after which the phone goes silent. No sounds at all. I check the screen to see if the call had been dropped. It hasn¡¯t. The call wasn¡¯t picked up. The call timer isn¡¯t visible. Also, my phone gives a small vibration whenever the call gets picked up. So far it has done nothing of that sort. I cut the call and dial again. It''s the same thing. I sense a bit of frustration rising in me.


    I open WhatsApp and try giving her a voice call. I knew the chances of the call getting connected were less as the message hasn¡¯t gone yet. The hourglass or whatever that symbol is called is displayed next to the message. The call doesn¡¯t connect. The Internet is down. I switch to my primary network. It has a meager internet pack in it which is to be used in dire times, like this one. It takes a whole minute for the network to realize that it has to provide me with internet services. I sometimes feel it gets lazy if I don¡¯t use it. Or is it my phone, I don¡¯t know. It is slow. And in these fast times, it is kinda unacceptable.


    Finally, the networks switch. But I don¡¯t see any 4G, 3G, H, or H+ symbols on top of my network bar. This one is already down. I decide to send a message though. What if it goes? One can always hope for the best. Actually one should always hope for the best. I am an optimistic person. I type out the message and send it. Nothing happens.


    So both my internet connectivity is down. The calls are not going through even though the network is being shown. I get up from the bed finally. I am awake now and frustrated at the turn of events. I need to somehow get in contact with my wife. I hope she is doing the same thing now. I get up from the bed and walk to the wash basin to brush my teeth.


    Our house owner likes to keep birds as his pets. Today their chirping is on the lower side. Apart from that, there are no other sounds. The trees rustle as a breeze passes by. It lingers around for a few minutes. The sound of my brushing is the loudest now. I gargle and finish it. The breeze dies out. The birds stop chirping. In that instant, an eerie silence descends for a second. I have never felt anything like it. I can¡¯t even explain it. The thought stays inside my head for those few seconds after which it disappears. I face the mirror. I see myself, like always. Nothing has changed.

 1.2

    I put on my pants and tee and dash to grab the keys to the scooter. I descend the stairs towards the open entrance. A couple of crows fly by, cawing loudly amongst themselves. I mount my scooter and start it. As I accelerate it to warm it up, I notice that the gate has not been opened yet. The caretaker opens it at seven. He is never late in doing that. He might have slept off today. I guess I am the first one to leave the apartment. Normally we are not the first ones to leave. Our opposite neighbour or the ones below us are. My wife is actually the last one. Her reporting time is a bit flexible in that manner. It enables us to squeeze in some extra minutes in the bed snuggly cuddled. I love our early morning cuddles. As the alarms go off, we switch them off and then go on to cuddle each other. She likes it. Sometimes it gets so comfortable that it becomes hard to get out of bed. When we finally do, it has become late and she has to run to work.


    She sometimes skips her breakfast in the process which is something I detest. I pack in fruit for her to munch on after reaching. She knows this. So she goes and takes a late breakfast. I hate skipping breakfast. It is the single most important meal of the day for me. I have personally experienced a lack of energy and enthusiasm whenever I skipped it. Sometimes it has taken even a toll on the day''s proceedings. Those incidents made me decide not to skip breakfast and have something that makes me see it through the day.


    I drive towards the gate, get out of the scooter and open the gate. I hop back in and exit the lane.


    Our apartment opens up to a small lane. This quickly joins in with the main road of our colony. Trivandrum is known for its early implementation of resident associations. Our rented apartment is in one of them. It is a good colony. The people here belong to the upper-middle-class strata. It is quite evident in the houses they have built for themselves. It is also how things are here in Kerala. The house shows the social status symbol. He will work throughout his life to earn money and make a grand home for his family. In this process, he forgets to enjoy his life. This mentality is slowly changing in the upcoming generations. I believe that my generation falls in the transition phase of it.


    When we got married I asked my wife what her concept was about owning a home. In a culture that promotes owning a home, having a car as marks of your prosperity and well-being, and fitting into the cultural norm, she gave a beautiful reply which instantly lighted up my face. I couldn¡¯t contain the happiness it brought to me. I hugged her real tight and gave her a good kiss. She was very surprised at it. She stared at me for a while following the kiss. She said she wanted a house after we have kids and sometimes into the future when our kids are in their teens. That meant there were some fifteen and more years to go on before we should even think about it. I was happy because it clearly showed she wasn¡¯t the kind to blindly follow whatever society expects us to. I knew this from the time we had started talking and were getting to know each other. She clearly had her own perceptions and principles and they were unique and beautiful. These things surely attracted me to her and I guess it was these small moments that catapulted our union.


    There is this one old house on the main colony road. It has a very distinct architecture that resembles the homes made in a certain time period. I have seen them in other places too. She likes them a lot. On one of our evening strolls, she told me that if it was possible she would love to buy this home. It was at this moment that I observed the house a bit more thoroughly. It surely did have a charm of its own. The lawn in the front was actually a really nice feature. The property was triangular in shape and that somehow contributed more to its uniqueness. It was sitting in an elevated position from the road giving it a slight towering feel. The paint was also a basic light yellow - the kind from that particular time period. It also felt stretched out. I don¡¯t know how long it is but from the view that we got it did seem to be long and spacious. I would have probably loved this home if I were in that particular time period. But since I am not, I can¡¯t relate to it much. I would like to see its interiors though. Maybe it might have this one particular kind of old-school charm that I have always been a sucker for.


    I have told her my concept of our home. It is not mainstream. I wish to have a home in the hills. It should be far away from the nearby town, a little bit difficult to access, and should be in a good green cover over a good expanse of land. A weather-susceptible electricity connection would do the job. Running water from the rocks would be fantastic. And probably areas to wander and explore - a spot to see sunrise or sunset and a rock to sit and chill with your near and dear ones on moonlight nights. The home would be a small single storied one. It should be the epitome of functionality. No space should be wasted. Sofas that can turn into comfortable beds, pull-up seats, space-saving wardrobes, and a minimal and functional kitchen. It should be a nice cozy place that preserves the heat and creates an atmosphere of warmth and wildness.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    She was interested in hearing this. She even nodded her approval for this after pointing out that this wouldn¡¯t be our regular home. It would be a place where we would take our kids during vacations and for family outings. I agreed to it. In her profession, this wasn¡¯t feasible. I knew we would eventually settle down in a city where it would be easy for her to work and even find a new one if she ever runs out of her old one. She has a long career up ahead. As for myself, well I am not sure. I can be easily distracted and can chase a wild goose here and there at times. She grounds me, which is very much essential.


    It is nearly eight and it is hot. Gone were the days when January had a hint of chillness to it. On New Year, it rained. We had gone to a church by the beach. It is our favorite place in the city. Its proximity to a beach that has minimal crowd attracted us from the first time we went there. The church too is really gorgeous. We have our car parking spot and a set agenda whenever we visit it. First, we go into the church and pray. Then we go to the beach, walk to where there is the least crowd, sit for a while and talk about something or maybe go out and wet our feet. In the process, if a sunset happens to occur, we savor it and feel happy and blessed to be able to witness the beauty of nature.


    In my hometown, my mother says there are days when the mist hangs around till eight in the morning. I am not surprised by it now. I would have been probably twenty years ago. But now it is true. And my hometown isn¡¯t in the hills or any place where you would expect the mist to shroud you. It is at the beginning of the hills. In my childhood, I never witnessed anything of this sort. For seeing the mist, we used to go for a thirty-kilometer drive to the nearest hilly area. There in the evening, it would get really chilly as the mist starts rolling in. Soon its density would increase to such proportions that it would be difficult to see someone standing ten feet away from you. The chill, in the beginning, would be fun. I would enjoy it with my cousins. But soon enough you start to feel the cold. It ceases to be fun and exciting. We wouldn¡¯t have brought anything to counter it and so we find ourselves back in the warmth of our car, heading back home through the roads carefully. I forgot to mention earlier that this is one more thing that I want in our home in the hills. I want the mist to engulf us from time to time and leave us enticed and jubilant. There is something exciting about it. I have always been a fan of it and love it. I know this dream of mine will take time to fruition. But that¡¯s okay. I have time. We have just started out with our lives. There is so much more to see and experience and explore.


    There is a shop that sells milk and essentials. I find that it is closed as I pass it. We ran out of milk. I need to buy a couple of them. I¡¯ll buy them while coming back from the shop near the main road. There are a couple of shops there that cater to these needs. One will always find the basic essential things you are looking for in one of them.


    I see no people on the roads. Or at the doctor''s house near the shop I pass by. One can usually find some people huddled up near the gate of this doctor in the mornings. He is a retired professor from the Government Medical College and is well known for his diagnosis in the city. He consults only on weekdays. Today is a Thursday. I wonder why it is so. All these thoughts rush into my head when I speed past the house. I slow down the scooter a bit to turn and look back at the house. There is nothing at all.


    My wife is doing her post-graduation from the same college. She is in her second year now. It is going well. Her batch mates are really fun. They come to our home on some evenings to play the few board games we have. Currently, it is a game called Sequence. It does get very competitive from time to time. It keeps you engaged and before you know it the clock has struck twelve. Those are really fun nights. We will probably have one of them this coming week.


    With her duty and studies and my weird work pattern, we somehow manage to make the best of the time we have. Whenever I am here at home, she would manage to come early. We would then have our lunch together. She would be tired and after the meal, she would doze off watching some series or movie on Netflix. I would also doze off cause it is really comfortable to hug her, which in turn lulls me to sleep. We would then wake up and have our evening tea or coffee.


    She likes South Indian filter coffee so that is the one we make if we are having coffee. If it is tea and if she is brewing it, she would add some cardamom to it and make it flavourful. The rest of the day we spend watching something or the other, some random stuff in reels and shorts and all that. She then takes time off to sit and study for a while. At this time, I might get back to the book I was reading in the morning. We call our kith and kin and catch up on them. Before we know it, it is time for dinner. More Netflix follows it.


    Sometimes we sit and play something amongst ourselves. She says I am very competitive. I am. I feel when playing a game, one should play it to win it. Victory is secondary. Your intention should always be to win it fair and square and in the process adhere to good sportsman spirit. It does get us into some tussles but that¡¯s all part of the game. Lately, she has beaten me by a good margin in sequence. I have therefore dubbed her to be the sequence queen. She chides at me as I announce it. She is a queen for sure. My queen.

 1.3

    I am about to reach the main intersection. It joins the main road that leads to the city. Along the way, there are a couple of schools. They have opened and have been functioning for the past couple of months. With the rise in cases following the third wave, there is a chance that they will be shut down. The officials have to make a decision on it.


    This is the time when one gets to see students come to the school in autos, buses, or their own vehicles. There will be a small crowd around the gate. Today I see nothing of that sort. No cars or bikes or autos or minibus. The gate is closed too. It is not padlocked though. A couple of dogs are seen sleeping at the foot of the gate. Apart from that, there is nothing else here.


    I slow down as I reach the intersection. There is no traffic. Nor are there any vehicles on the road. It is the same feeling one gets when one steps out into the roads on a hartal. This is very weird.


    While I slowed down my scooter to check for the traffic, the scooter died out. It has a small problem with the slow speed or the base acceleration. I have been meaning to get it checked and get it repaired for quite some time now but my lethargy has successfully prevented it.


    I take a look at my surroundings. There are absolutely no vehicles plying on the road. Nor is there any sign of them. A scooter is parked in front of the grocery shop. I was supposed to buy milk from there while returning. That is not happening now. It is closed. So are the adjacent shops and the ones beyond that. I look in front of me. The bakery and the other small shops are closed. On my left, the medical store is closed. At the opposite end of the main road, all the shops are closed. Every single shop is closed. There is no hint of its opening. There is no activity of any sort at all. This gave me a spooky chill. I don¡¯t know what to make of it. At eight in the morning, the bare minimum activities that are visible in a place are absent. I start my scooter and enter the main road.


    Three kilometers is all it takes from here to reach her department. I always prefer to drop her off with the scooter. I hate taking our car out. It just gets stuck in traffic. With a scooter, you can wriggle your way around and avoid stopping for a long.


    Whenever I am at home she gets a bit late, which is more than enough to change the traffic. Every minute you are late the traffic increases. It might not be visible initially but as you enter the city limits and enter the premises of the medical college, the traffic makes itself known to you. Sometimes it even becomes frustrating to drive your scooter. We have had numerous experiences in which it has become a pain to navigate the packed road. No matter how smartly you drive, you are bound to come across some idiots on the road. While there is no way of avoiding them, one can only take a deep breath and be thankful that this is the least amount of stupidity one has seen for the day.


    If she is running really late, I gladly hand over the keys to her. She is a kickass driver. I am more of the conservative kind. At first, I was a bit apprehensive to sit next to her when she drove. She has a racing spirit to her whenever she is on the wheels. She would cut corners smartly and exploit the small caveats in the traffic to the fullest. Soon enough I become very comfortable with it. I realized that this is her usual driving style and it would be better if I leave her to that. I gave her little advice from time to time but later on, I realized there was no need for it. She did point it out to me on a couple of occasions which I had casually dismissed.


    Also, I love to sit behind her on the scooter. I would hug her and lean on her back. Sometimes I hug her and rub her belly. She smiles at me when I do this. Sometimes she questions me with a stern voice. I tell her to keep her eyes on the road and drive on. Some feelings cannot be recreated. They are to be lived and enjoyed at that moment.


    I like to drive. I have been driving for a very long time. As much as I love to drive, I enjoy the pleasure that comes from being the one being driven. I use this to full effect. I love to observe my surroundings as we pass along the road. I can endlessly gaze out from my window and fall in love with the changing scenery. I love the wind in my hair although because of the perpetual heat throughout the year, one cannot drive without switching on the AC. The only respite comes in the wee hours of the day or at night. I roll down the window and soak it. Sometimes I put my hand out and enjoy the nice cool feeling it gives. As her pillion rider, I look around and try spotting new shops or anything of remote interest. When I see some interesting shop or restaurant or something of that sort, I announce it to her. She does ask me from time to time as to why I do it. I feel that they might come in useful someday, so it is better to know where they are and have at least a vague idea of where it is or what it is. I think she still doesn''t get it. But yeah, that is something I do when I am traveling.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I rev up. It is totally deserted. Fifty is the economical limit for the scooter. I drive at fifty. I always tend to economize certain things and mileage has been something I try to do. It has been like that since the time I started driving. It makes me shift gears and reach the top gear well within sixty and cruise in and around seventy on highways. It makes me hover the speedometer near the green upper limit set in the scooter. I know this wouldn¡¯t allow me to reach my destination within time. Since time has become the new currency of sorts I dismiss this style when there is a deadline. Even if there isn¡¯t one I would create one and would try to optimize it. But when you have empty roads and nothing to worry about and alone, I let myself fall prey to extending the mileage of the vehicle. She doesn''t know of it. I don''t think anyone knows about it. People might think that it is the way I drive but seldom do they know the reason behind it. I felt it to be more useful when time didn¡¯t matter. But not now. Time does matter now. Every minute counts. I have realized it painfully.


    Half a kilometer in, I come across a car that has smashed into the pole. A cloud of light white smoke is bellowing out from the bonnet. It is an old Maruti Alto. I stop and look at it. There aren¡¯t any airbags. This one was manufactured before the airbag norms came into strict compliance. There is no one inside the car. I park my scooter and hop off. The driver''s window is down. I take a peep inside. a purse lies near the gearbox console. Some loose coins too. A bag has fallen from the back seat to the flooring in front of it. The keys are still in the car, in the on position. I switch it off. I don''t know why I did it. I just felt like doing it. Maybe it was instinctive. Switching off is one thing we have been told to do if something goes wrong or fails. I walk to the front and have a look at the bonnet. The car lies crashed onto a thick tree. The front is gone completely. The windshield is broken. The smoke still rises. I hope there are survivors. Without airbags, there shouldn¡¯t be. But there wasn¡¯t any trail of blood in the interior. It was clean that way. I give it one more glimpse and go back to the scooter. If there were survivors they would have been admitted right away to the Medical College. She wouldn¡¯t know though. That''s not her department. But if needed the information can be got. I dismiss the thought.


    Before I start my scooter I take out my mobile and open WhatsApp. The first message hasn¡¯t been delivered yet and the second one hasn¡¯t even gone. Surely the servers must be down. Both my networks are still being shown on the screen. I dial her. Few seconds of silence and the call drops. Communication has gone for a toss it seems. Is this how the end of the world would be? If so then this is very shitty. This matters a lot now.


    Two decades ago, maybe not. Now, when we are so dependent on the palm-sized gadget we have with us twenty-four-seven, it seems atrocious and unbelievable to be devoid of it in our last moments. I am frustrated once again. I was calm when I began the ride. The thought had entirely skipped my head and the empty road was very alluring. Now it has hit back and I feel agitated. I feel like throwing my mobile into the tarmac and seeing the glass shatter into a thousand pieces. But it wouldn¡¯t solve my problem. Instead, it would only worsen it. I take a deep breath, calm myself a bit and stash away the phone in my pocket. The only sounds to be heard are the ones from the birds. They seem to have become more active for god knows what reason. A stray dog suddenly walks down from a nearby lane. It starts barking at me. I quickly start my scooter and throttle away.


    I am starting to feel uneasy and concerned for Anna. I don''t know what to make out of whatever I am seeing. A lack of seeing. Empty roads, shops shuttered shut, not a single human to be seen, I really don''t know what to make of it.


    A bike lies fallen on the sidewalk. It is as if the rider lost control and veered away. I slow down right next to it. No sign of blood or anything else. The keys are on the bike, just like how it was on the car. This seems very fishy now.


    I lift my gaze and look into the distance. Another car lies haphazardly on the other side of the road. The lamp post on the divider is bent and the light is cracking. The light should have been off by now. It is lit on the other lamp posts that follow it. I seriously don''t know what to make of it. I ride on, a bit slowly. I am trying to grasp my surroundings.


    Am I in a dream? I don''t think so. It seems very real. If I am then I hope I wake up quickly and get on with the day. If not then I don''t know what to make of all this.


    I am adjacent to the car now. The car is facing me. The hazard lights have gone off. The front lights are on. I can see the white airbags across the dash. Water is dropping from the radiator. I see no one in the car. I am in doubt as to whether I should go and check it out. But I feel scared. I suddenly feel like a fish out of water. I feel choked. I feel my pocket for my mobile in the hope that it might vibrate at this instant and give me an assurance that the network is back on. It stays still. A few more meters ahead the road will join with the state highway. From where I am now I can see nothing at all, save a bunch of cars that have crashed into something or the other. What is going on here? Lord help me figure out whatever is happening. Praying to the almighty, I start my scooter and resume my ride.

 1.4

    Have I told you about the feeling of riding in the early hours?


    The sun is up. It is starting to heat the earth. Soon it will get hot and people will complain about the heat. It is January. One always associates months like December and January with winters. But this is a tropical state. There are no winters here. I would classify the climate here into three - the summers, the monsoons, and then the hot season.


    Mind you, here the summers are really hot and the hot season is a little bit less hot than that. The mist hanging out in some hilly areas in the morning or in the evenings doesn''t attribute to the characteristics of the typical winter. The nights are hot. People living on the topmost floor of any apartment are bound to have switched on their AC before going to bed. One can¡¯t sleep in the heat that remains in the house even after the sun has gone down. Stepping out of the rooms into the balcony will surely offer you respite because the surroundings have started to cool down. That is a good feeling. If a wind blows by it feels much better. But otherwise, it is hot and humid. People will sweat and might take a couple of showers a day to keep themselves fresh and non-smelly.


    The only difference between these two months is that the sun is a bit lazier than it was during the summers. It takes time to rise and heat up. As the day begins one can find a slight chill in the air.


    When you jump into your bike or scooter in a hurry, you are not thinking about all these. You will be in your tee and pants. The tee would be a normal one, not like a pullover or something you would wear for the cold. Actually, we don¡¯t have any winter wear here. At least not in the major parts of the state. Towards the hilly areas, sweaters and jackets are worn by the people. They need it. For people living near the coastal regions and the area between the two, this isn¡¯t a requirement. Jackets might be available to those who are passionate about riding motorcycles. Otherwise no wool.


    So off you go. You are bound to speed up soon. And then it hits you. The chillness. In your face, chest, and in your arms and fingers. The more you accelerate and speed up, the more you feel it. Within seconds you feel cold.


    It is a good feeling if you can enjoy it. I enjoy it. I don¡¯t think older people enjoy it. They might also be clad in their mundus or lungis, making it even worse for them. They will feel the cold more in their thighs and their private parts. This is why you will find aged people wearing mundus driving their bikes or scooters at a leisurely pace at this hour. There are exceptions to this though. The daily ones - the milk guy and the newspaper guy. They are actually more prepared cause they are fully aware of it. They would have donned themselves with some ear cover or a monkey cap for some protection from the cold. They have gotten used to it for a very long time.


    I love to drive in the wee hours. This is the time when traffic is the least. You get to drive before the sun wakes up. It warms you as you reach your destination. I lower the window to the point of letting in enough air to not make us feel cold. Sometimes I put my hands out and enjoy the cold. But not for long.


    I have only had a couple of early morning rides in my lifetime. I don¡¯t own a bike. To be honest, even though I might come across as an amateur bike enthusiast, I have never given it much serious thought. Mainly it is because of my job. I am away from my home for almost half the year. When I do get back I take time to travel and explore places. Or just laze out my day. I have a scooter with me which has served my purposes very well. So the idea of buying a bike and having it stand idle almost all the time was something I detested. I do drive my friend¡¯s bikes whenever I feel like it - which is a rare occasion.


    One of the early morning rides happened in Bangalore. It was a chilly February morning in 2014. It was cold. We were prepared for this. Or we thought. We had a pullover and a jacket to ourselves plus a beanie that was pulled over the ear for the pillion. At five we set out for Nandi Hills. It is one of the quintessential rides everyone takes if they have been living in Bangalore. It has become so popular that it is regularly featured in movies. This has led to it being crowded over time but that is not something new in the country. As soon as something gains popularity, you can see it transform into a hub of sorts, raking in people until the time its fad runs out or until a better competitor comes into play.


    It took us nearly ten minutes to get out of the city limits. We didn¡¯t feel the cold much here. It was okay. The pollution and the concrete jungle trap in enough heat to last for a long time. As soon as we entered the countryside we felt the cold hit us. After a couple of minutes of speeding at sixty, we knew we had made a grave mistake. We forgot to take gloves. My friend who was riding first stopped the bike and took time to warm his palms. I asked him if we should go back and get it. He said if we did that we would miss the sunrise from the top. He didn¡¯t want me to miss the sunrise. He is a really nice chap. He was my roommate back in my college days. We have a very good bond that has stood the test of time. Although we don¡¯t call each other much these days, we do text from time to time. When we do have a call, it would stretch out for an hour. It would be a comprehensive update on what is happening in each other''s lives and of our mutual friends.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    There was a shop nearby. We got out and walked to it. Tea was boiling. We had two black teas to warm us up. I took the bike. A couple of minutes into it, I couldn¡¯t feel my palms. He tells me to go below fifty. I slow down to it. There is a slight respite. We endure this and take turns to reach our destination. In the end, it was all worth it. Up on top of the hills, as the red sun pierces the horizon and grows, the peace and happiness of it makes you forget your troubles and appreciate the beauty in front of you. It was cold up there too. A sly breeze was playing around too which made it all the colder. But the sunrise took away the coldness and the pain and filled us with a certain joy that can¡¯t be explained.


    We lingered on for a while, exploring the area a bit. We had black tea once again and by eight we left the place. It was still cold. The tree cover along the winding roads prevented the sunlight to warm them up. But the cold was fading away. Since I can¡¯t go fast downhill, the speed was apt to enjoy the chillness that hit us. At the base of the hill, we stopped at a restaurant and had a good strong coffee. It was getting warmer and warmer as the sun rose in the sky. The ride back was much more comfortable.


    Today I felt the cold when I took the scooter out of our home. It hit me. It was nice. I forgot about it soon enough. As the ride progressed, my mind was processing all that it was seeing around. Although it couldn¡¯t make heads or tails about it, it was on it, and in that process, it forgot to give heed to the cold. I think it successfully blocked out that feeling. I am sure that it was completely involuntary. I don¡¯t know how to do it by myself. I was reminded of it when a breeze hit me. The sudden chill it brought in gave me goosebumps.


    The next main junction lies a quarter of a kilometer away. This is a busy junction. The traffic signal would be up and running. Yet there are policemen stationed at the junction to regulate the traffic. In their absence, a bottleneck can be formed, which usually leads to an unnecessary traffic jam along my side of the road.


    The various tea stalls that line the pavement are a place of bustling activity. Immigrant daily workers crowd here to have their daily dose of tea and snacks. This is their breakfast. A couple of them serve the usual breakfast items. Today there is nothing of this sort happening. There is no one around, no shops open, and no vehicle on the road. In fact, there isn¡¯t any movement at all. Everything seems to be in a frozen state. That is how it is. A frozen state. It is as if someone has said ¡®Statue¡¯ and the whole place has frozen. I know that doesn''t account for the veered car or the fallen bikes, but still, that is how it seems.


    I love reading books. After having read 1984 by George Orwell, I began reading more dystopian books. They took me to a kind of future we can¡¯t normally imagine and got me hooked on a gripping narrative. Normally the protagonist wouldn¡¯t fare well. A tragic ending would be in store for them. We get to know it somewhere down the line. But we still carry on because the dystopian future has us entrapped in its enchanting snare. There is no escaping it until we finish it. A future without books, or with different creatures having an uncanny resemblance to humans, one without fear or emotions to rule, all these worlds are actually scary. You might want to be in that situation when the protagonist pulls off a heroic move and takes the story arc in a different direction. But other than that I am pretty sure no one in their right mind would even think of such strange and crazy futures. At least for now. For the foreseeable future, everything looks good, if we factor out the Covid pandemic.


    The pandemic surely has given us a picture of how truly frail we are. A small virus is all that it takes to bring about our downfall. This is what we should be taking away from this pandemic. As a species that wants to prolong its tenure in this cosmos and to understand what it is and what it means, we should set aside our differences and unite against all those that can potentially bring us to our knees. The third wave is upon us. The way these waves seek us out as the seasons'' pass, we will be living with it at least for the next few years. Survival is our main objective followed by the preparedness to welcome the sun over the horizon as a new day begins. Economies have suffered, lives have been lost in masses, and years of progress have been reset. We find ourselves questioning our sanity and health.


    I too suffered during this pandemic. I was stuck in my job on a remote site. Hopes of going back home seemed bleak. After two months of being stuck, I finally returned home. In the one and a half years since its beginning, I had to undergo long quarantines all by myself. I have spent more time in a hotel room and an empty house than I have ever in my life. I was familiar with the word quarantine from the movie Aviator. I never imagined using it on a daily basis. It has become a common word. Masks have become a way of life. They hang near the entrance of every home. It dons your face the moment you step out and stays there till you get back. You can forget to take your watch or your phone, but not your mask. It has become apparel we wear.


    Death has come to adults of all age groups. First the elders. Then the youngsters. Now there is no such distinction. With every passing wave, the virus mutates and enhances itself, probing the efficiencies of our vaccines and our strategies to counter it. Over the long run, this is going to be a part and parcel of our lives, like the seasonal flu. We have to live with it. I guess we are finally coming to terms with it.


    I have a mask on. It is an N95 mask. My wife makes it a point to wear either one of these or a three-ply surgical mask. She doesn''t agree with the various cloth masks that are available in the market. It was this decision that probably insulated me from contracting the virus when I went to work on a project during the second wave. When it comes to our safety and our near and dear ones, she is staunch in her views. She will take a hard stand to get them implemented. She is my rock and pillar. I can¡¯t imagine a life without her.

 1.5

    Ulloor junction is a busy junction. It lies on the national highway connecting Kollam in the north and Kanyakumari in the south. A kilometer ahead in the southern direction lies the Medical College. Ambulances coming from the north pass through this junction. They are always given priority. A path will be carved for them by the policemen. Today there are no ambulances to be seen or heard of. Nor are there any incessant honking of cars and buses. An eerie silence prevails. A couple of cars have crashed onto either side of the junction. They are hard crashes. It seems that the vehicle wasn¡¯t moving at a high speed when the crash happened. Unlike the first one, I saw these are better. Apart from that everything else is kind of similar. There is no one inside these cars. On a couple of fallen bikes, there isn¡¯t any trace of human life. I think if I go and check these cars for their keys, I am sure to find them inside the car locked in the ignition. The street lamps are still on. I ride to the junction and will be taking the straight road to the college.


    When I moved in with her after our marriage, we took time to adjust to life with each other. We are two very distinct individuals. Our tastes differ and so do our views. We have different approaches to things. Sometimes they clash with each other. But they have been healthy clashes. We talk it out and try to make sense of it together. Soon we would have brushed it aside and would be proceeding on with our day. Initially, she would take the scooter to go to college. Whenever she left the house, I would plant a kiss on her forehead and give her a good hug. As she took the scooter out of the apartment complex, I would look at her drive out from one of the bedroom windows. I would follow her till she went out of my sight. My day began after that.


    Nowadays I drop her off and pick her up from college. It has become a ritual of sorts. We have our breakfast and get ready by eight. Most of the time I would be the one taking the wheels. She takes it whenever she feels she is getting late. When she is the pillion she likes to sit in a sideways stance. She tells me that she is more comfortable sitting in the normal way but she has always wanted to sit sideways and travel with whoever she was gonna end up with. She was fascinated seeing how her parents traveled in that manner and wanted to experience it once she got married. She likes to hug me and hold onto me in that position. Having done this for quite some time now, she has become very comfortable in it and has given up the thought of sitting the normal way. I have become very fond of it too. It feels very couple-like. It takes me back to my childhood days too when my parents also traveled in their scooter in the same manner. Up to a certain age, I got to sit in the front. As I was gaining height at a good pace, I was relegated to sitting in between them. Soon I was too big for that. A scooter wasn¡¯t enough for the three of us.


    Sitting behind me, she would observe our surroundings and pass on any interesting thing she comes across. Sometimes it would be the way someone was staring at us. She would scratch my thighs and draw my attention. Then she would whisper it to me in a very normal way, making sure that the person she was talking about remained in the dark. Mostly I would give some crappy remark which would either evoke a cheerful laugh or a sarcastic pinch. In both instances, I would laugh, which would create a lighter mood within us. This happens when we were waiting for the signal to turn green at this junction.


    While we wait for the signal, a couple of restaurants in the surrounding have always attracted us. I tell her that we have to check them out one day. She concurs. But it hasn¡¯t happened yet. These aren¡¯t fancy restaurants. They are the local ones, where one is bound to get fresh local food. They display their menu out in the front on large blackboards - a typical menu of a Kerala restaurant. I feel shops like these are bound to have at least one dish that would surpass all the others. It would make the visit worthwhile. I really want to explore them and find it out. It is not an easy task but worth a try.


    Hearing all this would make you think that I am a big foodie and love to eat. Well, I love to eat. And I like to discover new places and try them out. But I can¡¯t eat much. I am someone who pecks, as put by my mother and wife. It is like feeding the chickens. You keep the food and they would peck at it. That is how I eat. A seven-year-old would eat more than I would. Even my grandfather eats almost double the amount I have for breakfast. He is in good health for a eighty-six year old. I am pretty sure I wouldn¡¯t be in that state when I approach that number. Eighty-six looks far from happening. Seventy is what we see for ourselves.


    I used to eat better when I was in college. During the final year, whenever a treat was organized by my friend for getting a job, I could finish off half a grilled chicken with ease. There would be enough space left for a dessert too. Now the thought itself terrifies me. Even quarter-grilled chicken looks daunting. I guess my intestines have shriveled. Stomach too. It is good in a way. I am healthy and feel great. The only bad thing that has occurred as a result of this is the decrease in my drinking capacity. I am done with a bottle of beer now. Back then I could easily finish off two bottles and maybe help myself to another half. I would be steady. I have always made it a point to drink till the point I am happy high. I would stop and drink no more cause I know it would finally waste me and end up crashing on a bed, or on the floor. I would be done for the night. I don¡¯t want that. I want to be up for the night, enjoy the atmosphere and see all the shenanigans my friends are pulling off. This is what makes me feel great.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I am taking a lot of time to reach her. I know this is not good but I can¡¯t help it. I can¡¯t make heads or tails or what is going on around here. This is affecting me. I am also wondering why isn¡¯t she calling me or why hasn¡¯t the networks come up again. I feel nauseous thinking about it.


    The whole place feels like a ghost city. I have read about ghost cities somewhere. Maybe I have seen a movie or documentary, I don¡¯t remember. They take us through this deserted city that has been left idle for years. The houses have started to degrade. Wild vegetation has slowly taken over and the place has a desolate feeling.


    I approach the junction. It is not a great sight.


    On the road that leads towards Kesavadasapuram, a couple of bikes have collided with each other and lie in a mangled heap. From one of them, petrol is leaking out. A car has crashed onto the pavement railing. Another car crashed onto a parked ambulance and pushed it onto the pavement near a bakery.


    The road that I need to take has double the crashes. A car has rammed into the signal. It must have provided the necessary impact to throw away the signal lights. A jeep has crushed the railing on the pavement and has encroached on it. The lights are on and the hazard lights are blinking. A cycle lies under it, all mangled up. It¡¯s one of those old cycles that our grandparent¡¯s generation has used, the one with the scissor brakes, center stand, chain cover, and ringing bell. If my memory is correct then Atlas was one of the famous brands. I remember seeing the logo in front of the cycle right below the handle. In some cases, the crossbar would have a cover with an advertisement of the cycle shop from where it was bought. Some even had mud flaps. Most of them would have a seat cover. It would have extra padding, making it much more comfortable than the stock seat provided.


    I tried them in my childhood. It was difficult to pedal them. The chain was tight and I was having difficulty getting my legs to pedal properly. They were big compared to the simpler Hero and Hercules cycles. One thing that was great about them was their ability to transport people. One could easily sit on the carrier. Another one could be accommodated in the front crossbar. It was sturdy and would easily take the weight. When riding in pairs, the pillion would be in the front. This made it much easier to pedal and take the extra load. The same has been glorified in countless Malayalam movies. The hero and the heroine would be riding one over a green landscape as a love song plays in the background. Even some stunts have been performed with these cycles. They have surely left a mark in the history of bicycles. Anyone who has had an experience with it would remember how iconic they were at one point in time. In a time when cycling has become a leisurely activity and a medium for workouts, these cycles will be easily forgotten. Soon they would be relegated to museums and would be showcased as an exhibit in their evolution.


    The cycles that prowl the road now are mostly single-rider oriented. They are lightweight, sleek, and geared. They are on display in the decathlon in front of me. It had started in one of the building complexes here a few months back. The top floor showcases their range of cycles. It is a good advertisement. I too get allured seeing it from time to time. I was about to buy one. But my wife asked me to think hard and fast about it and give it some time in my head. I came to the conclusion that it would only be used in the initial days, after which it will be relegated to a corner of the house. Although she likes to cycle, she doesn''t have time. She made this very clear from the moment I pitched the idea. I might use it when I am home if I am in the mood. It all depended on that. In the end, I dropped the idea. One day when I am more at home and have a scheduled life, I could probably think of keeping aside some time for cycling on a daily basis. Then it would make sense to invest in one.


    Diagonally opposite a car has rammed onto another one from behind. There isn¡¯t much impact on these cars. I can¡¯t see anyone in them. Nor any signs that people inside were taken out. The doors are closed for both vehicles.


    In short, it seems like the end of the world. There is chaos and a feeling that it has just started. I don¡¯t know what role I have to play in all this. I secretly wish I don¡¯t have to. I can become the victim wholeheartedly.


    The chaos I witness kicks in the urge to reach her as quickly as possible. I throttle hard and speed up. I navigate a couple of cars that are lying on the road. One of them is in the middle, the other to the side. I look at the surroundings as I ride on. The neon boards of the testing centers are lit. The signboards of various hotels and lodges are lit too. All the shops are closed, even the medical shops. These aren¡¯t twenty-four-hour shops. There are a couple of them at the medical college junction. But I won¡¯t be taking that route. There is another shorter by-pass road leading to her department. It avoids the main signal. We take that. I turn the scooter at the cutting in the divider to the by-pass road. My heartbeat has risen. There is visible stress and tension in my face. I hope she is all right.

 1.6

    The by-pass starts with a good ascent. Whenever we do doubles, the scooter struggles a bit to climb it. Halfway through, it picks up the momentum. Along the left side lies the mortuary. The road was primarily intended for its use but after the super speciality and multi speciality blocks came up, the road was extended. These blocks house a large number of patients during their OP hours.


    Having studied in Trivandrum for the four years of my college life, I never had a reason to come here. Some of them who were regular blood donors, come here from time to time. They were a bit familiar with the surroundings. I had no clue as to how it was. It was after I began seeing her that I came to see the premises. It is huge. There are a couple of other hospitals inside the campus. The playground is huge. It is on the way to the UG campus, which is in one corner along with the various hostels for UG and PG students. Old buildings somehow seem to coexist with new ones.


    After our marriage, I was able to get inside her department. I don¡¯t like going to hospitals. It makes me uneasy. I get affected by seeing people lying in beds suffering. I know I should be grateful for the good health that I have. Still, it makes me uneasy. I try to avoid it as much as I can. She knows this. She doesn''t force me to come inside the hospital.


    I am uncomfortable when it comes to the matter of death. It affects me. Any news of death spoils my mood. I go into an off state. Being a doctor she has a totally different view of it. We have had many discussions about it. I was astonished to hear her take on it. Initially, it was a bit difficult for me to comprehend. Later on, as we spent time together, I got to understand a bit of it. I will not be able to see it in the way she sees it. It is a part of her profession. This has made me be a bit more comfortable with it, which is a good improvement.


    Yesterday night I came to see her in her department. She couldn¡¯t make it for lunch. She was caught up with work. We had already decided that I would come and meet her in the evening from where we would go out and have dinner. Since there was not much workload we were able to go out and grab a burger. Otherwise, we would have gone to the Indian Coffee House and had dosa. As we were having the burger she felt a craving for masala dosa and vada. I told her I was full and that if she wanted we could go and grab one. She dismissed it and shifted the plan for breakfast.


    The main entry to her department was closed. She came out and took me in through an alternative entry. We passed through the casualty. I saw the ward filled with patients. Every bed had an IV hung to it. A bystander would be beside them. Because of Covid, only one bystander is allowed. Otherwise, there would have been a small group of people surrounding the patient. I feel uneasy seeing it. She senses this and holds my hand and starts talking about how her day went by.


    Sickness is something that comes to all. It is the only thing that can extract the little empathy we have and make it visible. It also makes us humble. It shows us our mortality. It comes in various forms, each one unique. In cancer, we have the emperor of all maladies. In dementia, we have the supreme mage of illusion. In the various pandemics, we have the titan of fragility. Everything exposes our weaknesses and pressure points. We do put up a fight and make a comeback, but I guess the whole idea of it is to make us realise what we are. We take it to ourselves to be the dominating species, having made this planet ours and moving on to challenging frontiers. It surely puts us amongst the pioneering species of this universe. We get carried away by that.


    During the second wave that hit us last May, she had to take a week-long Covid duty in one of the ICUs. After that hectic week, she was drained and a feeling of sorrow hung on her face. On enquiring, she said she had witnessed the deaths of young people due to corona. They were in the age group of thirty to thirty-five. They had so much of life left in them and yet they succumbed to it. I know she has dealt with cancer patients in this same age group. She was normal at that time. This clearly had affected her. Over a hot cup of coffee, she opened up to me and said she was afraid for us. I tried to feign bravery but I couldn¡¯t. I said I was afraid too. I was afraid for her. She was directly in the firing line. She already underwent a bout of Covid last year. Initially, it was bad but then she recovered quickly. She says her lung capacity has reduced. She came to this hypothesis after our walk following the coffee. I dismiss it and say it is because of a lack of exercise. Still, she raises her concerns. She says she might not survive another one. I raise my voice to dismiss this. She looks at me in concern. I take this moment to give her a big bear hug and drive home the fact that nothing is going to happen to her. She is a strong woman and nothing is going to break her. A smile cracks her sullen face.


    I have nearly reached her department. There is a roundabout in front of it. It has the statue of a mother and a child in her arms. Just behind it is SAT hospital. It is the mother and child hospital. A car has crashed onto its foundation. A couple of bricks have fallen off. The car is empty as expected. I go inside the small parking area in front of her department. I see that the entrance gates are not open. They open around this time, before eight. The one time when I came to pick her up after her duty, she came walking through it. The other times I would pick her up somewhere along the route. She would start off walking after giving me the call to come and pick her up. I mostly picked her up from the main road.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I look around for security. There is no one in sight. There are a few cars parked in the parking area along with some two-wheelers on the other end. The psychiatry department also shares this parking area.


    I have entered the premises of a medical college. This is one place that never sleeps. The sick can be seen at every hour of the day. What I witnessed has stupefied me. It is completely deserted. There is no trace of anyone anywhere. I must say no trace of any human being. Cats and dogs can be found. This is getting even more mysterious.


    I back peddle my scooter from the entry to the parking lot and look up. Her department is on the first floor. The windows are open. I can see light inside. I take out my phone. My primary network is down. I open WhatsApp. There is no improvement in the state it was a few minutes ago. I try calling her. The call doesn''t connect at all. There is no sound coming in. I feel all the more frustrated and angry. I look around. An eerie stillness engulfs the premises. I try calling her once again. No use. For a change, I try giving her a WhatsApp call. The call gets dropped immediately stating the unavailability of the internet. The next chat on the list is the group chat of our boys. I open it and call out to them. The message doesn''t go through. I knew this but I had to try. I am running out of options, which is a state I don¡¯t like. I am someone who is comfortable in knowing that there are options up the sleeve. In case one fails, one can go with the next. There have been situations where I didn¡¯t have this privilege. I somehow managed to wade through them. Recently I feel I have become the person who needs options. Not much though. Maybe a single backup will do.


    A thought comes into my mind. I instantly try to weigh in on the options I have. I don¡¯t have much. I will have to do it. But I am shy and not someone who would do it. In my previous workplace, I used this a lot - calling out my peers at the top of my voice to let them know that they are needed. There it was a necessity. It was also my workplace, where I could do whatever I wanted to do. Anything that would ease your work and lets you go ahead with it was appreciated and promoted. I am in a hospital complex and this is not the scenario that promotes it. I look around once again, this time as a reflex action. I am being mindful of my surroundings and checking out the impact my action would create. Since it is empty, I decided to go ahead with it. I scream out my wife''s name with full might.


    ¡®ANNNAAAAAAAAAAA.¡¯


    The call fades away as soon as it leaves my mouth. It produces no response from her or from anyone. As I called out I was hoping someone might hear it and respond back. For a moment I wished someone would respond. I am feeling scared and anxious. I wait for a while. Silence. I call out her name once again at the top of my throat. Nothing happens.


    I kick the side stand and park my scooter where it was. I jump out and walk towards the closed gate. It is locked. I try pulling at it but in vain. I can see that the lights are on along the staircase. I try to get a response by calling out to anyone who was in and around the vicinity.


    ¡®HELLOOO. IS ANYONE IN HERE? CAN YOU HEAR ME? HELLLOOOOO. HELLLLLLOOOOOO. OOOOIIIIII. ANYONE?¡¯


    My eyes have welled up. I am becoming emotional. I suddenly feel an immense burden on my shoulders. It is weighing me down. I have no idea what to do. I slump down, holding onto the gate. I shake it violently. It doesn''t budge. I soak my face into my hands and try to figure out what is happening. A look at my wristband tells me it is eight forty. By now she must have finished her duty. There is no news from her. I feel a slight panic creeping inside me. I don¡¯t know what to make of it. I finally resign and sit down on the floor. I take out my mobile and look at it. Same state. I look at her DP on WhatsApp. She has put up the pic we had clicked on our wedding anniversary dinner date. She converted it into a black and white image. It looks lovely that way. Monochrome images have an unexplainable charm to them. It applies to both portraits and landscapes. It floods you with nostalgia.


    I have seen it whenever my parents have shown me their photos from their childhood. When I am at our grandparents'' place a small picture might drop out from the Bible or from some old book. Mostly they are passport-size photographs. In them, they look so young and lively. They pop out of the paper. I have seen my parent''s pictures. Father looked really handsome in his thick moustache and wide-framed glasses. Mother looked really pretty with her long braided hair and slim figure. She has smooth skin that has remained unchanged through the years. Her face is devoid of any pimples or scars. It looks radiant in pictures.


    Nowadays we don¡¯t see these features at all. When cameras went digital and became highly advanced it seems they lost the ability to be charming and alluring when compared to their predecessors. We can try to emulate them in Photoshop or any of the apps we have. But none would ever be able to recreate them faithfully. The magic of film photography has died. It lies preserved in these old photographs that are a testament to their times.


    We are smiling in the photo. It is one of our usual poses. I am holding onto her and taking the selfie. She is holding onto me and smiling at the camera. We look great.


    I miss her.


    I shrug off whatever was weighing me down and get up. I need to get inside the other way. I start walking to the casualty.

 1.7

    In a hospital, the casualty remains active throughout the day. With the rise in cases, the Covid admission center has become as active as the casualty. Having walked for a minute, I reach the casualty. The autorickshaws are lined up as always, but they are empty. A couple of bikes are parked on the bike stand. One ambulance is parked near this, the other one is right in front of the casualty entrance. It is a Maruti Omni. There is no one inside. The security guards who stood in front of the door are absent. The chair has the register and whistle on it. I enter it.


    The foyer is empty. Paper bits can be found lying on the floor. The lights are on, the fans running at half the speed. I walk straight ahead and take the stairs to the first floor. As I exit it, I am in the main corridor. It runs the length of the building. It is the main walkway for everyone going around. The entry to the wards is situated on either side of the corridor. Her department lies on one end of the corridor. I walk in that direction.


    I come across a ward on my left. I take a moment to peek inside. I don¡¯t slow down though. The ward is empty. Completely empty. The beds that were visible to me had their sheets on. The IV stands were standing still, their needles lying on the bed or on the floor. Slippers could be found on the base of these beds, and bags under the bed. Some of the items associated with a hospital bed can be seen in and around it - thermos flasks, shawls, steel plates, tumblers, the plastic container having medicines, tiffin boxes, fruit baskets, etc. They all lie neatly in their respective places. Nothing has disturbed them.


    This ward was full and teeming with people when I came to visit her yesterday night. It was shut and empty for a week while it was undergoing some maintenance. As it opened up it was filled immediately. No beds were empty. Bystanders would sleep near the entrance to the ward. Some patients who were on the waiting list could be seen to rest beside it, waiting for someone to be discharged so that they can get admitted. This was the general ward that belonged to the casualty. The limit of one bystander does not apply here. In severe cases, one might even find political people crowding around the premises.


    An empty cardboard lies flat on the floor. It has a cover and an inflatable pillow on it. I quicken my pace. I enter the psychiatry department first. Soon I pass their ward. It is empty. I see the name of their head of department and his room. Then comes their common room and nurses'' station. All are empty.


    I see the board on the wall that announces the entrance to the department of radiation oncology. I enter it. Towards the right side of the entrance is their department heads room. It is locked. Down the corridor is the nurse''s station. The lights are on. The chair on which I always find a nurse sitting is empty. I get to the doctor''s room on the left. I push open the swing door and enter. I walk straight inside. She is not in the first room. The second room is where the patient is diagnosed by the doctors and students. I see her mobile lying on the table. I pick it up. She had a flip cover protecting the screen. I flip it open and press the power button. It lights up.


    There is no network on her phone. She has a secondary number but she has put it on another phone. She rarely uses it. She left it back at home for me to use its internet pack. It had accumulated a lot of data which would get lapsed in a couple of days'' time. We decided to stream as many series and movies as we can. I also decided to download some software that I needed -updates to the apps, e-books, music, etc


    I unlock her phone. I know her pattern. She knows mine too. I open her WhatsApp. I see that my first message hasn¡¯t been delivered yet. I take out my phone and check it. It is in the same state. I pick up her phone to send a WhatsApp message to myself when I realize its futility.


    Suddenly I realize that her department has wifi. I scroll down the settings tray and switch on the wifi. Within a few seconds, it connects to the wifi. I open chrome and type in something. The window stays promising for a second after which it tells me that there is no internet. I close it, open WhatsApp, and send a text to myself. It is not getting sent. The waiting icon comes along. I see the exclamation mark that has come on the wifi symbol on top. It seems there is no internet here too.


    The conclusion I can make out of this is that all the networks are down due to some reason. Since there is electricity which is more than enough for these networks to work, there must be some larger reason at play. Also, most of the network towers are equipped with backup generators. They fire up when there is a power outage. Some of them are manual but most of them are automatic. But that rarely happens. If a power outage has to happen then it will firstly affect residential areas. Industries and hospitals would be the last ones to be affected. By this time the electricity board would have figured out the problem and found a solution to it.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    There is another room on the left. This is the room that is visible from the parking area. The door is closed. I push it open and walk in. It is empty. I see her backpack lying on the chair. I take the bag and examine it. It contains her books, purse, charger, umbrella, and a bunch of blank papers. Her usual stuff. I close it and swing it onto my back. I drink water from the bottle on the table. By the time I have finished drinking it, I have sunk myself into the chair crying.


    I am afraid. I can¡¯t make sense of my surroundings. I am okay with that. But I am not okay with the fact that my wife is missing. Missing is not the right word. She is not to be found. Disappeared maybe? I don''t care if anyone else has gone missing or disappeared. I know I haven¡¯t seen a single person after leaving home. I can live with that. Just that I need to see her and be with her. She has been my focal point from the time we got married. My world revolves around her. With her gone, I find myself collapsing. I don''t know what to do. I am at loss.


    Lots of images and thoughts rush through my head as I sit down and cry. Most of them involve the conversations we have had regarding life and death. Having fallen in love over this period of time, we have realized that it would be very difficult for both of us to be separated. The only thing that could separate us would be death. I am afraid of death. She is not. But in this context, she expresses her fear. Her eyes tear up when the topic comes in.


    She says I should move on if something happens to her. I say that would be very difficult for me. In fact, it can be that I don''t want to move on. She tells that is not how it is, that no matter what we all have the mental strength to move on in life. We are having this conversation when we came to know about the death of a friend''s wife. He is a very good friend of mine, a big brother of sorts. I would seek consultation from him regarding work and life. He would take time out to answer me. He was happily married for four years with a kid. She became pregnant the second time and passed away after delivering her second child. When my friend called me to share the news, I was hit hard. I felt the floor giving away beneath me. I sat down and took time to hear him out and process it. After the call, I lingered around the kitchen, lost in thought. She sensed the change in me and enquired about the matter. I shared it with her following which I hugged her and broke into tears. I couldn¡¯t contain it any longer. I was trying to make sense of the death, and why it had to happen. This guy is a gem of a person. He has had his own tragedies in life and risen above them. Now when things were going smoothly, a tragedy of such magnitude was too harsh on him. Why him? Of all people why him? He is someone who only knows how to love. Why him?


    The next morning my friend comes to my house. We are leaving to pay them a visit to the hospital. We leave early so as to avoid any police checking. The second wave is on and travel restrictions are in place. On arriving and on seeing him, I don''t know what to tell him. He looks composed. I thought he might cry on seeing us but he held on. If it was me I would have burst out and screamed out my misfortune. It wouldn¡¯t reverse it but it might bring in some comfort in that instant. We go out and buy breakfast for them from the canteen. We are silent. I don''t have anything to say to my friend. It¡¯s the same with him. We take the parcel in silence and give it to his mother. Her eyes are swollen. A call comes and she attends it. Soon she is crying. I can¡¯t bear to watch this. I am not that courageous. I distract myself and sit silently. We leave soon.


    Tragedy comes without calling. It will leave us devastated. I know this for a long time now. I have tried reading books that would help me make sense of it. Stoicism is something that I found to be interesting. As I got into it, the concept interested me a lot. But soon enough I realized that I can¡¯t be a true stoic. Maybe I can try to implement some of their strategies in life so as to make it more meaningful and worth living. But alas, I am emotional and I cannot suppress them.


    My crying gets worse. I cannot hold it together. The overwhelming feeling is of helplessness along with my world crashing over. I have rarely been put in such situations. Being an overthinker I sometimes put myself in these situations and try to gauge my reaction. They are just a thought process. They don''t fare much. A thought that gives me comfort in that simulation is the fact that in the grand scheme of the universe we are nothing. It shows me my minuscule existence. But the need to make sense of this life and our purpose here quickly engulfs me. It leaves me naked to experience the emotions that I will go through.


    Life started to make sense when she was around. We are two very different personalities. I am pretty sure that if it weren¡¯t for this pandemic we wouldn¡¯t have met and come together. Everything happens for a reason. This is what I say to myself when something happens in an unexpected way or when I can¡¯t make sense of events. I remain under the myth that this has surely happened for a reason, which will be revealed to me over time. Today, right now, that myth ceases to exist. It has been tossed out the window. There is no time for myths here. It is time to figure out what is happening and the reason behind it all. There must be a reason. That¡¯s how the universe works. A reason for all that we do.


    I wipe the tears from my cheeks and eyes. I take a couple of deep breaths and try calming myself. My eyes are blinking at a faster rate. I am stressed out. My nose starts leaking. I use the sleeve of my tee to wipe it off.


    Suddenly I feel a vibration in my left pocket. It is her phone.

 1.8

    I fumble with her phone as I pull it out of my pocket. I open the flip cover. It is her alarm. The excitement dies away instantly. I turn it off and slide the phone onto the table. I scratch my head in anger and get up. I walk to the open window and look outside. It is still as a painting. I walk back to the table, pocket her phone and exit the room. In hurried steps, I walk out into the main corridor.


    I decide to go ahead and check her out in her ward. I haven¡¯t been there though. She hasn¡¯t taken me there. There was no need for it. Whenever I was with her, she would go and attend to her patient. I have a vague idea. It should be near the nurse''s station. I have seen bystanders come out from there and seek her consultation.


    The nurse''s station is empty. The register is open and a pen lies on it. A box full of PPE kits lies right next to the wall. A dustbin lies filled with used kits. Medicines and drips are stacked at the other end of the room. I take the small corridor to the left. At the end lies the entrance to the ward. I enter it. She would wear a face shield while entering it during the peak of the second wave. The nurses who are on duty are mostly clad in a PPE kit. The doctors don them whenever needed. When she took her week-long Covid duty in the Covid ICU, she would come back and tell me how exhausting it is to be in one of them for hours. Once they are in the PPE kit, they stay in it at a stretch for some hours before they get out of it. She says it is an irritating experience. It boils you from within and makes you really uncomfortable. She joined her PG during the ongoing pandemic. Apart from her normal studies and duties concerning her department, she has to do Covid duties. This was applicable to all her batchmates. They took it in turns.


    Whenever it was time for her to go for Covid duty, a small fear would grasp her. It was the fear of transmitting the virus to me. She would come home and rush to the bathroom, where she would wash her clothes separately and ensure that she became clean before she even talked to me. She is very considerate in these matters.


    When I had to leave for another small city for my work last year, she bought a bunch of N95 masks and three-ply masks along with a steam inhaler. There were multivitamins, zinc, etc in the small bag she gave me to take along. I was dismissive and laughed at her. She expressed her concern quickly and got angry at me. I apologized and took it along. Only after having gone there and worked in that environment did I realize the importance of what she has done. The place was very rural. There weren¡¯t any proper medical facilities available. I had thought that in such a place the presence of Covid would be the least. But the day I reached, I got to know that there were a couple of cases detected among the crew I was to work with. Appropriate measures were taken immediately. The threat was contained. A week later we came to know that one of our crew members, who had gone back home due to Covid had succumbed to it. It rattled us all to the core. He was a young chap who was fit and healthy. For him to pass away brought in a silent fear amongst us. Since work had to go on, we were extra careful with how we went along. Compared to others I was much safer due to the precautions she had taken for me. I thanked her when we did our video call one night and apologized for my short-sightedness and sniggering behavior.


    I enter the ward. It is empty. Some beds were occupied, and some were not. There is no sign of life here. At the far end is the washroom. I walk towards it. Staying on the outside of it, I call out her name a couple of times. No response.


    I walk back to the corridor. I take out both phones and check them once again. There is no network. I check the nurse''s table for a landline. There isn''t one.


    It dawns upon me that she along with all the people in the hospital has vanished into thin air. There is no one to be found anywhere. It is not as if they are dead and lying around. I haven¡¯t come across any dead people. I don''t know what to make of it. I compose myself a bit. I need to get back to my scooter. I need to somehow communicate with someone, whoever and wherever they may be. I decided to take another exit from the building. This will take me to the opposite side of the building nearer to the multi-specialty block. I want to take this exit to see if I can find someone. I suddenly get the feeling that I won¡¯t be able to see my wife again. I suppress it with gritted teeth and start running through the corridor.


    I shoot past the entrance from which I came. The exit I am taking is a few steps ahead. I take it. I am in another corridor that connects the adjacent building. It leads me to the exit I need to take to reach outside. The ward on the right side of this corridor is empty too. Just like the previous one, a couple of cardboard and bedsheets can be seen strewn across the entrance to the ward. There isn¡¯t any presence of anyone.


    I take a left midway. I pass by a small store that serves biscuits, snacks, tea, water bottles, and some essentials. It is empty. I keep up my run. Soon I am at the parking lot. A couple of vehicles lie in the parking spaces designated for the various head of departments. Bikes and scooters occupy a third of their parking area. A medicine van lies to the left, an ambulance on the opposite side. All are empty. A horde of crows flies by cawing loudly. It fills the air. Apart from it, the sound of a generator can be heard.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I have to walk half a kilometer around a couple of buildings to reach where I have parked my scooter. I wanted this so as to assess the situation and make sense of it. So far all I know is that everyone has vanished into thin air. Is this a very bad dream or a simulation, I can¡¯t make out. It is very real and terrifying. I am completely immersed in it. I can¡¯t find a way to escape it. I pinch myself hard. I am awake.


    I took this route hoping to find her walking back home. I walk out of the parking area and into the road. It takes a left turn after which it continues straight and joins the main road. A couple of stretchers are ready to take patients as and when they arrive in the multi-specialty emergency.


    Honestly, I don''t know what all departments are here and where they are. This is a huge complex. For a layman like me, it is very confusing. I know her department and its surroundings, nothing more than that. I see sign boards of the different departments along the way. It just gives me a vague idea of where they must be situated. If I had to come to one of these for some reason, I would probably have to ask the security guards or some hospital folks for help. It can be confusing the first time.


    A couple of cars and an ambulance are parked alongside the road. A gate blocks the entry. They were manned by guards. Today no one stands in front of them. It is closed. I open it and exit it onto the main road. I have come back on the road I took to reach her department. If I had known I would be doing something of this kind, I would have taken pictures of the surrounding area and compared them to what I am seeing now. It would have helped me to look for any changes that could have occurred since I left.


    I don''t think there is any change at all. Although I don''t have a reference it all seems how it was. I cannot be sure about this. I was in a hurry to reach her. But I feel nothing has changed.


    I walk along the pathway to her department. I pass the point where I used to wait for her when I come to pick her up. I call her from here to let her know of my arrival. As soon as I see her come out of the department I would pull up to her. She would get on and I drive us back home. We take the main road out from the main entrance arch. I decide to take the same route. I get to my scooter and drive away. As I enter the road from the parking area I glance at the window once again.


    I pass the casualty through which I entered the building. Everything is intact as it was before. Along the pavement, bikes are parked. I scout my surroundings as I ride on.


    The thought of calling my parents or my friends came to me when I sat down in her room. Since there is no network and no other way to communicate with anyone, I dismissed it. Even then I had thought of giving my mother and father a call, to see if it was going through. I dismissed it knowing that it would be futile. I don''t know how to get in touch with them. I pray they are safe and sound and nothing of this sort has happened to them.


    I reach the arch. Towards the left is the Covid ward and testing center. It is deserted. Apart from the few ambulances that are always present here, there isn¡¯t any movement at all. Towards the right is the dental college. It is closed. The parking lot has a couple of vehicles in it. A bike has fallen on top of the adjacent one, resulting in five bikes falling as dominoes. An auto rickshaw has collided with the side of the arch. Its front is badly damaged, the windshield broken and the wheel all mangled under it.


    Following the entrance arch is a four-way junction. It is the main junction through which almost all vehicles enter the college. It is absolutely deserted. A couple of stray dogs start barking loudly on seeing me from the opposite end of the road. They don''t make a move to approach me. Crows sitting on the overhead lines respond to their barks and fly away. The dogs give them a glance and get back to barking at me. I honk my horn. I honk it for almost a minute. I probably did it in the hope of getting a response from someone. The dogs bark louder the whole time I was honking. They settle down when I stop it. Another dog joins them from a narrow street opening. The signals are blinking yellow. I slowly turn to my left and take the road that leads back home.


    All the shops are closed except for a couple of medical stores that function throughout the night. I slow down and look at them. I can see no movement in them. The lights are on. They are on the opposite end of the road. I turn back, cut the divider and drive on the wrong side of these shops. I get down after parking my scooter haphazardly on the side of the road and look inside. I call out loudly.


    ¡®Hellloooooooo¡¯


    I get no response. I stretch myself and look at the counter. I see a mobile phone lying on it. I pick it up and switch it on. There is no network in it. A couple of WhatsApp notifications can be seen on the lock screen. I take out my mobile phone and check it once again. Same story there. I leave the mobile on the counter and walk out.


    The sun is up and shining brightly. I realize I am the only human living here. I don''t know about any other place. Without communication, I cannot contact anyone too. I have no way in which I can gather any kind of information that would shed some light on what is happening here. Without mobile networks, there is no mobile internet. I am not sure if any broadband service would be operational. I tried the one at her department. It wasn¡¯t functioning. I am left to the use of vehicles to explore and find a human. I hope there is someone out there, waiting to be discovered. I hope my wife is somewhere safe and sound.

 1.9

    In most of the dystopian stories I have read, it gets totalitarian in the long run. In some cases, society falls into anarchy. There is no going back from it. I think of them. Along with them, my thoughts wander off to the various end-of-the-world movies that I have seen. Train to Busan comes to my mind, a zombie movie. It sends a small shiver down my spine. I shrug it off quickly. The last thing I should be worrying about is zombies.


    The Indian coffee house from where we were supposed to have our breakfast is a couple of shops away. I hop on the scooter and ride towards it. I am on the wrong side of the road. Normally I wouldn¡¯t have done this. If I had to do something of this sort, my conscience would have been hurt. I would be doing it cursing myself under my breath. I just hate it. I would rather prefer going around, getting stuck in a signal for a minute, taking a u-turn, and then approaching the shop from the correct direction. It kind of applies to parking too. Whenever I park my car, I make sure that I have parked it inside the line in such a way that it will not cause any inconvenience to anyone else. I am very particular about it. I will take time to get it right. Only then will I get out of the car with a feeling of satisfaction. Even then there would be some situations where I would have to ignore it. Ignoring is the hard part. I will have to distract myself from it to get it off my head. It also makes me feel irked when I see someone parking their car in an uncomfortable way. I always feel that we need to think of others when we do certain things. Our actions should not cause any kind of harm or discomfort to others. This has been one of the principles I have stuck to my entire life. It is going to stay on for sure. My attitude revolves around it to a very good extent and so it would be very difficult for me to change it. The change can only happen if something of a large magnitude happens that compels me to see it from a very different perspective, thereby forcing me to make amendments.


    Since there is no one on the road, or in the surroundings, I take the wrong side and drive towards the restaurant. It is closed. It opens at seven - that is what is written in the timings. But today the shutters are down. The adjacent shops are closed too. It is nearing nine. I am starting to feel a bit hungry. I haven¡¯t felt the need to take a dump yet. It¡¯s a part of my daily routine. But I don''t give it much thought. I could use a cup of tea though.


    Mornings we have tea. Most of the days I make it. She makes it when I am late to get up from bed or when I have to rush to the washroom having kept the milk to boil. She adds some cardamom to it, giving it a good flavor. I love it. I don''t put it though.


    I want to make a good sulaimani tea one day. I was floored by it when I visited my father''s friend''s house for dinner. They served us mutton biriyani.It was utterly delicious. Aunty brought us the tea after our meal. We had to retreat to the sofa. I was feeling full to the brim, so I was reluctant to take it. She persisted to take it saying I would feel better. I took it. It was sweet and soothing. Also, I felt better. The fullness of my stomach was gone. I don''t like that feeling at all. Because of that I always avoid filling myself to the full. But the biriyani was really amazing. Honestly, I didn¡¯t realize that I had gorged down heavily. The tea helped my stomach to relax.


    I asked Aunty for the recipe. She said there was nothing special in it, just some spices and a squeeze of lemon juice. That''s it. I remembered it for a while. Last Tuesday I wanted to have a sulaimani tea. I tried to recollect the recipe but in vain. I had to resort to YouTube to find a recipe that was kind of similar to hers. A few of the ingredients came back to me as I was browsing through the videos. I finally zeroed in on one of them and executed it. It came out well. Anna was doing night duty. I told her that I had finally figured out how to make sulaimani tea. She congratulated me and said she would taste it when she gets back home. Before calling it a night I tasted the tea. It had lost its charm and flavor. I threw it out. I decided to make it fresh when she came. But she was in a hurry to get back when she arrived in the morning. So I couldn¡¯t make it. She never got to taste it.


    In the evenings we have filter coffee. When I first moved into our house in Trivandrum, we drank instant coffee. She had brought a packet of locally roasted coffee powder. It was ideal to make black coffee. We used to consume it more often. After a week her stomach started getting upset. It took us a few days to zero in on the reason - the black coffee. We decided to cut it off. But we were still in needy of a good cup of coffee. We were going to our hometown that weekend. When we are at my home I was reminded of the filter coffee set I had bought from Madras. I asked my mother for it. She found it after some searching. We took it along with us.


    Now we had to find a good filter coffee powder. I didn¡¯t know that the coffee powder used in it had to be of certain grind and coarseness. I used the finely ground local coffee powder we had. It didn¡¯t produce the desired result. Because of its extreme fineness, the hot water just seeped out through the compartment without extracting anything from the powder. Hot water with a very slight coffee taste was the result. The next week, we went to the supermarket and bought two powders in the hope of any one of them working out. The first one we opened worked out beautifully. We have been using it ever since.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Our evening coffee time is a bit late. It gets pushed to six, mostly beyond that. This is because she comes back from her duty after three in the noon. We have our lunch together on most days and then take a nap. By the time we wake up, the sun has set. It would be nearing seven. I get up and head to the kitchen to boil the milk and prepare the concoction. By the time the coffee is ready, she would be up. Somedays we don''t feel sleepy. We lie down and watch something on Netflix. But we get bored soon. I then go and make coffee for us. We take it to the balcony, stand there, watch the sky turn red and gorgeous, and sip on it. I have a close friend who is a big coffee aficionado. She found an equally crazy coffee lover in her partner. They go about tasting coffee and clicking pictures. They are more into black coffee. A conversation on coffee with them will lead you deep into the intricacies that go into making coffee. I am a casual coffee lover. I love to try them out wherever I go.


    There is a police station nearby. I decide to go there. I turn my ride and race past the signal, onto the road that leads to the airport. I take the right fork at the next intersection.


    I am in front of the police station. The police jeep is parked inside the compound. There is no activity going on inside. I park the scooter just beside the gate and walk inside. I take a peep inside the jeep through the front door. The radio is off. I decided to fiddle with it later on.


    As I enter the station there is a desk with a register on it. I go through it. The last entry was at nine fifteen the previous night. A mobile phone lies on the desk. I pick it up. No network. I walk in through the corridor. On either side are two rooms. One of them belongs to the SI. The other is a common room. The right corner has the cell. I peer into all of these rooms. They are absolutely empty. Some of the desks have mobile phones on them. I pick them up and check for networks. By now I have come across all the networks we have here. None of them are functioning. Still, I pick them up in a hope that I cannot explain. There is a walkie-talkie on one of the desks. I pick it up. I switch it on by turning on the volume knob. I hear the click sound when it turns on, followed by the low static. I click and talk into it.


    ¡®Hello! Hello! Can anybody hear me? Hello! Hello? If anyone can hear me please respond.¡¯


    I wait for a while. No response. I press some of the buttons that are on the side. They give off different sounds. I don''t know what their purpose is. I stop pressing them. The channel is set to 5. I don''t change it. This must be the channel the police would use to communicate within themselves. If that is the case then I must stick to it.


    I decide to pocket it. It can come in handy. I look for the charger. I find it in one corner of the opposite room. I take it out from the plug, wrap the cord around the charging dock and walk out of the station. Before I walk out, I take a minute to stop by the front desk. In the open register, I write down that I was here and if they want to contact me then they should call me on these numbers. I write down my two numbers and my wife''s phone number. As I write this I ponder the case of the phone networks not coming up. In that situation, the radio being independent of it will work. I write down the radio channel to contact me. The police working here would know it. Still, I write it across the length of the register in big letters. I want to make it as conspicuous as possible.


    I walk out towards the jeep. I open the door and sit in. I switch on the transmitter. It doesn''t turn on. I need to turn on the jeep. I look for the keys in the ignition. It is empty. I run into the station and look for the key. After a couple of minutes, I find it hanging with a bunch of other keys on one of the walls in the common room. I take it out and get back to the jeep.


    I open the driver''s door and jump in. I put the key on and turn it on. The transmitter turns on with a crackle. I turn on the volume and sit in anxiousness.


    Once I had to go to an offshore installation as part of a project we had been assigned on short notice. It was a very new experience for me. I had no clue as to how it would turn out. We were taken in a chopper to the installation. It was nearly a hundred kilometers away from the shore. We were told there wouldn''t be any network available. Our phones were dead.


    The majority of the communication out on the sea is through the radio. There is a common channel through which all communication takes place. You switch channels when you want to talk in private without the whole community knowing it. Even in my workplace when there was some work going on in different parts of the installation, we used walkie-talkies to communicate amongst ourselves. Having used it there, I have a basic idea of how radio communication works and how to use it. It was a novel experience.


    After the offshore project, we had a project the next year in which the client provided us with radios for communication in the field. It proved to be a very neat way of communicating with each other. Since it uses radio waves to transmit messages through the atmosphere, one is totally free of networks and their drawbacks. It was also a great mode for transmitting a message to everyone. When I sent the message through the walkie talkie I sent it out to everyone who was on that channel at that moment. It is as if you have sent a message out into the sky for everyone to see and respond to. In that way radios are versatile.


    I take out the walkie-talkie from my pocket and switch it on. It is in the same channel as the transmitter in the jeep. I press and say hello. I hear my voice coming out from the receiver in the car. This brought a small smile to my face. The radio is working. I had got my hands on a medium of communication. I smile at myself and stare into the distance.

 1.10

    Having got my hands on a medium of communication, I feel a bit elated. The elation dies away quickly. Common folk will not be having a walkie-talkie with them. They might have a radio at home, or on their phones. I don''t think the frequency in which the signal is being transmitted by these walkie-talkies is available to the public. It must be specifically allowed to the police force so that they can go about communicating with themselves without having to worry about it being accessible by any third party.


    Similarly, she wouldn¡¯t be having a walkie-talkie. Without a means of communication, I really don''t know what she is going through right now. I firmly believe that she is somewhere. She has not disappeared just like that. She is somewhere alive, maybe bound to something or unable to make a move. But she is alive. And I need to find her.


    My mind is a playground of thoughts. A lot of them are vying for attention. Most of them put forward the fact that she is gone as she is nowhere to be found. There are many versions to it. I see a version with alien abduction. There is this version in which magic has brought a change in the space-time continuum, like the one Dr. Strange does in the latest Spiderman movie. I try to dismiss all of these.


    There are some versions that portray her being alive and well. One of them says she has survived whatever has happened here and has gone looking out for me. If that is the case then why would she not take her mobile? Even if there isn¡¯t any network, you will never ditch your primary mode of communication any day. You will take it just like I did in the hope that the network comes back and you are able to communicate. Another one says she is trapped somewhere when all of this happened and is not able to find a way out. This would take into account her not taking the phone. But it seems silly. I can''t think of a place in the hospital where she can be trapped. It is a place that has become familiar to her from the time she has been working here. With the kind of assignment she has, there is no need for her to go into some kind of dingy space. The only place which could be a bit unsafe would be the room that houses the radiation machine, which is regulated by the people who operate and maintain it. Also, it becomes functional only after their crew comes, after eight in the morning.


    If she is alive, and that is what I firmly believe in, she would be worried sick. She would also be trying her best to find a way to get to me. I am sure of this. She is strong and independent enough to find her way through whatever is thrown at her.


    Looking at the situation and my premises and taking into account the basic facts that I have come across from the time I have left home, it is evident that she has disappeared. The absence of a single human being till now makes it hard to comprehend what has happened. A place that is supposed to be active throughout the day, swarming with people, is empty and motionless. Apart from the dogs and cats, the birds and crows, I have not seen another living thing. It seems as if all human life has vanished from the face of the earth. I can¡¯t be sure of it. I can only attest to the areas I have been to. I don''t know if this is a localized phenomenon. It can be that some odd thing happened here in which I somehow became the sole survivor. Maybe if I drive to one of the corners of the city, I might find someone. Or if I exit the city and go out, I can find someone there.


    I want to call my parents and see if they are okay. But the lack of network stops me from doing it. I don''t know what I will say to them when I get in touch. How will I tell them that Anna has disappeared into thin air? How will I tell them what has happened here? Will it even make sense to them? It might be a normal morning for them. Maybe their networks might be working. Maybe all is good elsewhere. I don''t know what to think. I feel a headache creeping in.


    I cycle through the various channels in the receiver on the jeep. With every turn of the knob, the crackle of the static rings through. It is the only sound I hear. I revert back to the station it was set in and wait for a few more minutes. With this, I think I can only communicate with the police force. Or anyone who has somehow got their hands on a similar walkie-talkie. I know this isn¡¯t a great piece of a communication device. But it is better than nothing.


    I take the bottle of water lying on the gearbox and drink it. I am clearly stressed out. I try taking deep breaths. It helps me to calm down a bit. But the moment I finish it, I am back to where I was.


    I get out of the police jeep. The sun is shining hard. A breeze floats in. Birds go about with their usual business. A cat jumps up onto the wall. It stares at me for a while before settling on it. For a split second, I forget that I am on the premises of a police station. It is one place that we all would like to avoid. If we ever had to go in, we would pray that it would end with nothing out of the ordinary. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought of doing all the things I just did here. The world has surely changed from the time I woke up. I am having a difficult time making heads or tails out of it. I walk towards my scooter, open her bag, and put the walkie-talkie and charger into it. I close it and sit. I check the phones once again. There is no improvement.


    It feels very much like a hartal day. An extreme version of it. During hartals, there will still be some movement of people and vehicles, especially here in the medical college area. Ambulances will ply. So will cars coming in with emergency cases.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    It is well past nine. I start the scooter and ride back to her department. I want to check it out once again.


    I reach the parking lot. The gate is still closed. The parking lot is as it was. There are no changes of any sort. I park the scooter, open the bag and take out the walkie-talkie. It was kept on, in full volume. I send across another message:


    ¡®Hello, helllooooo. If anybody can hear me, then know this. I will be waiting at Ulloor junction at ten am. If you can respond then please respond. I can come to wherever you are. I have a scooter with me. Please don''t panic.¡¯


    I really don''t know why I added the last sentence. What was I trying to convey through it? I am in a panicked state myself. I don''t know what to do. And here I am, trying to calm someone else down. I think I am going through cyclical periods of fear, panic, and calmness with very little time for the last one.


    I never admit it when I become stressed. It somehow shows in my face and actions. She picks them very well. Whenever I am stressed, she calms me down. She talks to me and manages to take the sting out of the situation creating the stress.


    I have to take a decision about going in and checking out her department once again or not. There is ample time left to reach Ulloor junction. I decide to go in. I run through the sidewalk, enter the casualty, take the stairs, and jog across the corridor. I open the door and enter the department. There is no sign of her. I walk and push open the door to the inner room. She is not here. It is just the way it was. There are no changes whatsoever.


    I come out and walk back. The enthusiasm I had while coming in has gone. I just cannot accept the fact that she is gone. Just like all the other people in the hospital or on the road. The only thing that remains of her here is her mobile and backpack. Her purse and identity card should be inside it.


    I look at the empty ward on my right. It should have affected me. It doesn''t. I stare at the emptiness and walk on. An empty ward in a hospital signifies a lack of patients, which is a good sign. But that is seldom the case. If ever a situation like this has to happen then there is something very wrong going on. As humans, we are meant to suffer in every possible way. Our health will deteriorate over time. We will run shelter skelter to get our health back. We will visit doctors and get admitted to hospitals if the need arises. We will do anything to be in the best of our health. Till the day death comes for us.


    I am afraid of death. It scares me. I have mentioned this earlier also, I know. I am not afraid of dying of old age, and I think I am okay with that. It is the idea of dying without a moment''s notice that scares me. I feel I have a lot of things to do before I can die. I don''t know what they are but there are things to be done before I can welcome death with both hands. After getting married, I have given it more thought. It has made me fear it more. We talk about our mortality from time to time. Something or the other leads one of us to question the other as to what will happen if the other person dies. I believe there is a lot of time for it. Death will come to us in our late seventies after we have lived our lives to the fullest and have made them meaningful. Then when death comes I would like it to take us both together. I know it sounds very cheesy. Like the story, we read in our school curriculum - Philemon and Baucis. I loved the story at that young age. She says she is happy to live till her sixties. I ask her why not take it to the seventies. She says thinking of living till the sixties gives her a headache in itself and so she doesn¡¯t want to think beyond that. She wants to see our grandchildren and pass away. I taunt her by asking what if our children don''t get married by then, or if they get married and decide to not have kids. She dismisses these scenarios and gives me the look. I don''t say a word thereafter.


    What if death comes to one of us early? Honestly, I don''t want to think of it. I can¡¯t think of a world without her. As I have said, my world happily revolves around her. My actions and long-term goals are primed for us and our life together. I really don''t want to find myself in a situation that is contradictory to this, in a scenario devoid of her.


    I dismiss this by saying nothing will happen to us. She persists. I say if something happens to one of us, then the other will mourn. They will cry out loud and express their utmost displeasure to God or whoever it is that took away the only person that mattered to them. This will last for a long time after which things will cool down. Then they will get on with their lives and go on living with the loss in their hearts. She shrugs this aside and says that if she were to die I will have to move on. I can¡¯t do it. She agrees that it will be hard but I will be able to do it. I should move on, find someone and get on with life. I express the fact that I won¡¯t find anyone like her ever and that I don''t want anyone else. She says it''s all a feeling, there is nothing time can heal and all that generic shit. I say I will agree to this if the same thing applies to her too. She hesitates to reply. That says it all. I laugh out loud. She asks me what is there to laugh. I shake my head and look at her. She avoids my eye contact and throws the topic away. We get back to doing whatever it was before we stepped on this topic. There are tears in her eyes. My eyes are moist too. Telltale signs of our love for each other.


    But I am an overthinker. She doesn''t know this but I have given it a lot of thought. I have created scenarios in my head and played them out. In all of them, I find myself not able to digest the fact that she has passed away. I find myself unable to move on even if I try to. She stays within me forever. I see her in the wake of my life in the smallest of all moments. Her presence lingers. I realize that I don''t want to escape it. I am happy to be imprisoned by it forever. It gave me a perspective of how widows carry on with their lives with the memory of their beloved ones. I don''t know if that is true love. I just know that the bond they shared was so deep, that even death can¡¯t sever it.


    She is not dead. My Anna is not dead. She has just disappeared, like everyone else. I just need to find out how that has happened and reverse it. That¡¯s it. Find it and reverse it. Everything will be back to normal. Maybe when I reverse it is the moment I come out of this wicked dream, back to the real world and back to my wife. It is time to focus and work.

 1.11

    Time flew by quickly. There are only five more minutes for the clock to strike ten. I have no worries. I will reach Ulloor junction within a minute. This confidence I am exhibiting now is not good. It implies I have accepted that this is not a dream and whatever that has happened is real. The faint-hearted that I am, I know this will not last. I better make the best of it.


    I get out of the building, walk towards my scooter and ride away. I head straight for Ulloor Junction. I reach just in time. I take out the walkie-talkie from the bag and wait. I cycle through the channels. All I hear is static.


    Ten minutes in, I send another message.


    ¡®Hello. I am here in Ulloor Junction waiting for anyone who is hearing this message. I will be here for some more time after which I will be going back to my home in Pongumoodu. If you are finding it difficult to reach me, don''t worry. Take your time. I will be here at this time tomorrow. Please be brave and stay strong. My name is David. Over and out.¡¯


    I decide to wait till ten thirty. Something inside me tells me I need to get back home. But I also know there is not much point in it. Maybe I should go around the city and see its status.


    I really want to have a good cup of tea. I look around for any small tea shops. All the restaurants are closed. There used to be a small roadside tea stall a few feet away from where I am sitting alongside the road. It used to be open till late at night. It was the only one on these premises. One could always find a couple of them near the medical college.


    While in college, after coming back from a second show, if we felt a need to have tea or a coffee, we would get down as the bus reached Ulloor. This is a route through which most of the long-distance buses running in the Alleppey - Ernakulam route ply. Since there is no dearth of buses, we knew we wouldn¡¯t be left stranded even if it became late. Back then the tea stall would remain open till twelve at the night. After I moved to Trivandrum I have seen this shop serving late into the night a couple of times. Covid has forced many of these late-night shops to shut down and function at mandated hours. The second wave brought in a curfew after ten pm. It lasted for two months after which the norms were relaxed. I saw the shop serving tea at eleven on one occasion. I don''t know if it stays up late as before. I can¡¯t find the shop now. There is no trace of the wheeled cart that transformed into the stall. Maybe it is parked somewhere else.


    I took my bachelor''s degree from Trivandrum. It was a time when the city was growing and expanding. It was fuelled by the establishment of Techno Park in Kazhakootam. It was turning into a major suburb, catering to the needs of the techies that came in hordes to work here. It grew at an unprecedented pace. Almost a decade after I passed out, the city has changed to fit the needs of these techies. The suburb has grown and completely transformed. More projects are coming up as the year''s pass, leading to more construction and development, thereby resulting in a change in the landscape of the city.


    The Trivandrum which was once known to be a government servants'' city because of the laid-back culture and vibe it gave, was undergoing a radical shift. Along with this, changes are coming in the mentality of the people living here. The pace of the city has definitely increased. Although it keeps a laid-back vibe, as the sun sets, people ditch their homes and come out to explore the city to consume what it has to offer. I have seen the shift over the years. Since the pandemic happened the growth has plateaued. The active lifestyle has taken a break, waiting for things to get back to a new normal. This new normal will be backed by the tech-savvy fast-paced generation that is calling this city their home.


    One metric that can be used to see how the city has grown should be the number of restaurants that have opened up in the past decade. When I passed out of college, the most well-known and prominent food joint in the city was Zam-Zam. It was famous for the quality of food it served. Getting a table after dusk meant waiting. One can always see a group waiting right behind a table that is going to be done. It was a place students flocked to whenever they wanted to organize a treat. For the price point, their various grilled dishes and desserts quickly got a loyal fan following. A decade later the brand has grown itself, having multiple branches in various parts of the city. I visited one of their outlets near Kazhakootam. We were surprised to find the place full. We had to wait for more than twenty minutes to get a seat. There wasn¡¯t an empty table till the time we left. The night curfew was still on. Just an hour was left for the shop to close. People were still coming in. This came as a big shocker to me. I had never expected to see such a huge crowd during these Covid times. Even though the restaurant was seven kilometers away from where we stayed, we never entertained the possibility of dining at the restaurant. We resorted to ordering in and having it safely in our house.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    This decade that I talked about is worth mentioning. It saw the advent of the smartphone and 4G networks. It completely changed the way Indians went about their daily lives. When I passed out and joined my workplace, SMS was the way we messaged. I remember a colleague of mine coming over and urging me to try a new app called WhatsApp. It used the internet to send messages. I liked the idea of it. It was a time when people were starting to buy their first smartphones. Some of them had it with them, others were using Nokia or Samsung handsets. 3G was picking up speed. People were recharging to get data in their handsets. I was using a normal phone I had borrowed from my mother. A few months later, I got myself a smartphone. One of the first things I did was install WhatsApp. All my friends were slowly using the app for messaging. It was the advent of instant messaging and WhatsApp was certainly the app we all needed. Soon sending SMS was a thing of the past. One sent an SMS when he was out of the internet or couldn¡¯t get a message across WhatsApp. WhatsApp made messaging easy and free. It revolutionized the way we communicated with our near and dear ones. It would quietly replace the SMS app from our smartphones.


    I have friends who had joined colleges when this revolution began and saw it become a part of their daily lives as they passed out. I feel they are a generation apart. There is hardly half a decade gap between us. Yet I feel they are a generation that has had the opportunity to ingrain technology in their daily lives.


    I am no one to say if this is good or bad. It is not my concern. I belong to a very transitionary generation. I have seen a lot of changes happen in my lifetime. My brother, who was born in the 21st</sup> century has very little knowledge of how things were different a decade back. The decade that was my childhood. By the time he was ten, a lot of things had changed. Things have come, held the attention of people for a while, and slowly phased out by a modern entity. He can¡¯t relate to it. But I can. I saw it happen. I don''t know if it is a privilege of some sort. I bask in it from time to time and yearn to go back to the times when things were much simpler. In the process of making things more accessible to us, I feel we have inadvertently made things complex. I can¡¯t define it the way I want to. The concept lies in my head. I don''t think I would be able to produce it in words.


    I think it was the simplicity back then that gave it a surreal charm I wish for in today''s date. The simplicity that a letter brought on, or of making STD trunk calls to your grandparents, the prospect of meeting your friends for a get-together over the weekend and getting to play all sorts of games, one after the other with your friends. These were simple and elegant. I don''t think anyone of us cherished it for what it was. Those days came by and went away. We enjoyed it to the max. We never thought that times would change and one day we would sit and yearn for it with eager hearts. When I talk to a couple of childhood friends I am still in contact with, we always end up talking about the old days. We try to recollect what happened on certain eventful days, those embarrassing moments that made the memories.


    Mom still misses those days. She says those were the days when technology was minimal and to the point. The major tech things to inhabit a home were the phone, the fridge, Cable TV for the latest news, serials, and movies, the cassette player that gave way to the CD player, the music system that played tapes, and my video game system. I have spent hours and hours in it playing games like Contra and Mario with my friends. The kitchen was very much manual except for the oven. Some had washing machines in their homes. We bought it later.


    I had lots of board games and action figures to play with. I got lost in them. They can easily kill time. After school, some days my best friend used to come to our house. There was a small playground right in front of it. We used to play cricket, football or badminton. On other days we would come together in someone else house and embark on a long video game session. The idea would be to play till the end, defeat the boss and finish it. During the winter months, the video game sessions would happen cuddled under the blankets.


    The only place I came across a PC was in the school my father taught. Whenever I visited him, he would let me sit on the PC and fiddle with it. Windows 98 was the operating system back then. I would spend my time mostly on paint. Later on, when the internet came, I got to see my father work on it. There wasn¡¯t much to work on back then. E-mails were catching up. The connections were pretty lousy. They would disconnect from time to time. I remember the distinct dial-up tone the modem made as it tried to establish a connection. In his office, if one had to use the internet, they had to pull the plug on the telephone. Sometimes when he was not watching, I would open up one of the games installed in it and play. Games fascinate me.


    Till high school, I used to religiously sit and play all the games I could get my hands on. I liked strategy games the most. The whole idea of buying a PC came up after playing Age of Empires on my friend''s PC. I had to convince my father that the computer was for educational purposes - to make powerpoints, browse encyclopedias and gather information for my projects. He bought one for me in my ninth standard. My gaming days restarted back then. By then the charm of video games had gone away. They were being made obsolete. Soon they would be a thing of the past. Two years later my father bought me a PlayStation. It changed the way we gamed. Multiplayer games became a craze and took up all my time.


    But I always came back to PC games. I felt happy playing strategy games. I was a big fan of the Gameboy games that were emulated on PC. Pokemon ruled the medium, followed by Zelda and the lot.


    Times were changing. We were all right in the middle of it. Only now when we look at it in retrospect can we see the changes our lives had undergone.

 1.12

    It is ten thirty. There is no response on the walkie-talkie, nor has anyone come to meet me. I check the mobiles once again. No improvement. I open my dialler and dial my mother. The call doesn''t go through. I ring in dads number. Same thing. Then I call my brother. He works in Bangalore. It is the same story. I know the calls won¡¯t go through, but I still give it a try with the slim hope of a miracle happening and hearing a dial tone. I open up chrome and type in some random words to search. The no internet page appears immediately on my screen.


    While coming back from her department I followed the route she would have taken if she had started walking back home to find me. I didn¡¯t find any trace of her. Also, the possibility that she has left to find me without her mobile and bag seems odd to me. She would have taken her mobile no matter what. I am certain about this because whenever I go out to get milk or any other groceries from the nearest shop, she insists that I take my phone along. She points out that although nothing would happen or the need to call might not arise, it is always better to be prepared. Having a mobile in the pocket will not hamper anything. She preaches this and follows it. Knowing this implies that she never left her department. I want to go back and search for her once again. This time I will comb the whole breadth of the building as well as the adjacent ones. But something inside me tells me I would not find her. If I give it a rational thought then whatever I have witnessed till now clearly points at it. People have vanished into thin air, my wife included. I have to figure out what has happened.


    I keep aside the emotional turmoil I am going through with a couple of deep breaths. Before it returns, I try to piece together all the facts I have in front of me.


    People have disappeared all of a sudden. There is no one to be seen anywhere. These observations are currently restricted to the five-kilometer distance I have traveled from my home to the medical college. Even the police station is empty. Networks are down. This has crippled me from contacting anyone and calling out for help. Without a network, mobile internet has gone for a toss. I can¡¯t send messages or even google for any hint of news. Even the radio channels used by the police are silent. There is no activity in that space too. I am not sure how far these radio signals are transmitted. I think it covers the whole city. If that is the case then there are no policemen in the city. A conclusion that I can draw from it is that whatever has happened has affected the whole city. Trivandrum has become a ghost town. I am the only one alive.


    I can hope this is a local phenomenon. The lack of communication hinders me from contacting anyone outside this limit. Therefore one cannot conclude about the situation outside the city limits. I need to get in touch with someone. I hope that if anyone finds themselves in this situation, the idea of going to the police station and trying to use the walkie-talkie to communicate strikes them. As of now, it is the only mode of communication that seems to have survived and is functional.


    I cycle through the channels once again. Silence. I hear a small gurgle from my stomach. It is telling me to feed it. That can wait.


    I get back to thinking about Anna. Suppose something had happened, she would have tried to contact me for sure. If she had to get away from the hospital, she would have tried to come back home. There is no other place she would have gone. Even though her colleague''s homes are nearby. She wouldn¡¯t have gone there. She wouldn¡¯t have sought shelter there. Except if it was her best friend. She is a Post Graduate student in her final year in another department. They have been friends from their undergrad days and share a strong bond. They come together often for coffee while at college. She does visit her house and goes out shopping, and movies from time to time. We have visited them a couple of times. They ended up becoming monopoly nights. I don''t know if she was also having a night shift like her.


    I will try calling her. I know it is futile but I don''t want to lose the possibility of getting lucky. The call doesn''t go through. I am thinking of going to her home and checking it out. It is another four kilometers from here.


    Just then it struck me. My best friend''s house was nearby. It is hardly a kilometer along my route. He is currently working in Bangalore. I know his parents. Maybe I can go and check on them. Once again I take out the phone to call him. The call gets dropped instantly. I take the scooter and drive towards his home.


    Over four years, we became good friends. It continued after we were done with college. I remember how we all had plenty of friends back in those days. These were friends you met in college, your flatmates, your groupmates, etc. I thought these friendships would somehow sustain over time. Ten years later, I realize that only the ones who are bound to stick with you remain over time. Rest will fade away and become just friends, maybe even acquaintances. No one can be blamed for this. The times we live in are such.


    After college, we went our separate ways. I got into my job while he went off to study business. During the two years of his master''s, we had little contact with each other. We did connect through WhatsApp now and then. It was after he passed out and got into a job that the friendship was reignited. The formation of a WhatsApp group with a couple of my other close friends helped to cement the bond that we shared. Through this group, a plan was made to go on a trip. The one who made the plan had to chuck it out at the last moment due to some emergency assignment in his workplace. Normally in this kind of situation, the trip gets canceled. I thought it would. But he took the initiative and pushed the rest of us to go ahead with the plan without him. We were a bit apprehensive at first. He felt it. So he went ahead and booked our flight tickets. Now there was no way to cancel it. And so the trip happened.


    Stolen story; please report.


    The trip helped to establish a strong bond between us. It forged our friendships. Soon we became very close to each other. The WhatsApp group survived. It still thrives to date. At times there will be a ton of messages being passed around in quick succession. Heated debates, random memes, and trolls would lead to discussions of great lengths. In between this, someone would pull the other leg and that will cascade into another round of bickering and laughter.


    It is pretty interesting how a group forms. The group that sticks with you throughout your life wouldn¡¯t be the one you had imagined. Maybe a member or two of it would have joined under some circumstances that one couldn¡¯t have predicted. Many a time such people will come and go. In a few cases, some stick around and become an integral part of the group. We all came under the pretext of having a trip together. Eight years of having formed that WhatsApp group, we find ourselves tightly knit. Along the way three of us got hitched. One more will hit the dust soon. Our better halves also have become a part of the extended family. We also have a common friend who has become very close to us. She too joins us from time to time. We grew to become a family of sorts. I never gave much thought to when I heard Dominic Toretto say family is the only thing that matters. He was of course referring to his friends. Now, when I have one I can relate to him. They have become an integral part of my life.


    Although distance and the current shitty situation have forced us to stay indoors and make plans for when the better days come in the future, we take every effort to be in touch and meet whenever possible. We all came together for my wedding last year. After that, we met in smaller groups from time to time. One of the things we emphasized was to have a trip at least once in a year. We were able to pull it off the second year. We did an overseas trip, the first trip in which the five of us were together. We learned a lot about each other through these trips. It was quite evident that we were five distinct individuals with our quirks and outlook. Some magical force was working to hold us and take us ahead together.


    I first visited his home when I was in my final year of college. We were in the same group for our final year project. His house was selected as our hangout place. We would come together and discuss our project. The night before the deadline, we huddled up in his room, trying to fathom the huge task in front of us. We had barely started writing out the material. Plenty of pages were to be typed out manually. It had to be proofread once and submitted before noon. I didn''t contribute much to it because I wasn¡¯t fast enough in typing. The majority of it was done by him. Also, I slept off late into the night. He stayed up and finished it off somehow. I woke up in his bed fazed. I couldn¡¯t recollect when I had fallen asleep. By then the others were up. He was still sleeping. I didn¡¯t disturb him. I asked my friend what the status was. He said Vivek had finished typing it out. I felt so proud of him and probably wanted to give him a good bear hug. But I dared not to disturb him from his sleep. He would need every ounce of it when we go and submit it for scrutiny.


    I thought this group would stick. We were four. One decided to do his masters after a year of teaching. He then went abroad for his doctorate. I saw him last when he came down for his wedding. The circumstances under which the wedding happened were something we had never imagined or even thought of in our wildest dreams. He had surely surprised us. We were stunned. It took us some time to accept it and appreciate what he had done. I remain in touch with him from time to time. We do video calls across the time zones whenever we find the time. He has found a great partner and is carving out a life for himself out there.


    I reach Viveks home within minutes. His car is on the porch. I open the gate and go in. I did look at my surroundings while I was driving here. I could not see any activity anywhere. I ring the calling bell and wait. There is no reply. I ring it once again and press my ears against the door. I can¡¯t hear any movement. I walk towards the porch and take a peek inside through the window. It is empty. I go back and ring the bell furiously. I was hoping at least someone would come from the adjacent house on hearing the furious ringing. No one came from anywhere. The house is empty. I remember him telling me that his mother was alone in the place. I know aunty prefers to be in her house. She doesn''t stay over anywhere else. She prefers to come back and sleep in her bed. Without any response, I am not sure what to conclude. I walk out of the porch, close the gate and sit on the scooter. I take out my phone to check for the network. I open WhatsApp and drop him a message describing my visit to his house. The message doesn''t go.


    Aunty is a very jovial person. Whenever I have come here, we would sit and talk. She would make it a point to pull his leg. He wouldn¡¯t give up and retort back in his scathing style. I would sit and see it through. It was fun. I saw her a couple of weeks ago when I had come to pick him up for our small get-together. It had been a long time since I had seen her. She asked me where we were staying, how Annas'' course was going and all. She then told me to bring her one evening for dinner and made it clear that I had to tell her beforehand. It was essential for her to prepare something special for us. I told her we were happy to have whatever she made. She dismissed it saying something special had to be made for a couple coming in for the first time. I smiled at it and said I would surely let her know.


    She has disappeared. I find it hard to digest. The anxiety slowly creeps in.

 1.13

    I leave my friend''s house and come to the road. On starting the scooter, my eyes fall on the instrument panel. The fuel indicator is blinking at the last bar. I need to refuel. There is a pump nearby. I drive towards it.


    The pump is empty. Except for the bike that is parked at its rear end, it is lifeless. I park in front of one of the dispensers. I can see the digits being displayed in the panel. They must be functioning. I get out, go to the office and look around. I can¡¯t find anyone. I decided to fill it up myself. I open the seat, take the dispenser and activate it. Petrol begins to flow. I didn¡¯t set any limit on the panel. I didn¡¯t know how to do this. I just took it out from the machine, heard the motor whirring, and proceeded to press the handle that dispenses the fuel after keeping it in my tank. I kept a close watch on the fuel being pumped. When it was almost full, I stopped. Since I had seen it being done, I had a vague idea of how it worked. I am glad it worked. The scooter is ready to go more than a hundred kilometers. I will be needing it. The cost had come to around four hundred rupees. I don''t know if I should just keep the money on the dispenser or on the table in between them. I saw a card-swiping machine. I decided to try it out. I take it and press the green button. Instantly it displays the message: no connection. I keep it aside.


    I come out of the petrol station and slow down at the exit. In the meantime, I have decided to check out her friend''s home. Before I start, I pull out the walkie-talkie and check for any activity on the channels. I get no response. I switch to the main channel and send out a message: ¡®If anybody is hearing this, please respond.¡¯ Somewhere in my school days, I read there are enthusiastic ham radio operators who have their own radio equipment and carry it as a hobby. I can only hope that the message reached someone similar in the city. I now tuck it onto the side pocket of the bag. I don''t know how much charge is present in it. I might have to charge it soon.


    The route to her friend''s home goes through medical college. I decided to go around her department and the premises once again. I start off. Within a minute I entered the medical college premises. I slow down and look out for any signs that I might have missed on my previous visits. I reach her department. Everything looks exactly how it was the first time I came in the morning. The crashed car, and bikes, all are still there in the same condition.


    I take a deep breath and rev the throttle. I exit the arch and take the right turn. I see the police station. I slow down in front of it to check for any activity. There is none. I continue on the road.


    Her friend''s home is in Pattoor. I will be taking the road through Kumarapuram and Kannanmoola. There is a shorter route available. I decided to stick with this because it is the main road, thus the chance of seeing someone being more. The shorter one goes through a couple of residential colonies and narrow roads. I might take it while coming back. As of now, it was more sensible to stick to the main roads for travel.


    The road ahead of me has a couple of cars that have crashed onto the sidewalk area. I slow down whenever I see one, take my scooter close to it, and take a peep inside. The observations I made from the first crash still hold true. There isn¡¯t any trace of human life inside the car.Nor are there any signs of blood. The keys are in the ignition and the vehicle is locked. If the windows were open, I can try to open the lock and open the door.


    A few meters away I come across a terrible crash. An Omni van has crashed onto a light post and almost uprooted it. Its front is completely gone. A bike is stranded under it. It must have been in front of it as it crashed. I stop in front of it and take a look. The front windows are open. I don''t think I will be able to open the driver''s door. It has been crushed from the hinge. I take a peek inside to see the same old story. I bend down and look under. The bike is completely mangled under it. Drops of petrol are leaking out from the petrol tank. This is not good. I can only pray that nothing untoward happens here now. By this, I mean the possibility of a fire. I look around for something that would help me pacify the situation. I can¡¯t pull out the bike, nor can I push the car. If I could put some water on top of the bike and the surroundings, maybe it can prevent a fire. The sun is up and striking hard. There is a good shade where the van sits. It might help to prevent the escalation of the temperatures. I don''t know if the water idea would work. I look out for a bottle of water or any other source. I wish the restaurant that is on the opposite side of the road was open. Or the bakery beside it. I would have found some water.


    As I was looking around, my eyes fell on twenty-liter water can lying behind a stack of crates near the restaurant. I walk across and have a look. There is water in the can, almost a quarter of it. I feel relieved. I pick it up and hurry up to the bike. I go around pouring the water. I pour some more near the petrol tank of the bike. The water flowing out has a thin layer of fuel on top of it. In the falling sunlight, it shines like a rainbow in a flowing pattern. I acknowledge the beauty in it for a few seconds. Then I keep aside the empty can and get back on my scooter.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    When I was a kid I used to be fascinated by this occurrence. I didn¡¯t know what caused it. Walking back from school during the rainy season, I saw this phenomenon in some of the puddles beside the road. It took me a long time to realize that it was an oil film. Taking the literal meaning of it I wondered if I could get my hands on some oil and try it out. I took some cooking oil from the kitchen and poured a tiny bit of it into a cup of water. I took it out into the sun to see if it worked. The oil formed circular patches on top of the water. It didn¡¯t look like the oil film I had seen. I tried to bring them together. I didn¡¯t succeed in that. But I did see some of the bigger puddles all colored up. I was happy. Although the experiment didn¡¯t go as planned, I was happy with the little result it gave. I emptied the mug and went back inside.


    As I got back on my scooter I thought of what I would be seeing along the road. Surely whatever caused all the people to disappear has created this ruckus. There is clearly a link between them. What if the accidents were created when the people in these vehicles disappeared? The thought struck my head with quite a blow. It would explain all the cases I have seen today. There are no passengers in the cars or any trace of them in the bikes or other vehicles. There is no blood or anything that shows some sort of injury. The cars that I have come across are clean from the inside. The crash that I just saw would have surely resulted in casualties. The car was old. It did not have an airbag. The windshield was cracked. The front was crushed. The driver should have sustained major injuries. Yet there are no signs of it.


    Suppose this is not what happened. They were moved out of the car. I don''t think the car keys would have been in the ON position in the ignition. The first response by a bystander would be to switch off the vehicle. They might even remove the keys.


    I don''t know how true this theory is but I feel it is the right one. I come across an autorickshaw that has toppled over onto the pavement. I stop myself in front of it and get out. Again there is no trace of anyone. A bottle of water has been crushed between the frame and the road. A bag pack lies beside the opening. It has been thrown out of the rickshaw. It probably belonged to the traveler inside it. It is a rucksack filled to the brim. I pull it aside. It is a bit heavy. I go behind the rickshaw to look at the tire marks. There is a small skidding mark in the form of an arc on the road. It looks like the auto was turning when the incident happened.


    Doesn''t this too add to my hypothesis? I think it does. I go back and peer inside the rickshaw. A single slipper lies on the road inside the auto. It must have belonged to the driver. I have seen plenty of them tucking one of their legs in while using the other for braking. Also, it is lying near the driver''s seat. There is no way something would have flung out from the passenger''s area and fallen in between the driver''s seat and the frame of the rickshaw.


    I walk back to my scooter. I pass by the lane that leads to a pizza joint. It reminds me of her. She is not a pizza person. She has never been a junk food person. Moving to Trivandrum has seen a slight increase in it. I am equally responsible for it. Sometimes I am in the mood to go out and grab something to eat. Sometimes it is her. Sometimes when I pick her up from college, she would express her desire to have dessert. I can never say no to desserts. So I drive to one of our favorite dessert places in the city, buy their classic chocolate cake and enjoy it wholeheartedly.


    When it came to pizza, I decided to buy one when she asked me to order something of my choice. She didn¡¯t like it. It had gone cold. I didn¡¯t enjoy it. Also, she didn¡¯t like the crust. It was thick. She did however say she would have enjoyed it if it had been hot and the crust much thinner. Last month after I picked her up from college, I told her we would be heading to this pizza place. She was a bit skeptical about it. I asked her to keep some faith in it. I had their pizza a couple of years ago. It did fit the kind she would enjoy. I took her to this pizza place, ordered a veg and a non-veg pizza, and waited with my fingers crossed. She took the first slice from the veg pizza. She liked it. She really did. Then she took a slice from the non-veg pizza. She liked that too. I was really happy. She liked the thin crust and was enjoying the pizza. That is all I wanted, to see her happily enjoying a pizza. We couldn¡¯t manage to finish them - we only were able to finish half of each - so we packed the remaining and took them home. I did express my concern about the pizza not tasting great when cold or reheated. She smiled and said it wouldn¡¯t be a problem, which meant she genuinely liked it. This was great. A couple of weeks later when she came back home, she had a pizza parcelled for us. She clearly loved it. She is the kind to have genuine love and affection for the food that has left a lasting impression on her. She also expresses her distaste for the ones that don¡¯t make her feel good.


    We decided to explore restaurants here in Trivandrum. It lead us to find an old-fashioned shop that served homely meals at great rates. We had gone for having tea and snacks. She was feeling really hungry. Luckily they were not finished with their afternoon meals. We ate the meals with fish fry. The fish fry was really delicious. I remember how we both looked at each other with happiness after finding a great place. We finished it off with a cup of tea and coffee. She prefers coffee. We ordered both to try them out. Both were great. We left there with our hearts and tummies happy. After I left for work, she took her friends along to the restaurant for lunch. It became an instant hit amongst them. I was so happy to hear that. I felt like an explorer at that moment. Exploring food is something I like to do. And to have someone who shares the same enthusiasm is a big blessing. We had charted down a couple of places to try out in the coming week. I had googled and saved them. It will have to wait.

 1.14

    I come across more and more crashes along the way. It becomes quite evident that the disappearance of people is responsible for them. I wasn¡¯t able to see much on the medical college premises. I didn¡¯t go around the college completely. That can be a reason. I did go through the casualty. The presence of the empty ambulance and limited vehicles in and around the area tells me that the phenomenon might have occurred when there was the least load on the casualty. I can¡¯t be sure because I don''t have a reference to gauge.


    I am approaching Kumarapuram junction. Just before the junction, I see a car off the road and crash into the shop on the opposite side of the road. It has caused a lengthwise dent on the shutter. Regarding the state of the interiors, it remains in a pristine state. The airbags were not inflated. The car does have them. It belongs to the newer generation that has made airbags mandatory. I stop to give the car a quick check. The front grill is intact but the side fender and body have sustained damage. It has long scratches from the side indicator light to the fuel tank.


    There is a small temple right in the middle of the road. It encloses a banyan tree. Nothing has happened to it. There is no activity from it though. It should have been open by now. The temple priests would have been going about their daily duties. Instead, it remains calm and peaceful.


    For the past couple of hours, the whole environment has taken up the quality of being eerie and mysterious. Because of a lack of sounds or activity, there is an innate silence hanging in the air. The sounds that are in abundance are those of the animals and birds and the occasional flutter of the trees caused by the wind. The other sound that has become prominent is the hum of the transformer (I can hear one from where I am standing now). It was a noise that used to get drowned down in the sounds of daily life. Even a hartal is not this quiet. I have seen plenty of them and I will verify this fact.


    I take a moment to observe this. The world seems a very odd place without the everyday sounds one is used to. They have become an integral part of our lives. From the time we wake up to the time we hit the bed, we are constantly being barged with all kinds of sounds. If there is a lack of it then it means there is a problem. Just like now. Even if you are at home, you are subject to all kinds of sounds from your house and its surroundings.


    The presence of human life brings in all kinds of sound. Places where what I am experiencing might be normal in isolated regions of the planet. I can think of places in Antarctica, the Arctic circle, the mountains, and the island nations inhabited by tribal populations. In a video, I had seen how these tribals respond to the sounds created by the vehicles and people that come to visit them. For them, these sounds are a novelty, and treat them with an air of suspicion. It is normal. When you encounter something out of the ordinary you are always cautious. Until you understand it, it will remain a novelty to be feared. As a species, we too have survived because of our fight or flight instinct. Although we are at a stage where this does not apply much to our daily lives in its strict sense, it is one of the basic instincts ingrained in our DNA. It comes out in situations that involve undue stress and panic. That is what you see in those tribals.


    Nowadays people take a detox from their hurried daily lives every now and then. They go for yoga retreats or do adventurous treks in the mountains to seek a bit of peace and solitude. Some retreats practice a lifestyle of minimum noise. You talk under the direst of all circumstances. People spend months here without uttering a word, creating an atmosphere devoid of human sounds. I have wondered how it feels. I surely am getting a taste of it, one which is more harsh and hurtful.


    Kumarapuram junction is also a busy junction on a normal day. Three out of the four roads lead to a hospital. The place has also seen a lot of development over the years. I hope on my scooter and continue on. I cross the junction and head straight. The couple of roadside eateries that cater to the hungry at night remain closed and wrapped in tarpaulin. One of them has tipped a bit. It is leaning against the wall behind it. An autorickshaw is responsible for this. It lies right next to it, crashed onto the wall. I slow down, look at it and continue on.


    If it was a normal day and I was in a hurry, I can¡¯t take the liberty to look around as I drive. It would not be good for me. I will be navigating through the traffic and every inch of my presence and focus should be on the road. I have observed a couple of times that a lack of focus can thwart away the rhythm I had on the road and put me off. This has occurred not when I was feeling sleepy or tired. Even going into some kind of deep thought is more than enough to lose track. The absence of any kind of vehicle on the road has given me the freedom to ride as I wish without compromising on the time taken to arrive. If I was able to open google maps now and enter my destination, it would show a duration that is bound to be drastically less than it was previously.


    I do remain vigilant as I drive. Seeing all these crashes, maybe I might encounter a real one. Or find a vehicle approaching me in the same circumstances. It is always better to be safe than sorry. It is something I have learned from my workplace. It has been infused into my character over the years.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    I cruise at a good speed through my deserted surroundings. I find vehicles that have strayed from the road now and then. They are quite distinguishable from the vehicles that were parked on the curb or the sidewalk. The frequency increases on the main roads and junctions. By lanes are almost empty. I haven''t come across any big vehicles yet. No buses or trucks or lorries on the road or in a crashed state.


    I pass through Kannamoola. There is an ITI center nearby. Once I had once here to write an exam. I don''t know why this thought has come to my mind. I do pass these premises from time to time without thinking about it. I think my mind is going into an introspective and extrapolative mode. With the need to make a sense of whatever has happened and is happening, my mind is working hard. Maybe it is a signal to eat something. It is five minutes past eleven. I haven¡¯t drank much water, just the glassful at home and from the bottle in the police jeep. As I think about it, I feel a small gurgle in my stomach.


    The road rolls downhill a bit here. Just slightly. An auto lies overturned on my side of the road as the downhill portion ends. I stop in front of it. The windshield is shattered, the front wheel lies to the side, and the sides are almost completely damaged. I saw the skid marks stretch out behind it. It surely did scrape the road for quite a distance before it came to a stop. I look inside for any casualties. It is empty. I find a purse lying inside it. It must have belonged to the driver. I can¡¯t find any trace of a passenger. The seat has been overturned. There is nothing to point out someone''s presence.


    I reach Kannamoola bridge. It is a small bridge built over a small stream. As I enter it I see a bike lying toppled on the sidewalk. I immediately stop near it and jump out. I run over to the railing and look out into the stream. It is flowing peacefully. I stare at it for a while and walk to the bike. All the plastic parts of the bike have been broken. The metal body has taken a beating. From the look of it, I think it was a high-impact collision. Interestingly the helmet lies a meter away. This is the first time I am seeing a helmet in any of the cases I have come across. I walk towards it, pick it up, and inspect its insides. It is an old helmet without a visor. There is no crack or any sign of blood inside it. I wonder if the rider was wearing it.


    Nowadays everyone wears a helmet whenever they ride their two-wheelers. There was a time when no one wore a helmet. It was a thing of novelty. Only riders and others who were conscious of their safety wore them. It did result in the death of the rider whenever a crash happened. The main reason in most of them would be due to the impact on the head. Following this, helmets were made mandatory by the government two decades ago. The rule was enforced strictly in the state by the police. Anyone found without a helmet was fined on the spot. It took some years for the habit to be ingrained into the common folk. At this time you had to be careful when you parked your two-wheeler. If your helmet was not secured, there was a high chance that it would not be there when you came back. A couple of my friends suffered this. Their brand new helmets were stolen. After that, we all started to secure it. Nowadays everyone has a helmet. It has become a part of the lifestyle. I leave mine on the scooter itself wherever I go. She asked me once as to why I was not stashing it away in the compartment under the seat. I gave her the same logic. That the need to steal a helmet has gone.


    There were a string of other road laws that were passed during those years. Mandatory seat belt for the driver was a great one. Although cars had them no one used them. Cars manufactured before a certain year were exempt from it. I felt that to be strange. I started learning to drive in a jeep-like vehicle named Trekker. It was a kind of a jeep that can seat nearly 9 people. The instructor had the clutch and brake pedals on his side. After a few days in it, I was given a Zen to drive. The first thing the instructor told me to do after I got into the road and came to a smooth speed was to apply the brake. I did it as I would in the trekker. The car came to a sudden halt. I was caught off guard. Sensing the change in my demeanor he drew my attention and told me that the car was equipped with power brakes. I acknowledged this. Within a few minutes, I was able to grasp it. He also inculcated the habit of wearing seatbelts in me.


    Over time I got used to wearing it. I would even don it while on the passenger seat. I have a friend who went to the extent of asking all his passengers to wear it while going for a long drive. It came as a blessing for him that night. Halfway through his journey, he was hit by another car from a tight angle. The airbags instantaneously deployed and saved the front passengers. His parents sitting at the rear sustained minor injuries. When I heard this, I also thought of asking my co-passengers to wear their belts while going for a long drive. But I dismissed it. Maybe I had confidence in myself that nothing would happen while I am on the wheel. I know it is false confidence. I should just ask them to do it. Our people are also similar. They don¡¯t know the importance of safety unless they experience it firsthand. Maybe my mother might wear it when she sits in the rear. But I don¡¯t know if anyone else would. It is always good to be safe. I have kept that as my mantra whenever I am in the driver''s seat. One should always be on the lookout for any impending dangers while on the road. If he can do that then he has secured the safety of all around him.


    We sometimes forget that an unsafe incident doesn¡¯t just affect us. It affects our near and dear ones. Sometimes it hurts them more than us. I think we should all try to cultivate a habit in which we think collectively about matters than require it. Like suicide. Your death will leave your family and friends in a state of shock that will take a good amount of time to recover. If we can think of them before we take our own life, that there are people around us who will always care and want us in their lives, we might reconsider our decision for a second. It might be enough to bring a change.


    Life is meant to be lived to the fullest. It happens when we share it with the people who matter to us. She said this to me on one of our outings. I loved it. I keep it close to my heart.

 1.15

    I get back on my scooter and drive away. The road narrowed a bit as it reached Pallimukku junction. I take the free left onto the main road. Within half a minute I would reach her friend''s home. Having taken the turn onto the main road I saw a car blocking my side of the road. I stopped right in front of it. The railing for the pavement was damaged along with the left side of the car. It must have hit the railing and swerved, finally coming to a stop in a position squarely blocking the road. There is a small gap between the car and the divider. I carefully take this and continue. As always there was no one to be found inside. I didn¡¯t put in much effort to get out and check the car. I had a glance as I navigated my way around it.


    I cross Central Mall and reach Pattoor Junction. I visited the mall once with my friends. We had gone in to watch a movie in the multiplex after attending one of our close friend''s reception. The movie wasn¡¯t that great. At that time, the mall was just coming up. Most of the shops inside it were to be let out.


    After moving to Trivandrum, we mostly went to the Mall of Travancore. It was fully functional and had a great multiplex. All the movies would run there without fail. It was our destination for a theatre experience. Every time I came back from my work, we would go to a couple of movies. Initially, this wasn¡¯t possible due to the shutting of theatres because of the pandemic. Just before the second wave, theatres were opened. We went with her colleagues and watched a great movie. Within a week, they had to close it down again due to the second wave.


    I was away at work when it hit us. Since I was working in a remote area, the wave didn¡¯t have much effect on us. It did prove to be deadly as a whole in the country. I remember her coming back from Covid night duty at the ICU during the peak of the wave and opening up about how she felt about the ongoing situation. She was agitated and visibly disturbed. The second wave was affecting much more people within the forty age range. It was proving to be fatal. There was a thirty-five-year-old IT professional with two kids. She was showing signs of recovery when her oxygen levels dipped in the middle of the night. She was given immediate medical care but it didn¡¯t help. She succumbed to it. She was distraught at thinking of how the family would go through the loss. People who had started a family were being admitted. They were mostly healthy individuals. The virus didn¡¯t spare them. News throughout the country was grave. There was a lack of preparedness for the second wave. This brought about a very ugly situation in the months it ravaged us.


    Things cooled off after the second wave. The situation was becoming better day by day. Vaccination was in full drive. I got my second dose in September. By then life was returning to a new normal. Initially, the night curbs were still in place. Soon they were discarded. Cases were saturated at a certain level in the state and the country. People were getting used to wearing a mask. It had surely become a part of their lifestyle. Having a mask on meant that you could now do anything that you wanted to. The country''s economy was badly hurt in the first wave and the month-long lockdowns that followed it. It couldn¡¯t afford to go for a complete lockdown. If the caseloads increased, night curfew or Sunday curfew would be brought into effect. My wife used to laugh at this decision. It didn¡¯t make sense at all. But some sort of a restriction had to be brought in places that saw an increase in cases. Maybe it was implemented to send a message that it would be better to stay indoors and look after each other''s safety.


    The third wave is upon us. I was expecting it a bit sooner. Its delay even led me to think if this pandemic was over. I was wrong. As the new year dawned upon us the virus hit us in a mutated form. Two variants of it were already floating around. It was the Delta variant that was spreading like wildfire. Following New Year, the cases started to spike almost in an exponential way in the state. I always tell my wife that we can¡¯t say what will happen in a week''s time. Planning was unpredictable. A sudden surge in cases can see your city or locality being closed out. It is a time to take things one day at a time. Until the pandemic becomes a flu-like seasonal disease, things are going to be muddy.


    I take the right turn from the junction following which I take a sharp right turn onto a by-lane. A couple of meters in, I reached her friend''s home. I park in front of the gate and enter it. The house has a grilled sit-out in front of it. The entrance is from here. I ring the calling bell. It chimes. I hear no sounds from inside. I wait for a while without any response. I ring the bell once again. No response. I take a peep through the grill. The door that leads into the house is closed.


    Her husband''s bike and car are on the curb. I call out her name loudly. After a few repetitions, I call out her friend''s name followed by her husbands. I get no response from anyone. The house is silent. I can¡¯t make out if there is anyone inside at all. They have another entry from the adjacent side. I walk towards it through a small garden. I tug at the door. It is obviously locked.


    I have come here a couple of times. It was with this friend of hers that we had board game-fuelled night-outs. We used to hang out in the large hall on the second floor. Her friend would bake something for us. Once she had made her signature chocolate brownies. They were utterly delicious. I became an immediate fan of it. She also stocks up on food for the night. This includes dessert jars, snacks, and a whole lot of other stuff. We usually order our food for the night. On all these occasions I have told them to not consider myself in their headcount while ordering food. I eat less. She says I eat like a parrot, picking up from the plate one morsel at a time. I am definitely not that. I eat what I want to.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    They have two boys. Both are fun to hang out with. The older one is six years old while the younger one is three. The kid in me comes alive whenever I am in their midst. The older one impressed me the second time I visited them. On my first visit, we became friends. He was curious to know what my work was. I told him what I did. He listened intently and then got back to playing with his younger brother. The next time when I came, he described to me my job in the most accurate way anyone could. I know people of my age who still can¡¯t understand what it is that I do. Here is a kid that knows it and can convey it in the best manner. I was thoroughly impressed and moved by this.


    The younger one is more mischievous. But we got along well. One night, before we began our monopoly rally, we sat together with his building block toy set. I made a couple of long boxes with them and gave them to him. He was instantly surprised by the new creation I came up with. He started playing with it. When one of the blocks fell down and he wasn¡¯t able to fix it back, he would come to me. I improvised a couple of times. I joined the two long boxes, making it into an extra long box kind of a thing that had flexibility in the middle. I dragged it to the floor. It became a train for him. He was happy and gave me an awesome smile. He got busy with it. Because of its flexibility, it broke off soon enough. When he came to me I showed him how to fix it. He learned it in a jiffy. The next time when it broke, he fixed it. When it was ready he looked back at me and gave me another big smile. I still remember that wide smile of his.


    On another day when her husband was taking time to come back, we recruited the elder one to play with us. He was the fourth player for our monopoly game. Boy, what luck he had. He was raking in money and buying properties at a very fast pace. This was mainly due to the number of doubles he was getting on his dice throws. There were moments when he would be asked to pick a person from which to make money. The three of us would do our best to convince him to take it from someone else. He chose to take it from his mother. She let out a sigh of disbelief. We laughed at it. He actually came forward with the reason for his decision. She was having the most money at that point of the game and so it made sense to take it from her. This astounded the three of us. To have a clear view of things at such an early age was incredible. It also showcased his innocence. We applauded him for this and continued with the game. Her friend had somehow managed to tell her husband to get some chocolates for him on his way back. He gave it to him on his arrival and told him why he deserved it. The joy on his face on getting a reward was something to be seen. He shared the chocolate with all of us. The younger one too got chocolates but he wanted some from his brothers too. He did give him some. But that wasn¡¯t enough. Soon they broke into a fight regarding this. The elder one succumbed to it and went off crying. It took some time to pacify him. He then came to us and joined his father as a team in the game. They won it easily.


    We slept in the guest room whenever we stayed over. It was very much like the sleepovers one has in their childhood. There would be food, games, conversations, and laughter. You would hit the bed late into the night when you were completely exhausted and done. Once she had to attend an online class the next morning. We set up a small table and chair for her in one of the rooms near the corridor that led to the entrance to the hall where we hung out. One side of it had the grill structure replicated faithfully from below. It also extended to the corridor. The whole grill area was covered with curtains. I wanted to push aside the curtains and have a look inside. Again this would be futile if the door leading inside was closed. It must be. It was closed at night. Still, I wanted to check out the minutest possibility.


    I got back to the front of the house and decided to climb on the boundary wall that separated the property from the road. It was a thin wall. I had to be cautious. The wall was more than six feet away from the ledge. I can''t jump on it. It was far enough and at an increased height from the wall. I looked around for a stick. I didn¡¯t find any in front of the house. I decided to look around the premises for something of use. As I walk towards the backyard, I pass a room and the kitchen. The kitchen window is open. I look into it. It is clean. The dishes are done. There is no sign of any cooking process happening. I walk further into their backyard. I found a long stick with a knife attached to its end. I remove the knife and take the stick along.


    Using the support of a sturdy plant, I climb up the boundary wall. I look around to see if anyone was watching. I know this is silly of me but it is a force of habit. Normally whenever you are climbing or jumping a wall, it means you are doing something that you are not supposed to do. It makes you cautious and looks out for anyone who has witnessed you in the act. Hence the reflex.


    I take the stick and poke it into the opening of the grill. The curtain follows it. I am not able to push it aside. I try sticking it higher and pushing it sideways. The curtain did move for a tiny bit after which it doesn''t budge. I tried it several times. There is no progress. I pull out the stick and push it into the middle portion to its full length. The curtain followed it. I could see a bit of the flooring. I leaned in a bit with the plant as support and push more. At the same time, I try to get a peek inside. I saw the wooden frame of the door. It was closed. I call out her name a couple of times. Getting no response I pull out the stick and throw it down. I jump into the road. There is no one here.

 1.16

    I have just driven out of the lane to her friend''s house and stand at the entry to the main road. I switch off the scooter and start crying. I think I have lost it.


    When I came here, there was slight hope of finding her. Something inside me said that she is safe and sound. She would be happy to see me. I had even visualized a scene in my head. She would come out as I called out her name. On seeing me, she would run to me and tightly hug me. I would give her a big tight hug in return and keep on hugging her for a long while. I would then kiss her forehead multiple times before succumbing to the emotional outburst inside me. She too would have become emotional. The worried face I saw when she was coming out of the house would have gone. A smile would have replaced it. We had each other and that is all that mattered.


    She might not show it but she is a very emotional person. I know this. My worksites are pretty remote. There is no proper network available. Whenever we have a video call, we become very emotional about seeing each other on the screen. The emotions slowly play out over the duration of the call.


    I have been forced to do longer stints at my workplace because of the pandemic. There is a shortage of people following the lockdown and restrictions. Anyone could catch the virus. If it happens in our worksite then we have to take necessary precautions to contain it and see that it doesn''t spread. This is not easy when you have a large workforce using common washrooms and dining halls. Work has become tough that way. Uncertainty looms over everyone. Long-term planning has gone for a toss. One can plan maybe up to the next hitch. Nothing more than that. Even the protocols to be followed keep changing according to the situation in the country. The advent of the third wave has brought back the long stints. I was supposed to go to work for a much shorter duration this time. The period of my work had come down to pre-pandemic times. I was really happy about this. She was happy too. This meant we wouldn¡¯t be separated for longer stretches. But the third wave played spoilsport.


    One year down the line, we feel we have just started our lives. We still are learning a lot about each other, getting deeper every day. I like to compare the life of a person to the ocean. It is deep. You think you know a person when in fact you have just scratched the surface. A whole lot lies deep within. It is not easy to go deep. For that, the ocean has to let you go in at his will. You can never force your way in. That is not how the ocean works. The deeper you go the more you understand the myriad nature of the ocean. Every depth has something new to show you. I feel one lifetime is not enough to reach the bottom of this ocean.


    It applies to the self. We think we know ourselves completely. The truth is we are learning about ourselves as the days pass by. If you have ever experienced the feeling of being shocked or in disbelief as to your actions or behavior then you would understand what I am trying to say. There are a lot of layers that make us, layers stitched together in our minds consciously and subconsciously. It has been said that we hardly know how our subconscious works. Doesn''t it quite literally translate to the fact that we hardly how a part of our brain functions, thereby telling you that we are in the dark when it comes to knowing ourselves?


    Since I believe in this I have told her that the journey we will take together will be a journey of discovery as an individual and as a whole. We would be knowing each other on a deeper level as the days pass by. If you don¡¯t a reference then each day is a new day, a new beginning. This is the reason I feel we have just started out with our lives. In this process, we evolve and become better than we were.


    Months before the day we took our vows, one of my close friends asked me if I was ready for marriage. I said I was. She asked me how did I know this. I said I didn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t give her a concrete statement as to why I felt like I was ready. I just felt it from within. That''s how one goes about these things. For most of our lives, we are not ready for the things in store for us. They come at us at full speed without warnings. We have to adapt to it quickly. We have been doing this from the day we were born. Along the way, we become good at it. We have learned to adapt to what is thrown at us and evolve in the process. As I neared thirty I had to go through a lot of experiences to become the person I am. In the process, I adapted and evolved. I was ready to take the next step. I didn''t know what was in store for me but I knew I was ready for it. That is all I had when I met her and agreed to be together. People call it many things. When we met and had our first conversation I got the feeling of having found someone with whom I can spend the rest of my life. It did take me a couple of weeks to get that feeling validated. Once it did, I didn¡¯t look back. I took the leap of faith. It was the best decision I have ever taken.


    I try to stop my crying. The feeling of having lost her engulfs me. I try to suppress my emotions and compose myself. But I can¡¯t. I wish there was someone to see this. I wish they would approach me, ask me why I was crying, and calm me. I wish she was here. I now wish she didn¡¯t have to take duty yesterday night.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    A couple of dogs come out of the opposite lane to the road. One of them barks at me for a while and leaves. The crows respond to this with loud cawing. A group of them fly away. Nothing seems to be off with them. It is a normal day for them. My mind diverts with this. I think about the pets people have. How would they react if their masters vanished all of a sudden? Who will feed them now? Would they find a way to overcome their starvation? What about all those dogs that are locked away in cages or chained away? Who will feed them? My wife has two dogs at her home. Their images come to me. They are chained. One of them sometimes gets out of his collar and runs away for a while. Maybe he might stage an escape. My cousin has a huge German shepherd. He is caged. They let him out in the evening for a walk. He can easily overpower you. He can''t get out of the cage by himself.


    The images of my grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and some of my close relatives come to my mind. I wonder if they are safe at home. My grandfather is ill. I hope he is not alone.


    I park the scooter near the pavement and get out. I stand for a while. I am trying to compose myself. I feel hungry. I can hear my stomach gurgling. I need to eat something soon.


    I think of the best thing to do. I don¡¯t know any other place here in the city where she would have gone. I know where one of her colleagues lives. I don¡¯t think she would have gone there. I feel my hunger rising. I think I should get back home. What if she is back there waiting for me? This possibility brought in enough hope to compose me and pull myself out of the dark pit I was falling into. I got onto the scooter and left the place.


    I have to take a one-way to join the road I had come in. As I reach the junction, I find a police jeep crashed into the electric pole on the pavement. Just adjacent to it is the Pettah police station. I think the jeep belonged to the station. Finding it in a crashed state here is interesting. I decide to look inside the jeep. I open the driver''s door and jump in. A police cap was lying on top of the dashboard. The radio transmitter was on. I crank up the volume and listen. When I hear nothing I get out of the jeep, dash to the scooter, take out the walkie-talkie from the bag and come back. I turn it on and speak into it. I hear my voice come out of the transmitter. I get into the jeep once again and look around. There isn¡¯t anything else inside it. There is no way of telling how many people were there in the jeep when it crashed.


    I get out of the jeep and walk to the police station. The empty parking spot at the entrance tells me the jeep belonged there. I walk into the station. The front desk is empty. A cup of stale tea and a snack share the space with the register. The lights are on. Fans are running at full speed. The scenario inside is similar to the one I encountered at the medical college police station. There are a couple of mobile phones lying here and there on the various desks. I check them for network. No network. I walk into the room marked out for the SI. It is empty. No one is here. It is entirely empty. I get out without wasting much time. As I walk through the road I feel dehydrated. I open the door of the police jeep and look for a bottle of water. I find one on the driver''s door. I finish it in one go.


    I leave the premises for my home. The short one-way joined the main road at Kannamoola bridge. There was nothing new from what I had seen while driving the opposite way. Still, I was on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. I revved my throttle to the max and sped away. Within minutes I am at the medical college junction. The ride was eventless in every sense.


    I think I pushed the scooter to its limits. I don¡¯t do that normally. I am a very conservative driver. I always think of driving a vehicle for more mileage. You can say I have a small OCD about it, an OCD for trying to squeeze out the best mileage from any vehicle.


    When we were staying in Kottayam, if I had to go to my hometown for some quick work, the forty kilometers would be traveled in the most efficient way. To avoid traffic I would start early, at six. I would take the shortest route. The road was narrow and goes through a lot of small lanes. But it would be devoid of traffic in that wee hour of the day. I would take wider curves and maintain my speed as much as I can. I would hardly exceed 55 kmph in it. On those rides, all I needed was one liter of petrol. Forty kilometers in a liter for a nearly twelve-year-old scooter (it was made in 2006, one of the first models of Activa) is pretty impressive. I only get thirty in this. This is her scooter. She was using it back home. She brought it here after she joined her course. She has a certain attachment to the seat cover. It has come off and does not serve its purpose.


    Once when I had given the scooter for servicing, she had accompanied me to get it back. As I got it out, she exclaimed about the absence of the seat cover. The scooter was looking really slick after the wash. I was happy with or without the cover. She insisted I get it back. I went and asked them if they had kept aside the seat cover. They checked and said they didn¡¯t have it. I felt bad. The supervisor then told me to check under the seat. I did that. It was tucked inside. She felt happy to have it back and immediately draped it on the seat. It comes off from time to time. Sometimes I get annoyed by it. Since it is something she doesn''t want to discard, I don¡¯t mind having it. I am good if she is good.

 1.17

    The mid-day sun is scorching hot even though it is the month of January. Towards the northern part of the country, people are experiencing winter. There is no winter here. December and January are two months when you don¡¯t mind the hot sun. There is a slight chill in the atmosphere that cools down the heat, making it pleasant.


    I continue on my way back home. I am keeping an eye out for any kind of movement or activity that signals the presence of someone. There are more dogs on the road than previously. They might be hungry. I pass Ulloor Junction uninterestingly. Nothing has changed from my morning ride. Everything is exactly as it is. It kind of feels very weird. We are so used to seeing things change in a fraction of a second that stillness seems very odd and out of the box. We have gotten used to our everyday lives so much that these changes are an inherent part of them. We too are changing with it as time passes on. We all are in a constant state of change. It validates the thought that change is the only constant. Currently, I find myself in a situation contradicting it. I know this is not true. There are changes happening at a microscopic level that is unknown to us. Everything that I have seen today will have changed in a few days or weeks. If these vehicles continue to stay here they will be subjected to the forces of Mother Nature from which there is no escape. We are constantly being bombarded by the forces of nature. There is no escaping it. Hence change is inevitable. It would be best to embrace it and go with it.


    I think of the couple of philosophy books that I have read. Deep down in them, they are also trying to convey this same message. To go with the flow. The river is the best example of this. It symbolizes a state of flow that is ever-changing yet sticking true to its course. I liked the way the river was compared to life in Herman Hesse¡¯s book Siddhartha. I read it after I started to work, having revived my reading habits. It is a powerful book. I have always thought of reading it once more. But I am a person who does not like to revisit the books I have read. I see them lying on my bookshelf, inviting me over to go through them once again and maybe understand them a little bit more from the previous reading. But I shrug the feeling off and go on to pick a new book. I broke this when I picked up The Ocean at the end of the Lane once again. It is a brilliant book written by Neil Gaiman. After reading this, the book left such a lasting impact on me that I instantly became a fan of his writing. I started reading all that he had written. I came across his body of work and it blew my mind. He is the creator of the iconic comic Sandman. I was into comics in my childhood. It never survived post-that time period. I went through the reviews of the comic and got really intrigued by it. I got my hands on the comics and got to reading them.


    In my opinion, Sandman is the best comic ever written. The story, the characters, the undertones, and themes, the graphics (a huge round of applause to the artists who gave life to the story through their myriad style and colors), the fresh take on our myths and folklore and its seamless integration into our lives makes it exhilarating and a joy to read. I was feeling the emotions just as the creators wanted to. I was wholly absorbed in their world and didn¡¯t want to come back. I used to read them at my workplace. My colleagues did ask questions whenever they saw me glued for hours. I keep recommending it to all those I can. It might be a bit difficult to find them in libraries. One of my friends found them in the Toronto city library. He clicked pictures of them and sent them to me saying he stumbled upon this in the library and was utterly hooked on it. Seeing them reminded him of how I used to talk about it. I was happy to know that he too would now enjoy a marvelous piece of art. Sandman is a work of art. It transcends the boundaries of being a comic. Anyone who has read it will feel it coming back to them throughout their life in bits and pieces. I have had occasions where I have felt as if I am experiencing a part of the story in real-time. That''s the impact it has on its readers.


    I soon got to reading his other works. He has a unique knack of telling a story. The fantasy elements he uses don''t seem out of the box. They seamlessly merge with your everyday life. They are stories that can happen to you one fine day. Once you get absorbed in it you might even go to the extent of wishing that something of this sort happens to you soon. The world he creates helps you escape your everyday life and explore the endless possibilities that exist if you just open your minds and be receptive to the magic present in your everyday lives.


    I want to be a storyteller myself. I want to tell stories that captivate people and keep them hooked to the words building the story. I want them to feel what I feel, go through all the emotions that have been put out, and experience the joy of listening to a good story. Stories have played an important part in our evolution. Without stories, we would have been lost. This world would have been a dull place to live. Stories connect you. They take you to places beyond your imagination. They show you things that you thought never existed and make you experience emotions and feelings that you never thought you had. It makes us explore ourselves, question our reality, and marvel at the wonders that surround us. It gives us a fresh perspective, an alternate view of common things, and helps us realize that there is more to what meets the eye.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I have stories to tell. In fact, we all have. From the moment we are born, we are acquiring all kinds of stories throughout our lifetime. Some come forward to share them. Others dismiss them or choose to ignore them. Either way, we are all experiencing them at every point in our life. The smartphone that we carry now is a window to witness all these stories. It might be a reason why Instagram named their newest feature stories. In fact, they are stories. Stories of people being told through a digital medium. When you go live with a video of snow falling on your yard, you are telling your story as it unfolds. When you post a picture of a sunset in the mountains, you share a story that you have lived. Our lives are stories unfolding.


    As I drive, my story is unfolding. I am not happy at the turn of events that has put me in this situation. I even can¡¯t grasp the enormity of what has happened or comprehend it in any suitable manner. All I know is that people have vanished into thin air while I am left out. I suddenly feel like the odd one out. I wish I too had vanished with them. Maybe they all have disappeared to some other world. I don¡¯t know.


    The stories we come across all have happy endings. I liked this in my childhood. As I grew older and came to my teenage years, I realized that stories need not end with a happy-ever-after banner. That is not how the majority of the stories actually end. The end can be anything. It can be sad, disastrous, peaceful, etc. I found myself liking the stories that didn¡¯t conform to popular culture. I felt a deeper connection to the ones that had real endings. The ones happening on a day-to-day basis with the people on this planet.


    The purpose of a story is not to put forward a happy ending or a sad one. Its purpose is just to say it. It should not have a bias of its own. If it is the life story of a person then the final ending comes with his death. After that, his story ceases to exist. Now if we decide to terminate it somewhere between when he was able to finally crack the code and build his machine thus saving mankind from a certain threat, it would be a happy ending. But the story still unfolds. We have just taken a frame out of the reel. The story ends when the reel runs out.


    I am not dead. This much I know. My story doesn¡¯t end here. This is a part of my story. It might not be the best one but still, it is my story. I don¡¯t know how long it will last. I can always decide to end it, marking the end of this story as well. Till that day the story will go on faithfully.


    Maybe this is how the universe works. Through Big Bang, we have a start. The story of the universe began in that instant. It will end when the universe finally dies out.


    I enter the side road towards my home from Pongumoodu Junction. Before I took the turn I slowed down and look straight ahead. I see a car crashed into the wall, having jumped into the pavement. It lies almost perpendicular to the road. On the other side is the petrol pump. The crash could have happened as the car was coming out of the pump. I decide not to have a look at it. It can wait.


    The drive through the colony road was silent in all manner. A dog started to bark from one of the houses. I have never heard it bark previously. I slow down and look at the gate. I can¡¯t see the dog. It must be chained or in his cage. He must be hungry. I shrugged the thought and continued on my way.


    I reach our apartment entry. I park my scooter in the usual spot and get out. I look at the house adjacent to where I have parked the scooter. Her cousin stays here with her family. She too joined for her PG at the same time as my wife. She chose a different college. My wife had told me that they would be looking for houses together. It would be great to get adjacent ones. I agreed to this. With my kind of work, it was great to have someone close to you living near. If any need arises one can always ask for help. It also helps to get comfortable with the new surroundings. They have been great friends from their school days. She is married and has a daughter. Her mother has come over to look after her granddaughter owing to her busy college schedule.


    Whenever I leave in the morning to drop her off, their windows would be open and curtains pushed aside. Sometimes we see her mother and greet her as we leave. Sometimes when we come back, we see her daughter playing around. We would walk over to the window and call out. She gives us a beautiful smile. She waves me bye-bye every time she sees me. I wave back at her with the same enthusiasm as a child. That is how we communicate. She calls out Annas'' name sometimes. It is good to listen to her calling out her name in her sweet tone.


    Today the windows are closed. The curtains are still draped. I can hear nothing from inside it. I walk towards the kitchen, hoping to find aunty busy with her daily work. The kitchen window is closed. There is no sound of utensils inside it. Silence prevails. They too have vanished along with the lot. I sign with a heavy heart.


    I open the scooter seat, take out the walkie-talkies, and put them away in the bag. I walk towards the staircase. There is a small reception desk near it. A manager sits here. He looks after the paperwork and maintenance work that happens in the apartments. He usually arrives by ten in the morning. The seat is empty. I walk beyond the chair and enter the premises where our caretaker lives. He has a small room here. The door is locked. I look through the window. His bed is empty. I walk back towards the staircase and climb up the two floors with heavy steps. I reach the door and open it. As I enter I feel weird and sunken. She would have been right behind me on any other day. I shut the door, offload the bag and sink onto the floor. I feel so lonely.

 1.18

    I have had a pretty normal life. There haven¡¯t been many eventful things in it. Because of that, I have never been pushed to an extreme state. I have never been depressed. I have a couple of friends who have gone through it and come out strong. Their personal story is the closest I have come to know about it. As I sit here on the floor with my back against the door, a feeling of sinking takes over me. I feel like I am drowning. I don¡¯t know how to swim in these waters. I think this is depression. I think I am going through it for the first time in my life. From the initial look of it, I hate it.


    This space belongs to us. Our safest space is in the arms of each other. The next thing is this house we call our home. We are tenants here. We know we would have to leave it at some point. Till then we decided this would be our home. She said this house becomes a home when I am there. It is the same for me. For her, it implies that for the time I am away for work it is just a house. She expresses the sadness that comes over her on days when she comes home to find it empty. She misses my presence everywhere - from making coffee in the kitchen to sharing our meals at the dining table. It is always difficult for her to come back here and find it empty. I came to realize this after my first hitch at work. When I came back I felt happy and joyful. I felt the emptiness when she took her night shift. Although it was for a short period, when I called it a night and hit my bed, I missed her. It took me some time to sleep. I woke up multiple times. I ran my hand to hug her and felt it go over an empty bed. I got what she went through on those lonely nights.


    There were plenty of days when she would call me at work and burst into tears. She would have been jovial when the call began. Somewhere during the conversation, the loneliness would hit her. Her voice would crack and become croaky and teary. I catch onto this change and try to assure her that I am always with her. I keep saying that even though we are separated by this distance. It is just a physical distance that would be over when I come back home. Mentally and emotionally we are always together. I don¡¯t know if what I said about the emotional part is true. If it is then she wouldn¡¯t have these bouts of loneliness. She wouldn¡¯t have to go through it. All I want to express is that we are together in each other''s thoughts.


    When two souls come together a deep bond is formed between them. This bond allows them to feel each other to a very good extent. It always makes them understand the other in a better way. A telepathic link is established between them. I have felt this on numerous occasions. They occur when we are apart. She thinks the exact same thing that was in my head and shares it just when I am about it. Then there are the plentiful occasions where a slight change in the voice can give you a clear picture of the change in the mood. Over time we have gotten used to sensing this in a much more refined way. The pauses, the tone, and the words used, all contribute to this. It has become a way of our life. I gauge her mood when we talk over the phone as well as the video calls. Her facial expressions are more than enough for me to know what she is thinking or going through. The subtle movements of her eyes, the pursing of her lips, and the stares, all convey silent messages. We both talk without speaking. We both listen without hearing.


    A sofa lies right in the middle of the room. I think of all the warm and cozy moments we have shared on it. Sometimes I would sit down on the floor. She would play with my hair as we watched something. It would lead to her grabbing the bottle of hair oil and applying it to my head. She loves it. She would meticulously be on task and keep her eyes on the TV at the same time. She is really good at multitasking. I am not. If I was watching something I would be fully focused on it. She could shift her focus. When she was done with me, we would trade positions. I would oil her hair. She has nice long hair. I love it.


    Right beside the sofa, we have put up a low seating arrangement. I remember how we were going about deciding what to buy and how to set it up. We have put a single cot bedding on the floor along with some sofa and seat cushions. I love the design of the cushions. She bought them. She has excellent taste when it comes to these matters. This space has come in handy at times. It was used as a large seating to host our first Onam together. We had laid out our Onasadhya on the floor and had our parents and friends sit here and share the meal with us. We have also used it for playing our board games with her colleagues. Beyond all that it has been widely used by the two of us to cuddle down and fall asleep. On days when our bedroom remains hot from the morning heat, we take to sleeping here. The vast expanse of the room and the presence of large windows make the room much more bearable. We lie down on it, put something on the TV, and fall asleep watching it.


    There are two tables in the hall. Both of them have four chairs. One of them is round, the other a standard rectangular table. Initially, the round one was used to keep her books and stuff. We used the rectangular one as our dining table. Over time when I started to buy books and stationery, we found it difficult to fit them on the round one. It crowded quickly. She used it as her study table. She sat amidst all the stuff and studies. I found it to be uncomfortable. It felt awkward - the whole positioning of the table and how it was wasting space and utility. I suggested interchanging them so that the dining table would become where we keep our books and where she would sit and study. It was much easier to place it in the corner. The wall would be used as support. We did this. My book pile quickly found a place on the right corner while her books took the left corner. All our stationery fell in the middle. There was ample space in the front half for her to keep her laptop or books and study. I feel a sense of comfort in seeing her study now. The round table became our dining table. It was the right table for our small dining needs. We placed six chairs around it. One went to the study table and the last one was kept as a backup. This setup proved to be great while playing games. Everyone found themselves in an equal and comfortable position.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    We wanted to have some plants in the house. She loves plants. Back in her house, she took it upon herself to look after the roses, bougainvilleas, and rest of the flowering plants. Her house has a wide open space. She has planted lots of plants and shrubs. On holidays she would get out and take time and effort to tend to them. One day we got a money plant as a gift. It was in a beautiful white bottle. It surely attracted some attention when it was discovered by her colleagues. This gave us the impetus to buy more plants. When we went home, we bought some from a nursery right next to my house. It was new. My mom was a regular customer. We got it at good rates. On coming back to Trivandrum, she immediately got to planting them in the few pots we had brought along. Mother had given her some water plants. She took some effort and remodeled a used Pringles can to hold them.


    We kept some of the potted plants out on our balcony. They were watered regularly. Soon they began flowering one at a time. It was beautiful. But the sun was not at all merciful. When we went to our hometown it scorched them. They died. It was futile to keep them out in the sun. We had some inside the hall. They died due to a lack of sunlight. She decided to stick to water plants. We have a couple of them on the table right beside where I sulk now and a couple of them near the wash basin. The cacti that I bought didn¡¯t survive. We never watered it. Still, it wilted away. She was upset about seeing that. She went and bought a couple of them to replace the wilted one. Two months later they started showing signs of wilting. I think it is the moisture in the atmosphere. These cacti are meant to last in this scorching heat. I think they need a dry atmosphere. Not moist. We decided not to buy them anymore.


    Her presence lingers throughout the house. I can visualize her in every corner of it. I know what she would be doing at a certain place along with her actions and conversations. I think I now truly feel how it is to be back here knowing your significant other is not with you. She must have gone through this every single day when I was away for work.


    I take a couple of deep breaths and calm down. I sit in silence for a couple of minutes. There is an eeriness to it, I try ignoring it. If whatever has happened is here to stay then I must get used to it. I wish when I go to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow, things would have returned to normal. Maybe this is a day like no other. Or maybe this is a dream of sorts. A glitch? I don¡¯t know.


    I am an avid fan of the Matrix movies. They have explored an awesome concept and tried to put their twist on it. No matter how exciting the action gets, or how amazingly the stunts are executed, the concept mooted in it is something to be pondered upon. Are we in a simulation? What is real? Is what I have felt till yesterday real? If so then what is today? Why is this happening? Is this a glitch in the matrix? (I like that line a lot. I tend to use them in these kinds of conversations.) If so I hope they would reset it and get it back to normal.


    I want my life to be as it was yesterday. I want my Anna back. I want the people back. I want everything back to normal. This is unfair to me. I didn¡¯t sign up for this. I don¡¯t want to. I want to go back to being what I was, having what I had. I have always been grateful for it. Does that work?


    I can go on like this. But it doesn''t change the fact that for now, this is my reality. I have to deal with it. It feels as if someone just took away the cards I was dealt out of the blue when I turned to grab a drink. It was a normal hand, nothing special, and yet I was robbed of it. I don¡¯t know if I can even play the game anymore. It seems there are rules that I never knew about.


    I get up and walk towards the kitchen. There is a  bottle of chocolate spread in the fridge. I take it out along with a couple of eggs. I light the stove, take a frying pan, and heat it above the flame. I break the eggs and let them slide into the pan. I take a plate, take out the four slices of bread in it and apply the spread on two of them. I eat them. When the eggs are done I transfer them to my plate and sprinkle some salt and pepper on it. I want to have tea but I don¡¯t feel like making it. I need to lie down and sleep. I feel tired of all this. I want peace.

 1.19

    It is noon. The morning half has been spent trying to find her. I have tried searching for her in all the possible places I can think of. She is nowhere to be found. Just like how I haven¡¯t seen a single human being since I got out. I am lost. I don¡¯t know what to do. I need to pick myself up. I can¡¯t let this take over me.


    The food helps me to calm down. I wash the dishes and keep them out for drying.There are clothes to be washed in the washing machine. They can wait. My laptop is lying on the study table. I pick it up and the 4G dongle and turn them on. The network symbol is blinking red. My laptop gets connected to it and immediately shows me the message that there is no internet in this network.


    I want to get some kind of information from anywhere about what is happening. We don¡¯t have a cable tv subscription at home. Nowadays its contents are available on the internet. We use the internet for our needs. I take out the two mobiles from my pocket and lay them on the table. There are no networks in them. I pick up her bag from the front and pull out its contents. Her phone is low on charge. I take her charger and plug them in for charging. I keep mine also.


    I switch between the channels of the walkie-talkie. There is absolute silence. I return back to the main channel and broadcast another message:


    ¡®If anyone out there is listening to this then please do respond on channel 5. If you are unable to respond, then know that I will be in Pongumoodu junction at six in the evening. I will be waiting for you.¡¯


    I keep the walkie-talkie for charging in its charging case.


    I think about my family and friends. I have no way of communicating with them. It kind of feels weird. The knowledge that the only mode of communication you had with your near and dear ones was a small handheld device and a singular network structure makes me wonder why didn¡¯t we think of having some other simple medium. Whether it is calling or messaging or anything, we are solely dependent on the internet. Landlines have become obsolete. I have them at my workplace. It is the only place where I use it. We don¡¯t have a landline here, nor at our homes. Our homes had them. They were disconnected as the use of mobile networks became easier and cheaper.


    There should have been some sort of network that used some other means to communicate. Like pigeons. They are the oldest form of communication. In this sort of situation, they can come in very handy. Although it would take time, something is better than nothing. I am not sure how successful it would be. I think it might only be useful for short distances. I don¡¯t think a pigeon will fly all the way to my hometown and deliver a message.


    I don¡¯t know what I am thinking. I guess I am slowly losing my mind. I quickly close my laptop and dash into the bedroom. I fling myself into the bed and bury my face in a pillow. I hope I fall asleep so that when I wake up it would all have been just a really bad dream.


    I love sleeping. It is the best thing in the world. To be all cozy in your bed and to drift into a dream world has no substitutes. I dream a lot. I dream about a whole variety of stuff. If I wake up from the dream, I just need to go back to sleep and I would continue from where I had left off. This makes me wonder if I was dreaming just before I woke up. I don¡¯t know. Sometimes I am able to recollect my dreams after I wake up. If I don''t note it down or remind myself of it throughout the day, I forget it. In that way, they don¡¯t stay. But I know I had dreamt that night.


    Most of my dreams have a timeline of a few hours to a couple of days. Whatever happens in this window is what I see. I am not frequented by nightmares. If I have one then it would mostly be related to snakes. I am afraid of them. I don¡¯t like them. These nightmares become so real that I wake up in the dark and find it very difficult to get a hold of my surroundings. I feel as if it is near me, maybe under my bed. I remain in a petrified state, unable to move. It takes some time to come out of it. I go back to my normal sleep soon after. That dream ends there. I might even see a new one.


    In my childhood, there have been instances of wetting my bed in sleep. I couldn¡¯t control it. I felt ashamed and wished I could stop it from happening. Mother would take me to the washroom to pee before I slept. It did work. Sometimes it would reoccur. Once when I was dreaming, I was with my Grandpa in his workshop. I was playing around with him. A few minutes later he had to go to the washroom. He asked me if I wanted to use it too. I went with him and peed. I woke up immediately from my sleep feeling the wetness seep through my pajamas. I had wet my bed. This happened a few more times. The scenario would be different but it would be my Grandpa who would initiate it. The repeated occurrences made me sit and think of what was happening. I had to either stop the dream from happening or get out of it when the chain of actions leading to it starts to occur. The next time when I was having a similar dream, I held the instinct to follow the actions and somehow woke up. It worked. I had figured it out. Since then, I have never wet my bed. I also took it to myself to empty my bladder before I went to bed.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    I wake up with a jolt. It takes a few seconds to orient myself to the surroundings. I am in our bed. I was sweating. The fan isn¡¯t turned on. I can bear that. I look at the time. It¡¯s half past one. I get up and go into the main hall, wash my face and sit down next to the table where the mobiles were being charged. I check them for any updates. Nothing. No network. Nothing had changed. It certainly isn¡¯t a dream. I drink some water but I wish I had something else to drink. I get up and take a look in the fridge. There is a packet of chocolate milk shake in it. I take it out.


    It reminds me of her. She is a chocolate person. It is the only flavor that she likes. She hates berries or anything colored. Anything made of chocolate is a safe bet to buy for her. It is her comfort flavor.


    When I came to know about this, I started gravitating toward it. I love all flavors. I don¡¯t have a particular favorite one. If we go into an ice cream shop I would like to try each and every flavor they have. If it comes to selecting one then I am stuck in a paradox of choice. For her, it is very easy. She would try only the chocolate flavors and pick among them. Having been reunited with chocolate, I started rediscovering my love for the flavor. It had lost its charm somewhere down the lane but because of her, it was back with a bang. The used ice cream tubs that can be found in our kitchen are all chocolate-flavored ones.


    In bakeries, I would scout for good chocolate pastries for her. While buying donuts I would order those that had chocolate on them. I would avoid all other flavors. She liked the donuts of a certain bakery that was in our hometown. Whenever we could, we would buy them and finish them as quickly as possible. I was a bit skeptical when she declared that it was the best chocolate donut ever. I had tried the big brands. When I tasted this, I understood why she wasn¡¯t wrong. We have tried to find something that comes close to it here but in vain. We found a couple of shops that had good ones. But nothing could beat it.


    She is a die-hard fan of Diary Milk. It can cheer her up instantly. Once opened it doesn¡¯t last long. She likes the Silk version the most. In the supermarket, we came upon Amul¡¯s chocolate bars. We tried their Belgian chocolate bar. She liked it. Even in chocolate bars, she likes plain ones. Once I tried their chocolate bar with a tinge of orange flavor. She liked that. It finished off like Silk. I felt happy. I feel happy whenever I find out something she likes. This becomes a bit of a problem when we get to desserts in restaurants after our meal. They might not have anything exciting in the chocolate division. She might try out some of the other stuff if I insist her.


    There is a bakery while coming back from her college. It is a reputed one. It is one of the oldest ones in the city. Sometimes when we are leaving for our hometown, we stop here to buy cakes and sweets for our families after having picked her up from her department. We also buy a parcel of fried rice and chicken fry to eat before we start our journey. It doesn¡¯t make sense to go back home and order in. The wait for it to get delivered and consume seems tedious as we are getting ready. The chicken fry is delicious. She loves it. It is spicy and deep-fried. Together they are a great combination in just the right quantity for the two of us.


    As I open the drink, I look inside the fridge. There is some leftover rice, saut¨¦ed cabbage, and gravy. I am not feeling hungry. On the door rack, there are a couple of bottles of beer and kombucha. She likes to drink the kombucha occasionally Initially I had bought it for her to drink along with me whenever I had a beer. I don¡¯t like to drink alone. I need a proper company for drinking. Gone are the days when I could chug down two bottles of beer in a sitting. Now I find it difficult to finish off a single one. There was a bottle of beer lying in the fridge for nearly four months from the time I had bought it. Then there was another one that had a little bit remaining. It was closed and kept for a month. I never bothered to even take it out and look at it. I thought it wasn¡¯t opened. I got to know about it when she took it out and asked if I was finishing what remained. It was stale. I threw it.


    Similarly, I brought a bottle of whisky from my home last June. It is yet to be opened. In this heat, I always prefer a cold beer. I had this idea of stocking up the fridge with cold beers when I have a place for myself. They would come out on game nights or whenever my friends come over. It isn¡¯t that way. I now feel it is something I would have done enthusiastically in my bachelor days, when I was in my early twenties, fresh out of college. As time passed, the thrill of having such a setting slowly diminished. Now the occasional ones with her or my friends are all that I look forward to. A nice place with a great ambiance and the right people makes the occasion that much sweeter. The drink then becomes secondary. It just acts as a conduit for the stories to flow and memories to be created.

 1.20

    I have managed to compose myself for now. The way I see it, there will be times when I will be subjected to emotional and mental stress. I have no idea how it will occur. I know I am not free of them.


    I take out a piece of paper from the study table and write down all the observations I have made till now. It looks like this:


    > My wife has disappeared along with all the people in the city. I have searched for her in all the possible places I can.


    > I tried contacting my friend''s family that lives nearby. They have also disappeared.


    > This might be a local phenomenon. I can¡¯t be sure of it.


    > There is no network of any kind. Regular communication methods have come to a halt. There is no hope of it being revived.


    > There is no movement in the streets. Roads are empty. I haven¡¯t seen a single car or bike being driven on the road. (If all the people have disappeared then there would be no one to drive)


    > Vehicles can be found lying crashed on the roads or pavements. There is no sign of anyone inside. No sign of any injury.


    > Medical college is empty. There are no doctors or patients inside it. No living or dead.


    > There are no shops open.


    > The traffic signals are still blinking yellow. (I don¡¯t know if this is of any help but still)


    >Police stations are empty.


    > I picked up a walkie-talkie from one of them. It is working. I verified that the signals are being transmitted by using one of the transmitters in the police jeep. I scanned the channels but there is silence in all of them.


    > I sent out a message in the morning saying I will be at Ulloor at ten am. I was there but no one came.


    > I have sent out another broadcast for a six pm meet-up.


    > Whatever has happened doesn''t seem to have affected the animals or birds. They can be seen in their usual numbers. If the situation persists then the domesticated pets might pass away due to starvation. The stray ones might exhibit an increase in wild instincts.


    As I wrote down the last point I realized it applied to me also. I had food for tonight. There are biscuits and stuff that can last for a day. There is rice and flour in stock, but the veggies will run out soon. I run to the kitchen and open the shelves one at a time and scan for the resources I have.


    There is a packet of Maggie and Hakka noodles. I bought the noodles to give it a try. It remained unused as I didn¡¯t have the necessary ingredients to make it. There are a couple of biscuit packets in a container. I might run out of tea in a week. Coffee, I have a packet to be opened. There are some sachets of hot chocolate also. I see a packet of snacks. I take it out. It has not expired. This will come in handy.


    There is rice, wheat, and pulses in good quantities. Currently, I just need to be concerned with my appetite. These should last for a while. The prospect of eating rice without any curries or veggies seems daunting. I don¡¯t like it. If it comes down to such a situation I guess I will eat without any complaints.


    Our staple food is rice. We eat it for lunch and dinner. The rice cooked in the morning lasts for the day. Along with it, there would be a gravy - like sambhar or rasam or dal - and veggies. Pickles compliment it occasionally. We have never been a family that requires a non-veg item in every meal. Whenever we bought any kind of meat or fish, it would go on till it finishes after which it takes some days before we buy anything else. Seafood occurred frequently. They would be deep-fried or made into gravies that can last for a couple of days. I had friends who always had a non-veg dish in the tiffins they brought to school. Sometimes egg does the job for me. There were times when my meal consisted of rice, gravy, a veggie, and an omelet. I was perfectly happy with it. I still am. The only thing is I cannot have rice without any gravy. The only kind of rice that doesn''t need gravy are the modified versions, like biriyani or Chinese fried rice. I could eat them like that. They had a flavor to them. That''s the reason. I need some flavor on my rice when I put it into my mouth. I know how to make rice but I don¡¯t know how to make gravies. I guess I would have to settle with curd. She taught me a method of making the curd a bit more flavourful by putting in crushed ginger and chopped chilies. I liked it.


    The flour can be used to make rotis. I know how to make them but haven¡¯t really tried. Back in my college days, we had a small cooking setup. Since I didn¡¯t know how to roll up dough I was given the task to cook them. One of the twins took up the duty to make the dough while the other got on with the curry. Mostly we had egg curry with these rotis. Occasionally on weekends we would buy chicken and fry them. It was cheaper than buying it from a restaurant.


    There are some onions and potatoes left over. I open the fridge and take out the vegetable tray. There is a cucumber, some beans and carrots, and okra. I have seen her make saut¨¦ed okras. It is quite easy. I think I can make it. Similarly, I can try my hand at the beans and carrots. I just need to get the spices right.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Four more eggs remain in the egg tray. A couple of cheese slices too. There is a bottle of pickle to be opened. That''s it. We keep our fridge lean. We buy only the stuff knowing they would be used in the coming days. If we overstock them, chances are high that they will go bad. We would be forced to discard them. We don¡¯t like this.


    I will have to go and get supplies after a couple of days. If the shops remain closed then I will have to find a way to get them. We normally do our shopping from a supermarket nearby. It is in the opposite direction from the Pongumoodu junction. I will find all that I need in it. It should be closed, given the circumstances. I guess I might have to break in. It sounds unethical. But then do I have a choice? I don¡¯t entertain the thought for the time being. I return to what I was writing.


    I go through what I have written and try to make some sense of it. One thing that has been bogging my head for quite some time is the crashed vehicles. They didn¡¯t seem to have any kind of a blood stain on them from the broken glass pieces or the sudden impact. There wasn¡¯t a sign of human life in them. I did come across bags and slippers. Nothing else.


    What I can make out of it is that these accidents might have happened when the people inside them disappeared. The instant they vanish, the vehicle will continue for a while until it comes across an obstruction. This can be a pavement or a light pole. Two-wheelers would have lost balance and crashed. Autos might have swerved as this was happening. The one that had crashed after the Kannamoola ITI must have lost control, run up the edge of the road, and toppled due to the topographical change.


    This makes sense. I had been with her yesterday till eight-thirty in the night. We had dinner, after which I left her near her department and came back home. This phenomenon happened after I returned and the time I left home today.


    Another observation that sheds some light is that the traffic signals were blinking yellow. They hadn¡¯t started to function. Usually, they go off by nine at night and come up at eight in the morning. Ulloor junctions signal lights up maybe a bit earlier, I think. Anyways, they mostly are up at eight. Since they haven¡¯t changed, it means they are not automated. Someone manually switches them on. Today nobody did that. Before eight in the morning. So now we have a time frame of nine pm to eight am in which the phenomenon occurred.


    Almost all the shops that I came across were closed. There wasn¡¯t a single one open except for the ones near the medical college junction. They were 24-hour medical stores. Shops usually shut in the city by nine. Some restaurants pull it up to ten or ten thirty. Assuming that the last shop closes at ten. And the earliest one opens at seven in the morning - like the restaurants near the medical college. The updated period now is ten to seven.


    I think about the lack of a network. Aren¡¯t they supposed to be automated? The networks still show coverage but the cal doesn¡¯t go through. This means the problem lies in the base office where these signals are processed and sent. I really don¡¯t know how telecommunications work. I hope this is the case. From the time I woke up, there has been no network. I was able to send one message to her. It didn¡¯t get delivered. The next one didn¡¯t even go from my mobile. When I got her mobile, I checked it for the messages I had sent. There were none. She too didn''t have any network, I did try sending a message from hers. It wasn¡¯t getting sent. Her wifi was also not working. Could the lack of people lead to this? Does every network need humans to keep them going smoothly without any failure?


    When I was working in Gujarat, cyclone Tauktae passed over the city I was in. We received warnings from our base office. We stopped our work a day before and braced for it. The night it hit us is a night we will never forget. It started at ten. Our networks were down by eight. The wind was picking up speed as time went by. It was creating havoc in and around us. Half an hour later our power supply went off. The generator kicked in to last for half an hour. It developed a snag and shut down. We were all huddled in our rooms, trying to find some peace and courage. We were safe in our hotel. Soon we started hearing crashing voices. The wind had destroyed a glass wall. Water started seeping into the corridor and into our rooms. I tried to get some sleep. There was no point in remaining awake. But I couldn¡¯t. The howling was really deafening. I got out of the room and looked out into the corridor. I could see my colleagues out of their rooms, looking at each other with a little apprehension on their faces. We got together and talked for a while. It calmed me down. Time had stood still. It seemed forever. More crashes forced us to retire to our rooms. I finally fell asleep at two in the morning.


    I woke up at six. The room had become stuffy as the windows were closed. I got out of the room. Daylight was falling in from where the glass wall had been. I walked towards the edge and looked below. The glass was lying shattered in million pieces on the ground. The name board of the hotel had been dislodged from the roof and was lying in the garden. A couple of ornamental trees were uprooted. One of them had fallen on top of a car. The petrol pump just beyond the hotel boundary had lost its roofing. Power lines from the street had fallen on the adjacent buildings. The transformer right beside it was missing. The cyclone was absolutely devastating. It left nothing in its path.


    We all heaved a huge sigh of relief in the morning. But we knew our near and dear ones would be worried sick. We had to talk to them. No one among us had any network. Since there was no power supply the towers didn¡¯t function. That evening a group of people from the telecom companies came to assess the situation. On talking to them they said it would take at least a couple of days before the network comes. Luckily that night one of the networks came on. The signal was weak but enough at times to call home. I called her and said all was good. Her voice told me she was worried sick. She had received calls from my friends enquiring about my safety. That compounded her concern. I pacified her and told her the worst was over and we were all safe.


    It took three days for my network to resume. The connection was never stable. It was enough to have small conversations. We were able to have a chat with the telecom guys staying in our hotel. They were running the towers with backup generators. Every day they would go, top up the fuel if required and let it run.


    Currently, I have power. The network is being shown. But there is no connectivity. I think this is some other issue.

 1.21

    It¡¯s two in the afternoon. The mobiles have been fully charged even though they remain useless. There is no response from the walkie-talkie. It remains silent. I had kept it on at full volume while charging. I should have picked up one more as a backup. I hope the battery lasts long. It doesn¡¯t have a battery charge indicator. I assume it would last for a day or more.


    I draw upon the conclusion of the city becoming a ghost town from the silence of the walkie-talkie. I have not received any sort of a message or an attempt to communicate either from the police or from someone who has a walkie-talkie tuned to this channel. The Ham radio operators can be included in the same category. I don¡¯t know if there are any in the city.


    I have taken the range of the walkie-talkie to be the city limits. It can be more or less. I know for a fact that ships communicate using the radio. I am not sure if they use the same frequency or if it is some other spectrum with added features. This radio should cover a radius of five kilometers at least.


    I think I should go out into the city - go to the railway station, bus stand, and places that are supposed to have people throughout the day. Or should I go to my hometown? I haven¡¯t entertained the possibility yet. I know I have no information about my parents, whether they are still there or not. Going there would mean leaving Trivandrum. I am hesitant to do that. I feel she is here only. If I have to find her, I should be looking for her in the city. I think I should keep aside these two days to look around for her and then maybe think of going to my hometown. If my parents are good, they would be worried sick when they cannot contact us. Thinking about it somehow gives me the creepy feeling that they too have disappeared. I don¡¯t want to entertain this but under the circumstances, the thought will find relevance as time passes by.


    This automatically applies to everyone I know. Whenever I try to limit the occurrence of this phenomenon to the city in my head, there is a part of me saying this is not localized. It is a global phenomenon. I find myself alone in this world. The possibilities of such a mass-scale event baffle me. A billion people disappearing all of a sudden from this planet sounds very much impossible. There might be survivors like me. I don¡¯t know why I survived. I definitely don¡¯t have any superpowers. Nor am I extraordinary in any way. I believe there are people out there waiting to be found, or rescued from this insane situation. For this, I need to get out on the road and explore. I need to keep sending out messages and do everything I can.


    I get up and grab her bag from the hall. I need to put in some supplies. I take the snack packet and water bottle from the kitchen counter. Next, I dump the chargers for the mobiles and the walkie-talkie. I go in and take out a boxer, a couple of tees, and shorts from my cupboard. This is in case of a contingency. I also take out the torchlight from under the bed. It hasn¡¯t been used in a long time. I switch it on to see if it has any charge left. It shines brightly.


    I will be taking the scooter. It is the best choice to navigate the road. I am sure of coming across more crashes and roadblocks along the way. I might even come across bigger vehicles. Maybe a bus or a lorry. The route I took in the morning was a local route. Buses stop their service by ten. Even though medical college is functional and sees a lot of people, buses stop plying. All the long-distance night buses take the Pattom - Kesavadasapuram route. From here they either turn towards Kollam along the NH or towards Kottarakara along the MC Road. I will be taking this route when I leave now.


    I take out my mobile and open up google maps. Even though there is no network it still loads. It has been some days since I cleared its cache. I play around with the map and look at a few places in detail. The map was able to zoom in on them up to a certain degree after which it stops. It seems this part of Trivandrum is preloaded. In case of assistance, I can surely use this.


    I sling the bag over the shoulder and walk to the door. Normally, before this, I would have to wear pants and a tee. I am mostly in my shorts and a loose sleeveless whenever I am at home. It has been a habit for a long time. I prefer this as it keeps me cool. If someone comes or if I have to go down or up on the terrace to pick up the clothes, I would wear a lungi on top of my shorts in a flash. I then remove them the moment I am back home. Anna says the first thing I do is something everyone else does the last on entering their homes. It has become a force of habit.


    Today I didn¡¯t do this ritual. I was in a different mood. Compared to that, I feel much better now. I am being rational and practical and not letting my emotions take over. If they do then I am pretty sure I will be sulking away for some time. I don¡¯t want to waste time. It might seem as if I have a lot of time. But I don¡¯t.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    I get out, close the door and lock the house. I wear my crocs. Before I take the stairs, I ring the bell of the opposite house. I hear it ring. There is no movement or sound. I try for some more time, but I don¡¯t hear anything. It is empty.


    I walk down and ring the bell of the only occupied house on the first floor. The couple who stays here have their parents with them. I had seen the guy''s father once. There is no response from inside. I ring it a couple of times more. Nothing here too.


    On the ground floor, I had checked on her cousin''s house. The reception desk is empty. The manager hasn¡¯t come. I ring the bell of the opposite house. No response.I get out and decide to have a look inside the house. The curtains were drawn on the closed windows. I couldn¡¯t make out anything inside. It is dark. I thought about going over and checking out my house owner and his family. He stays just beside our apartment building. There is an entrance from this property to his. I decide to chuck it for now.


    Previously I could see some kind of activity going on on the property adjacent to ours. It belonged to two families. Each had a house in them. One was closer to our boundary. Two families were staying in the two-storied houses. I don¡¯t know who they are. From our house we see the family staying upstairs take to the roof to play Badminton or some other game in the evening. They have two daughters. They jump around loudly after school and play amongst themselves


    The other house is a bit away. Their kitchen faces us. They have a small kitchen garden. It is always being tended to. Whenever I go out I always find someone working on it. They have a papaya tree very close to the boundary wall. It is really tall for a papaya tree. Couple of months ago it was bearing lots of fruit. I wondered if the stalk could take the weight of the fruits. A few days later they came and plucked out a lot of them. They only managed to salvage a few. The rest fell from their grasp and squished on impact. It had also become an attraction for bats in the evening. A couple of them could be seen hanging on it, eating away at the ripe ones.


    Today their doors and windows are closed. No one is tending the garden. An eerie silence has taken over the environment.


    Except for our house owner, no one has any pets in their homes. He loves birds. He has some lovebirds, a parakeet, and a few more on his balcony. They chatter away throughout the day. I could hear them when I call her from my workplace. Their high-pitched noise can be heard and recognized easily. Their cries are the only thing that pierces the silence surrounding me.


    I work in an environment that has a lot of sound pollution. We use earplugs to protect ourselves from their negative impact. Yet we are dependent on these sounds to a very good extent. With experience, the sound a machine makes gives you a fair idea of its operation and functioning. There have been occasions where the operator has been able to identify the slight change in the sound produced and was able to stop it before it became worse and lead to something unwanted. The same goes for the vehicles we drive. Expert mechanics can drive your vehicle for a minute and tell you all the problems it has. They have the keenest of ears in their fields.


    We have become dependent on sounds whether we like it or not. They have become an integral part of our life. The change in tone of a mixer grinder can tell you whether it is grinding the object or not. The occasional clinking in the normal operation of the washing machine tells you about the loose change in it. Sound is everywhere. We have tamed it and made music out of it. Go down to the bare bones of any music, there is sound. What is sound? It is the oscillation of the air or a medium in a definitive manner. A vibration that propagates through a medium.


    We are subject to a million sounds daily. Some we like, others we don¡¯t. Most of them we don¡¯t even acknowledge. If I take a deep breath I can listen to how I inhale. On my mobile, I can play music, create sounds, recognize them, duplicate them, and send and receive them.


    To think of a world without sound is neigh impossible. Even if there wasn¡¯t a single life form, there would still be sound. Sounds of volcanoes erupting, of waves hitting the shore, of avalanches, of rivers and streams running down mountains, of the rain falling on the earth and everything on it. It is a part of nature. Sound in its various forms has been given much importance in traditions and religions. It has also made its way into prominent fiction and fantasies where it sees itself as the beginning of lore. Before everything else there was sound.


    As I stand here in the absence of a major portion of it, I am literally traveling in time. Traveling to a time when sound was scarce and hadn¡¯t become such integral to our lives. There is beauty in this, no doubt. The lack of sounds surely comes across as eerie. But give it time and maybe it can grow on you. We all have moments like these in our life we come to treasure - moments where silence is the most beautiful thing ever. I have had them on the countless journeys I have taken to the various parts of the country. The silence in every place is different. In my hometown, the road I took for a walk offered places of utter silence along the way. I could sit there and enjoy it.


    I am not complaining about the lack of sound or the abundance of it. I was just saying that it is something we have taken for granted. I need sound when I will be riding my scooter. I need it to gauge my throttle and speed. I need it to know if some other vehicle is approaching behind me. I need it for the safe passage ahead. It is just that I am acknowledging the sounds in my life that I have ignored. Deep inside I wish they would all return, signaling the end of this phenomenon and making it normal.

 1.22

    Recently I have been dropping her to college and picking her up when she gets done. In the beginning, she would go by herself. I would kiss her and wish her a good day when she leaves. As she speeds past the apartment premises into the by-lane I rush to our bedroom and look at her go. I follow her as far as I can see. Whenever I needed the scooter I would drop her off and come back. When she rings me up I go and pick her up. She mostly gets done by four. There are days when she becomes free early. We make quick plans to have lunch at a restaurant.


    It''s gonna be half past two. I tighten the backpack and drive away. This is new to me. I have been doing quite a lot of new things today, things I probably wouldn¡¯t have done on any other day.


    Nothing has changed in these couple of hours on our colony road. It is just like how it was in the morning. I reach Pongumoodu junction in a jiffy. Out of habit I slow down at the junction and look for any incoming traffic. There is none. I throttle up when I realize this. I have always wished for empty roads. I really don¡¯t like traffic. Now I hope that my wish hasn¡¯t come true. The enormity and stupidity of my wish strike me. It is a really stupid one. Can I wish to have traffic as it was before? Will that work?


    Somewhere midway between Pongumoodu and Ulloor, there used to be a fruit seller. He would load up his pickup auto with a single fruit and sell them at an attractive price. He was selling black grapes when I first approached him. They were really delicious. We made juice out of it. It was so tasty even without adding a single spoonful of sugar. By the time we were down with the grapes, he had switched to lemons. Last week he was selling green grapes. I bought it while returning with her.


    As I pass the area I look for him. I know he will not be there. Still, I hoped he would have driven down from wherever he stayed with some fruit. The thought isn¡¯t logical at all. If he is alive he would have been subjected to all that I have gone through in the morning. Selling fruits wouldn¡¯t be his priority.


    If there are any survivors out there and if they have come to realize what has happened, they would be going through the same mental and emotional upheaval I am going through. The degree of it will vary from person to person. I hope they don''t succumb to it. I hope they stay strong and decide to come out and figure out what is happening. Only then will there be any chance for either of us to meet anyone. Sitting idle will not do anyone any good.


    I reach Ulloor junction and take the free left leading to Kesavadasapuram. A couple of seconds in, I see two cars that have rammed against each other in the middle of the road. Their collision has left one occupying my side of the road almost completely. There is space on the far left through which I can squeeze in. But there is ample space on the other side of the road. I take that. I slow down to have a look at the cars. I know how it is going to be inside them, so I decide not to get out and look inside.


    There is a small bridge after which the road widens and takes a banking curve. They have included dividers here for safety. There is a takeaway place just after I cross the bridge. We had visited it once to buy fried chicken. She loves fried chicken. We used to order food from them. It was tasty. One day, when the Covid cases were low and restrictions were reduced, we decided to go and dine in. On seeing it we realize it to be a takeaway.


    The food delivery business has grown exponentially in the past few years. Even a small kitchen making a couple of dishes can have a booming business by taking only online orders. The traditional concept of a restaurant has gone away. Also, the pandemic has forced us to sit at home and order in. Food is literally at our fingertips.


    I take the banking right curve at a good speed. A bike has driven off the road into the pavement and lies on the entry to a shop. It is an old bike, an RX-100.


    A year into our jobs, one of my colleagues bought a Royal Enfield Bullet. He took it for rides that lasted weeks. It was also the time when a road trip-themed movie was released in our native language. It gained critical acclaim from the young generation. What followed next was a rise in sales of Enfield bikes. Everyone wanted to strap their bags, wear their riding boots and jackets, fasten their helmets and be on the road. It was the time when technology was making it easier to realize this dream. Google maps was fully functional. The Internet was good and at your fingertips. Everything you wanted for a road trip was available to you. If not then all you needed to do was spend a few minutes online, looking for an alternative. Solutions were that easy.


    I wanted to buy an Enfield. But I knew it would remain in the garage unused. My work wouldn¡¯t allow me to take it out for long rides. Also, I had my Activa. We were staying in Kottayam at that time, right in the heart of the city. I preferred using Activa to navigate the rush of the city and get my work done. For this sole reason, I hesitated to buy one.


    The fad slowly changed to owning a vintage bike like the crashed one. RX-100 is synonymous with it. I asked a few local colleagues to enquire about it. A couple of months later one of them came with an offer. There was an RX-100 for sale. It was priced decently. Since I was working in a different state and wanted to buy it to use in my state, the whole process of changing the registration bugged me. If I were to use the bike occasionally, then this wouldn¡¯t be a problem. But I wanted to use it as much as I can. I contemplated this for a while. I dropped the idea. I realized that the need for a bike was brought about by my peers. Seeing them with their bikes going for rides is what made me think of buying one. I really didn¡¯t need it. I was happy with my Activa.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Since then, whenever a thought arises in my head about buying a bike on seeing a new model out on the road, I sit on it for some days. By then the thought diffuses. Currently, I have her scooter. This is more than enough for me. I want to buy a bike in the future though. Probably after a change in my current assignment. She has expressed her desire to cling to me on a bike on a long ride. That desire is something I want to experience. I have my eyes on a bike for now. I will wait for the right time to buy it - when I feel like I will be using it more often and not letting it rust away.


    I take the banking left turn that follows the previous one. It ends in an incline and the entrance to the popular pizza joint. I have already told you how she acquired a taste for pizza. I had once ordered a pizza and some garlic bread from here. It turned out that she liked the garlic bread more than the pizza. She finished it and left the pizza for me. The next time, we ordered the cheesy version of the garlic bread. I became a fan of it. We occasionally come here to have their garlic bread.


    Similarly, there is another restaurant just a few meters ahead of this pizza place. It is a famous brand in another city. They began expanding their outlets in the state. They are known for their biriyanis. People flock here to eat the biriyani. When it was opened to great fanfare, the place was full for the next few week''s lunches. I have been here with her and her colleagues for a meal after the afternoon rush. They still had their biriyanis ready, but we took to ordering other dishes from their menu. Anna had brought me a pastry from here before that outing. It was really delicious. I yearned to have more. It was one of the reasons that prompted us to visit it. When it came to ordering the dessert, I ordered the pastry. I remember how she stared at me as I found bliss in the dessert. She didn¡¯t have much. Instead, she urged me to finish it. She said she was happy and found bliss in watching me eat. I laughed heartily and continued with the dessert.


    I will be reminded of her when I come across places where we have been together. There is a piece of memory attached to it. This would have remained dormant on any other day. Under the current circumstances, they are surfacing one after the other. There is a sudden urge to have her behind me right now. The way she leans on to my back from time to time or how she holds onto me tightly, the conversations we have, they all rush to me. I have cherished those moments whenever they have occurred. I feel they weren¡¯t enough. My speed decreases as these thoughts come to me. I slow down to a halt on the side. My eyes are wet.


    I try calming myself. I realize I will need some time. I look up ahead. A pickup has crashed badly into a wall diagonally opposite to where I stand. A couple of sacks have fallen on the road from it. One of them lies torn, its contents spilled out on the road. Onions. I drive to it and get out to check it. The pickup contains sacks full of onions. The vehicle must have been speeding when it hit the wall. The front is completely gone. I look inside the cabin through the windowpane. The dashboard is damaged. The steering is bent. There is nothing inside indicating the presence of a wounded human. I get back to my scooter.


    I am about to reach Kesavadasapuram Junction. Just before that a car lies crashed on my side of the road. It has climbed up the pavement and destroyed the railings. There is a juice shop here that I have always wanted to visit. I don''t know why it attracted me. I can go there if I want to but I haven¡¯t. I guess it was a passing fantasy.


    There is a huge tree in the middle of the road. The road is built around it. Then comes the roundabout. This tree has become an integral part of the landscape. I can''t imagine this junction without it. There were a few instances in the city where they were felling old trees. I couldn¡¯t understand the reason behind the decision but I guess there must have been a solid one. They were protests against it but the government went ahead with its decision. They were pretty old trees.


    I am fascinated by old trees. I love to go around them and marvel at their vastness. Once when I had gone for a forest trek in the ghats, I was enthralled by all the huge trees I came across. They are tall and wide. Their wide trunks couldn¡¯t be hugged by a single person. I had experienced it previously in the Himalayan forests. Again it was with a trekking group. As we were finishing our trek, we came across huge pine trees. Our trek leader instructed us to hug them for a while. I did what he said. It was a pleasant experience. The vastness of the tree took hold of me. I kind of felt insignificant in front of it. As I hugged, I felt a peace come upon me. This was new to me. We all stayed like this for close to five minutes. The only sound in the vicinity was that of the birds and the wind blowing gently off the leaves of the tree. No wonder trees have been an important part of our history and myths. They were the epicenters of learning and action. They are worshiped and revered.


    I told her how we should plant trees for future generations. Even though we will not be able to see them in their vastness, our kids and their grandkids will be able to revel in it. She asked me if they would be up for it. I said we should raise them as such. They should be one with nature and know its importance in our daily lives. They should climb trees, fall from them, pluck their fruits and eat them raw. They should play hide and seek amidst them, run around and feel at home among them. She was onboard on seeing my enthusiasm. We did make a plan of sorts.


    I look at the tree as I pass it. I observe it much more than ever. For the first time, I see it in all its glory. It is beautiful. If only we could do this in our day-to-day lives. Maybe we can, but we subconsciously opt not to.

 1.23

    Kesavadasapuram Junction is a major junction. Three major roads meet at the roundabout. One is the MC Road, one from the heart of the city, and lastly the one I am in. This junction is active round the clock. The only time it has been quiet is during the lockdown period. For the long-distance buses going to the north of the state, the diversion for the two routes happens here.


    As I take the roundabout and exit onto the road leading to the city, I see a couple of bikes and a car lying crashed on the pavement. An SUV remains crashed on the divider after the roundabout. It must have been taking the turn. I slow down to glance at them. There is nothing new in them. The crashes aren¡¯t that bad. All these vehicles must have slowed down as they approached the roundabout, thereby decreasing their impact.


    I passed this junction when I came to join college. One of our family friends was living near Pattom. We came a day earlier and stayed at their home. While leaving for college the next day, I crossed this junction. Uncle was describing the places and landmarks. I did pay attention but I didn¡¯t retain the information. Later on, when I went through these places while going to the railway station or to the bus stand to go home, I became familiar.


    Kesavadasapuram has seen a lot of development and changes in these years. It still keeps its charm. Although new buildings and shops have sprung up, they haven¡¯t affected the landscape much. The few shopping complexes and buildings that populated the area still remain and assert their presence amidst the competition surrounding them. The road is wide and well-maintained. There is a proper pavement for pedestrians to walk in. There are parking spots alongside the road.


    The stretch from Kesavadasapuram to Pattom is lined with shops of all kinds. I really don''t have to go into the city to meet my needs. Whatever I want can be found here. There are supermarkets, restaurants, clothing and apparel stores, shopping centers, and everything you can think of. If you can¡¯t find what you need in one shop, you just need to find another one on this stretch.


    There are a couple of shops on the other side of the road that has a memory of us attached to them. I slow down as I look at them. We visited them on our way back from her college. We take this route if there is anything to buy. There is a road leading to Medical College, thereby avoiding going around Ulloor or Pattom.


    I can see a couple of vehicles lying crashed here and there. Most of them are on the side and a few are in the middle of the road. Their numbers are a bit higher than what I came across in the Medical College area.


    I reach the intersection from where you can take the right turn that leads you to the road to Medical college. A few meters ahead, a new restaurant had opened. It is a well-known biriyani restaurant chain in Tamil Nadu. When I was working there, I had it once. I liked it but there was never a second time. The thing with biriyanis is that not every variety entices me. Since she had not tried it, I decided to buy chicken biriyani for lunch.


    We bought them while returning from her college having picked her up. We were really hungry and couldn¡¯t wait to open it. As she was changing into her casual clothes, I opened the parcel to dismay. Instead of two chicken biriyanis, they had kept vegetable biriyanis. I was pissed off. I got angry and didn¡¯t know what to do. The hunger along with the prospect of having something delicious had gone for a toss. I got their contact number online and tried calling them. They didn¡¯t answer. By this time she was sitting down to eat. I too was really hungry. So we opened one of them and ate it. It was tasty. And we were really hungry. But the disappointment hung on my face.


    After satiating my hunger I called them once again. They attended the call and heard my complaint. They asked me if I had ordered through an online platform. I said I had come directly and bought it. They asked me to bring it back as only then can they do anything. I took the other one and met the guy who had attended my call. He took it without asking any questions and went into the kitchen. He returned with two chicken biriyanis, a bottle of coke, and some sweets to compensate for their error. I had thought of giving them a negative review, but seeing how they managed the situation I decided not to. Our two meals were sorted.


    Up ahead I can see a KSRTC bus smashed into the railing of the LIC bus stop. The bus stop gets its name from the LIC office adjacent to it. This is the first heavy vehicle I am coming across. I had a hunch I might come across a bus along this route.


    The bus crashed onto the railing and the bus stop. It has damaged the seating at the bus stop. I stop in front of the bus. It is a super fast. Its front has been damaged. The crash isn¡¯t a bad one. I guess the bus was slowing down at the stop when this happened. Normally buses on this route cruise at high speeds at odd times. They stop only at the main bus stops and avoid such small ones. Also, they prefer to cruise along the lane adjacent to the divider. They change lanes to the outer one only when there is a passenger to de-board. The glass has cracked but remains intact on the frame. The windows are shuttered down. Only a few are open. It was a bus coming from Thrissur, a city towards the north of the state. I take a u-turn, go around the bus and stop in front of the door.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    I board the bus to have a look. Bags fill the carriage. Some of them are under the seat. There is no sign of anyone. I walk to the driver''s seat. His bag lies adjacent to it along with a bottle of water. I get out.


    Right next to where the bus has crashed, a lane cuts in from the main road alongside the boundary of the LIC office. It used to be a frequently used road I took to go back home when I was staying in Trivandrum ten years ago. My brother was studying at a nearby school. After picking him up from school, I used to take this shorter road home. The road descends after a while along smaller lanes. Most of them end up on a parallel road. During the three years I stayed, I knew every lane. Now I have forgotten them. Only the shop at the start of the lane remains part of the memory. I used to buy milk from it occasionally.


    When we moved here during the last year of my college life, I was angry and frustrated at the decision. Mom had got transferred and was to stay here for a couple of years. I knew we would be moving out again and was dreading it. Once I become comfortable in a place and have found my friend circle, it becomes really difficult for me to move out. I take time to make a circle in the first place. To see them dissolve hurts me. I will have to start again from scratch in the new location. Also, we had been living for nearly eight years in the same setting. It was difficult to leave it all and start new.


    We were staying in an apartment complex before we moved. It housed nearly a hundred families. Finding someone in my age group was relatively easy. I had eased myself into those surroundings. In Trivandrum, there was no such facility to avail. We had to take a rented house. We tried looking for apartments but couldn¡¯t find one at short notice. It had been a long time since we stayed in a rented house. The owner had a grandson who was close to my brother''s age. They struck well and become friends. I was left out. It didn¡¯t matter much to me because I was in college and was spending most of my time there with my friends. But as soon as it ended, most of my college friends left for their respective homes or jobs or higher education. I felt a little depressed being all alone at home. I had a couple of friends around. I used to meet them during the weekends. On weekdays, I had to pull through the day somehow. I missed what we had left behind in my previous residence. There was no use in complaining about something that cannot be reversed. I took it all in and prayed to God to speed up the process of joining my job.


    I get back on the road. Seconds later I come to a stop.


    There is this restaurant on the opposite side of the road. It has a very old touch to it. I have been seeing this since the time I had been in Trivandrum. I have never gone in though. People I knew haven¡¯t visited it. It isn¡¯t a well-known restaurant. Just a normal one that has stood the test of time. The owner might be an old-fashioned guy who is happy to go ahead with this something that has been going around for quite a long time.


    When we were looking for places to eat, the first name that popped into my head was this. I suggested it to her. But we had already decided on another place and were driving towards it. It was put at the top of our list of restaurants to try out in the city.


    From the outside, it looks frozen in time. The board is old school. The doors and wide windows are old-fashioned. The crowd too, I feel, are simple common people. It has a decent amount of customers all the time. I haven¡¯t seen it jam-packed but neither have I seen it empty. The counter is plain and simple. The menu is written on the top of a wall for everyone to see. I can¡¯t make out what is written. From the looks of it, it serves local food. This is what attracted me. I feel restaurants like these have stood the test of time because of the food they serve at an affordable price. For someone who is well off, the price point doesn¡¯t matter. Then comes the ambiance. It is basic. It has tables and benches to seat its customers. I don''t have a problem with it. If it serves something good, I really don''t mind the ambiance.


    I feel there might be dishes in here that are iconic. Dishes that haven¡¯t aged a single day from their inception. Dishes that have a loyal following of the common folk. It might not be super tasty or wonderful. It can be simple and consistent. A good porotta and beef curry can be the deal breaker if repeated with consistency over a long period of time. I don''t think the people who come and eat here go around advertising it. They come, eat and leave. They see it as an everyday restaurant, an extension of their home. That is a powerful thing.


    I stopped right in the middle of the road because of what has happened to the restaurant. A car has crashed into it, destroying its glass windows. Surprisingly the railings are intact on the pavement. The car must have gone through the gap in the railing. Considering the impact of the crash, the car was speeding. There is a cutting in the divider just behind me. I turn my scooter all the way around and take it to enter the opposite side of the road. I rush to the scene.


    The glass lies shattered on the pavement. The front of the car is badly damaged. The airbags have inflated. There is no one inside. I get out and carefully approach the crashed wall. Inside it, the tables adjacent to the window are covered in glass. I look at the menu on the wall. It has all the local dishes you expect to find in a local restaurant written on it in length. The rates are nominal. I feel a bit sad. I should have explored it.


    We feel we have time and put out things for another day. I am learning it the hardest way possible that this is not true. Honestly, we don''t have time.

 1.24

    Time will remain one of the greatest mysteries to be solved. We have only figured out a coherent system to measure and quantify it. It has stood the test of time and is considered to be the scientific standard. I am talking on a metaphysical level.


    We know what time is. We are ruled by it. Everything happens in accordance with time. Yet have we really grasped it? Time flies when we are doing something we like, or when we are having a good moment. It slows down when we are at work, or during a boring lecture. It stops still when we witness an accident or something out of the ordinary. If time is linear and constant how are all these possible?


    The way we perceive time is something to be understood. We are solely dependent on our senses for everything. It has been shown again and again. They can be easily tricked. All the magic tricks you see are playing with your senses and their weaknesses. When it comes to time, no one is tricking us. We are tricking ourselves. Why does it speed up when we are having a good time and slow down when we are undergoing a bad time?


    Since we unconsciously alter our perception of time, I think we live with a perceived notion of time. The absolute significant part of it will always be hidden from us. This seeps down to how we see our past, present, and future, how we interpret it, and imbibe them in our personal lives.


    We don''t have time. We feel we do. It is this feeling that clouds the truth. We feel we have all the time to do the things we want to. So we put it off for the uncertain future. We know this and yet we do it. When the future comes, we miss out on it forever, thereby feeling pain and agony. We should have taken action when we had the time and opportunity. We find it difficult to let go. We hang onto it for a while before it takes us over or leaves us.


    This could be what the great philosophers of our past were trying to teach us. They might have understood the problem we are in and contemplated an answer for it. The simplest thing they all had to say is to live in the present. I like the notion. I have tried to implement it a couple of times. Whenever I have done it, I have felt peace and in harmony with time. But I was not able to sustain it. The past creeps in. The future invades slowly. I am bound to them. If only there was a concrete way to break these shackles and live freely.


    All these point to one thing - we are time bound. We are under its grip whether we like it or not. We feel we have freedom and live on our terms. But it is an illusion created for us to bind us. I would like to believe that there are people who figured this out and escaped its clutches. I don''t know who they are. Maybe the philosophers. If they have tried to pass on the message and bring us all into that circle, they have not done a great job. We are all still here, going about our lives in the same old manner, taking one day at a time under the illusion that we are the ones in control of it.


    When you get to know someone you want to spend all your time with them. That is how it is between us. We want to be together as much as possible. But my job doesn¡¯t allow this. I am away from her for weeks before I see her. We do the occasional video calls. But it doesn¡¯t compensate for the feeling of being together. When I am home I do everything to be with her. She reciprocates it. She keeps aside a lot of things just for this. Her schedule gets messed up. We watch movies, go out, and do all kinds of things together. She does this after coming back from work.


    If I look at it from another perspective I am very much lucky. I should be grateful because there are a lot of couples living apart owing to the nature of their job and the need to fend for the family. One would be earning miles away while the other looks after the house and tend to the family. They meet on holidays and find joy in the limited time they have. Compared to them I am lucky.


    Doesn¡¯t this show we never take time absolutely? It is always taken in reference. It is always compared, which breeds a sense of discontent among us because the pain of losing is much more than the pain of not gaining. We tilt towards the side that is opposite to where we should be focussing on. Imagine a world, where we focus only on the better things. People would be content. It would automatically seep into one''s daily life, making it happier and more fruitful. Our virtues would have the upper hand. This can only lead to a better world. Maybe then we would acknowledge time for what is it. We would think linearly along the direction of flow and grasp what time has to say. As I have said earlier, I believe the saints and prophets had achieved this. They did try to pass it on. It is not easy to explain. They did try their best. Also, the barrier of language comes into play. This muddles the message and makes it all the more difficult to understand.


    I leave from the crash site and continue on the wrong side of the road for a while. There is a cutting in the divider opposite a school. My brother studied here for the two years we were in Trivandrum. The building that faces the entrance has got a major makeover. There is a huge wall painting covering its height and width. It attracted my attention the first time I saw it. Wall painting is gaining popularity throughout the world. Cafes, restaurants, hostels, bakeries, railway stations, and bus stand all had a wall or two covered with doodles, paintings, graffiti, and whatnot. It became a way of expressing a thought or a message associated with the brand.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I love the wall art in the hostels. All the ones I have been to have had some really amazing wall art. Some were simple, some were huge, some were too colorful, and some were dull yet powerful. It has become a movement of sorts. In houses too, barren walls are being covered in paintings. In my childhood, they used to be covered with posters of all kinds. I was into cars and bikes and so my wall had the posters I got from buying car magazines. Later on, in my college life, they were replaced by posters of rock bands. Pink Floyd took the centre stage. When I was a child, I saw some of them at my friend''s house. They were punk rock bands cause the members were wearing black gothic outfits. They didn¡¯t appeal to my tastes. I didn¡¯t give them much attention. But the poster of Michael Jackson had my full attention.


    I became a fan of Michael Jackson when I watched his History Concert gig. My uncle had brought the DVD of it. When I was in my hometown for my vacations I used to go through the CDs kept on the shelf. I consumed them during the day as there wasn¡¯t much to d. Everyone was busy with their work. I would happily be myself and stay glued to the television. The performance MJ gave was mesmerizing. I watched it on repeat. A couple of songs that I loved were played in a loop. Seeing my interest in him, my uncle brought home some more CDs of his songs. They were compilations of his music videos. In it, I came across the original videos for many of his famous songs.


    The beginning of the thriller is a bit scary. Sometimes I used to sleep with my Grandpa in the common hall. The TV was kept here. In those days my uncle took a keen interest in terrifying me. He would casually start with music videos or movies after everyone else had gone to sleep. He would wait to get my attention before switching to the thriller video. I would hug my Grandpa and peek through the pillows as he played it. When the lights were out, it got even scarier. Soon I got used to it. It wasn¡¯t scary anymore.


    After Thriller I saw the video of Billie Jean being performed live. It was his Motown performance, the one with the moonwalk. I was left stunned. I had heard of it but had never seen it. The way he floated on the floor left me in awe. I tried it when I saw it but I knew it wouldn¡¯t work. When my friends saw it, we started talking about how he did it. Someone said the floor was made silky smooth. Someone said it was all in his shoes. I just knew it was brilliant and amazing. Next, we talked about the infamous lean in Smooth Criminal. We all agreed that it had something to do with the shoes. It must have been pinned down or something like that. MJ was an icon among us.


    My friend had MJ¡¯s albums as audio cassettes. I used to lend it from him occasionally. I would hear them out on the weekend. I made up my own lyrics. It sounded similar to the song. I sang along with him.


    The teenage years saw me exploring music. I was consuming whatever came my way. Some struck on for a while and became a part of my playlist. Others faded away. Some of them made a comeback and stuck with me forever. Some just never left. Music has been an integral part of my growing up. I always have it with me now that we have mobiles. I make sure I have them downloaded in my storage so that I can listen to them whenever I want. This is pretty useful when you are traveling and do not have the internet to stream your music.


    I will reach Pattom junction soon. At night you will find a couple of food trucks in this stretch spanning from the school to the PSC office. They set up their stalls and attract a good amount of customers. In the evening you can see fruit vendors, booksellers, and people selling simple stuff. Just beyond this stretch is the Pattom bus stand. All the buses stop here, so there is a steady stream of passengers to be catered to.


    I take the cutting and enter the left side of the road. A bike lies crashed on a telephone pole. It is awfully quiet. This place was never quiet.


    I have seen my fair share of apocalyptic movies. I am Legend is the one that comes to my mind when I think about them. Will Smith has played his role beautifully. The story takes place quite a few years after the outbreak of a virus that has killed a large chunk of humanity. Some of them have turned into something similar to zombies. Will is immune to it and is trying to find a cure for it. It was a popular movie. I am sure everyone has seen it.


    I like how they have portrayed New York City. The graphics team has done a phenomenal job in creating a ghost city. The eerie silence enhances the atmosphere the movie creates. I saw it on DVD. I wish I had seen it in the theatres. The feeling of emptiness can be daunting on the big screen. But I wanted to experience it nevertheless.


    Never had I thought I would experience something similar to it. I am in Pattom, which is an integral part of the city and I find myself surrounded by silence. There is so much silence - the pin-drop kind. This place never remains shut. No matter what time of the day it was, vehicles could be found plying on the road. People could be found waiting for a bus at the bus stop. There was movement and people and sounds.


    Thinking about the movie and my current circumstance makes me apprehensive. I wish this ordeal doesn¡¯t last that long. I don''t know the reason for this yet. I am still in the dark. I am trying to find out what has happened. It will take time, I know. But I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to find a solution to this and bring back my wife and everyone else who has disappeared.


    I stop at Pattom Junction. The signals are flashing yellow. A few dogs that have come out of a bylane bark at me. They hold their ground. I rev my scooter loudly and drive ahead.

 1.25

    At three noon, Pattom Junction looks alien to me. I am getting used to this feeling. The road to the left takes you to Kuruvankonam and Kowdiar. I stayed half a kilometer from here. Residential colonies branch out from the road. Apartments are coming up thick and thin. The area houses the upper middle class. Recently this stretch of road has seen a lot of cafes and restaurants opening up.


    The stretch ending at Kowdiar Junction has seen a change. A bakery that was synonymous with the city and its citizens moved its outlet. I noticed this the first time I took this road after moving into the city with her. It was kind of a landmark. On seeing the familiar name board replaced, I was stunned. I asked a couple of my local friends about this. They confirmed it. They had moved to another location. They were expanding. Now they had multiple shops in the city. I liked the fact that they were growing their business. But I felt sad knowing they had moved their original outlet.


    The road to the right leads to Medical College. This is the main road leading to the hospital. The road that lies between Kesavadasapuram and Pattom stretch came later. There is a renowned private hospital along the way. One of my best friends stays opposite it. He lives with his wife and daughter in his newly constructed house. I have been their plenty of times. I haven¡¯t taken her though. His wife keeps telling me to bring her for dinner. I say I will but something or the other creeps up and stalls it. He is currently at his worksite in another part of the country. His wife and daughter have a helper staying with them. I wonder about them. I have time. I take the right turn.


    I find a car crashed into a couple of rickshaws on my left as I take the turn. There is a govt hospital here. The hospital complex lies a bit inside. I have wanted to see how it looks cause the main building is built on a small hillock.


    On the right, there is the police office and their cyber cell wing. A few meters ahead is the electricity board office. Then comes a school in which one of my best friends studied. He lives in Norway. I think I have already introduced him. I hope he is fine there.


    I have some friends abroad. By friends I mean people I can call and crash with if ever the need arises. Most of them are in Germany. I hope they are all good. I can¡¯t help thinking that this is a global phenomenon. I don''t know how only the population of a city can disappear all of a sudden. It cannot be localized. How does one determine the boundaries for the phenomenon in this case? There aren¡¯t any well-defined ones between states or countries. Since I can¡¯t gather any information, I can¡¯t say what is going on in the rest of the world. Networks are down and they sure seem to remain so. I haven¡¯t had any response on my walkie-talkie yet. There isn¡¯t the slightest human movement anywhere.


    I reach a junction and continue on the main road. I reach the by-lane that leads to his house. But I can¡¯t go in. The road has been cracked open for laying sewage and water pipes. A JCB lies right in the middle of it. I park on the roadside and get out. It is a few meter''s walk to his house. I reach the gate and open it. No sounds are coming from inside. I pass the kitchen as I walk to the front door. The window is shut. Normally his wife sees me coming and greets me first. I ring the calling bell and wait for a while. There is no response.


    His daughter is very active. Once when I came to meet him, she was watching her favorite cartoon video on youtube. She greeted me and got back to it. We were chatting away when I noticed her actions. She was acting out what was being shown in the video as faithfully as she can. I was fascinated. I stopped my conversation and got to observe her. He told me she had memorized all her favorite songs and loved to act them out whenever it was played. The song lasted a hefty fifteen minutes. She was showing no signs of slowing down. In the video when the character took a bunny and hugged him, she took her doll and hugged her. She was using similar toys to recreate what was being shown in the video. I gave her a big round of applause when she was finished. She smiled at me and ran towards her mother.


    I ring the bell a couple more times. When I get no response, I walk around the house. The windows are all closed. I can¡¯t make out much from it. I leave with the obvious conclusion.


    Walking back I wonder if my friend and his family are alive. I have no way of contacting either one of them. I feel a bit sad and worried.


    I think of how I can bring back the network as I exit the place. I take out my phone and have a look at it. The primary sim has stopped showing the network. The secondary one is still showing. I try dialing his number. It is the same old story. I don''t know what to do in order to restore the service. Since it is showing the network, it means that the towers are working. Signals are being sent and received. But only to the tower. Maybe not beyond it. Or to the central hub. I really don''t know how this technology works. I wish I knew, cause then this would have made some sense.


    I walk back to the road, get back on my scooter, and turn back the way I came. I pass the few cars that have crashed along the road and reach Pattom Junction in a jiffy. I take the right turn towards the city. The road is slightly downhill. I see a jeep rammed into the railing of the pavement right where it began. The wheel remains in a turned position indicating that the vehicle was probably coming from the road I had taken. A couple of meters ahead, on the opposite side of the road an auto rickshaw has toppled. I can see its underbelly. Apart from that everything looks fine. I drive at a normal speed.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The starting of the straight stretch after the decline has a horrendous crash. A sedan has rammed into the railing, climbed on the pavement, and crashed onto the wall. The impact must have been tremendous cause the portion of the wall it hit had fallen on top of it. The front has gone through the wall. I stop to have a look at it. The windshield has broken and come down on the front seats. The front portion of the car is totally damaged. It is what you call a total loss. I think the engine must have been damaged and dislodged from its position. It is an old vehicle. It must have been cruising at high speed. The wheel cups have been dislodged. The front axle has been damaged with the tire hanging onto it in a disfigured manner.


    I get back on the road when I hear a sudden crackle from the walkie-talkie. I stop at once and take it out from the side pocket of the bag. I wait eagerly. Nothing happens. I click some of the side buttons. It gave out small beeps and buzzes. I can hear them when I press them. I don''t know if it gets transmitted. I really don''t know its purpose. So I stop clicking them and wait. There is no response. I press the big button and call out into it:


    ¡®Hello, hello. Can anybody hear me? Hello. Anybody? Anywhere?¡¯


    I repeat it a few more times. There isn¡¯t any response.


    Arrrghhhh! This is so irritating. Why can¡¯t it just come alive? Why can¡¯t somebody respond to these goddamn messages? This is not how it should be. By this time someone in the city must have used their brains to find out a way to communicate. Someone should be alive and thinking of finding a way to communicate. Oh, God. I feel so stupid. I feel stupid and irritated. I almost feel like throwing the walkie-talkie into the ground and seeing it smash. I am losing control.


    My heart starts to race. I know I am enraged at the helpless situation I am in. I am doing my best to figure out the answers. God, I wish I get a sign. Any kind. A sign that gives me hope to go forward.


    I take deep breaths and calm myself. There is no point in remaining enraged. It clouds my judgment. I have experienced it a lot of times. I agree with the Stoics on this matter. Deep breathing is something I actively do if I get irritated. I feel my heart slowing down.


    Once I am calm and composed, I wonder what that crackle was. Maybe a slight disturbance in the atmosphere? Or some kind of interference? I want to explore the interference possibility.


    I get out of the scooter and walk around my immediate vicinity with the walkie-talkie held high. It is blank. Next, I circle the few meters I covered from the crash site. I don''t get anything on it. I go a bit ahead. It gives me the same result. I wonder if I had imagined it. Is my brain playing games with me? Or have I started to lose it? I shove the walkie-talkie to where it belonged and decide to continue ahead.


    I reach Plamoodu junction within seconds. The road ahead splits into two one-ways only to re-join some distance ahead. Right at the splitting of the two roads in between them lies a bakery. I have fond memories of it.


    When my family moved to Trivandrum after I finished college, I was on the lookout for good bakeries. We had moved from Kochi. We had been living there for twelve years. I associate myself with Kochi cause that is where I spent my teenage years. There is a strong emotional connection to it that can¡¯t be severed. Over time the attachment has come down. I am not able to go and visit my friends as much as I like. Also, the city was developing at a hefty pace. Every time I went, the city had transformed. New development plans and schemes were being approved and implemented at great speeds. Kochi has burst into the global tourism scene with the Muziris Biennale and the solid promotion by state tourism.


    I had my favorite bakeries in the city. They were consistent and never disappointed me. I introduced them to a few of my friends. They became their instant fans. I was trying to find such a bakery here in Trivandrum.


    I decided to check it out when I was returning from dropping my mother in her office. It is a quaint bakery. Whenever I enter a bakery I check out its pastry section first. It gives me an impression of how things would be. I came across a strawberry pastry that attracted me with its simplicity and price. I bought it along with cream buns and some milk sweets.


    I went home with the thought of keeping it away till my mom and brother returned in the evening. But I caved into the prospect of having the pastry. I opened it and took a spoonful. Oh my, it was delicious. I was really surprised at how it had turned out for the price point at which it was being sold. I couldn¡¯t stop myself from eating it. I finished it within minutes. Luckily I bought two of them. I closed the box and hurried into the kitchen to store it away in the fridge.


    I became a regular customer whenever I went to drop my mom off. The strawberry pastry was bought whenever it was available without fail. I tried the others one at a time. They were all really good. Nothing disappointed me. Sometimes when I was called to pick up my mom, we stopped here to buy some snacks. Their meat puffs and chicken rolls were nice. We tried their cakes. They were really good too. We bought them and shared them with our relatives back in our hometown. They loved it. One of my cousins urged me to take him to the bakery when he visited us here.


    The bakery has grown in the six years I was away. Whenever I pass it now, I am reminded of the strawberry pastry. I did visit it a few months ago but I couldn¡¯t find the pastry. I left without buying anything. I felt like it had changed. There was nothing that excited me now.


    I wish I could have that strawberry pastry right now. I could use some comfort food. Desserts to be precise. The shutters are closed. The sign board is still alight.

 1.26

    I continue on the one way to the city. The road is a bit narrow in this stretch. Trivandrum is a city that has tiny hillocks built into its geography. The plain stretches can be found mostly near Thambanoor and the East Fort area. Everywhere else the roads climb and drop in small degrees. It is similar to Kottayam. Kochi is flat out for the vast majority. Once you go towards the east, the road winds and climbs. One thing that is worth mentioning about the city is its roads.


    For a long time, some of the roads in the city have been kept really good. The Kowdiar stretch comprising the Raj Bhavan - the Governor''s residence - up to the Museum has always been in tip-top condition. It is always a joy to ride on this stretch. The canopy of trees on either side provides shade and a beautiful aesthetic to the road. Various housing colonies branch out from the road. The road leading to Shangumugham Beach from Chaka junction is another long stretch that has remained in great condition over the years. I feel it is this long drive along the periphery of the airport that adds to the charm of going to the beach.


    Another stretch that has come up in recent years is the Kesavadasapuram - Pattom stretch, the one I took now. Over the past few years, the city has developed its roads and kept them well-maintained. This has made it easier to drive in the city, although the number of vehicles on the road has increased tremendously. The pandemic saw the need to have personal vehicles. Public transportation came to a halt during the lockdown. When it restarted people were hesitant to take it owing to fear. An industry that saw growth in those unprecedented times was the automobile industry. Two-wheeler sales shot up. People were taking loans to buy a scooter.


    I take the sharp turns along the road. Along the way I see a bike lying fallen in front of a clothing store. I know the store. It has always attracted my attention whenever I took this road. It is a sports apparel store that always had a sale going on. The sign board in front of it advertised the ongoing sale for the whole year. I wondered how a shop can sustain putting out a sale throughout the year. Once I visited it out of curiosity. They had good products on display at competitive prices. I liked a particular shoe and wanted to buy it. But they had run out of my size. I left the shop feeling a bit disappointed. The old brand has changed and a new one has taken over. They are also dealing in sportswear. The shutters are closed tight.


    Soon enough the road becomes whole again. I reach the PMG junction and continue on with the ride. At the PMG bus stop, a bus stands still. The windows are shut except for the drivers. I slow down when I pass it. It stands there like a ghost bus. It might have been picking up people when everyone disappeared. I bank towards the left to have a look at the opposite side of the bus and the doors. They are closed. The only explanation for a bus to stand like this is the one I just gave. A few meters away lies the Vikas Bhavan Bus Depot. If it had to be parked then it would have been parked there. Besides this is a super fast. The board reads Thiruvananthapuram. Reading the names of the other cities, the bus was coming from the far north. These buses are mostly parked in the main bus stand in Thambanoor. I shift my focus to the road.


    I am entering the administrative part of the city. Within a radius of three kilometers lies all the major buildings that run the state government and its machinery.


    Trivandrum is the capital city. It has always been synonymous with the lifestyle of a government servant. Many of them have made this city their home. Others stay a bit further away in their villages and town. They flock in large numbers in morning trains and leave by the multiple trains plying in the evening in the two directions. This is convenient for the students and the working professionals going back to their hometowns on the weekend or whenever they get a good stretch of holidays. Some of my college mates who were day scholars were solely dependent on these trains for their daily commute.


    The city is a hub for education. There are schools in every locality. Plenty of colleges can be found throughout the city. Education has been an integral part of the city from its early inception. The Travancore kingdom was particular about education and helped set up many of these higher education establishments. I have heard tales of my father traveling all the way from our hometown to take up a six-month course here. His anecdotes paint a picture of a city that was rich with the educated and fuelled the intelligentsia and the artists alike. Kerala university played a central role in it.


    The development of the city followed the needs of these people. Apartments and villas sprung up to cater to the needs of these people. Someone who works in the secretariat or any other state government office would be spending a major chunk of their life working in Trivandrum without seeing any transfers. They would settle in the city and call it their home. A lot of colonies have sprung up because of this.


    When the state decided to open up for IT companies, Trivandrum saw a radical transformation. Technopark was established in Kazhakootam. It started growing at a great pace and saw the influx of some of the major IT companies. This brought in a huge pool of professionals who were young and wild. Their influence prompted the city to wake up from its slumber and grow.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Ask anyone before the inception of Technopark if they saw the city growing to what it is, and their answer begins with a hearty laugh. When I was in college, Kazhakootam was growing. IT companies were slowly settling in and making their offices. The steady flow of professionals was increasing year on year. The majority of them belonged within the age bracket of twenty to thirty. They were making money and wanted to enjoy their lives. I like to refer to Kazhakootam as the new Trivandrum. The cultural shift here is way more than in the heart of the city.


    When I was passing out, I felt the pace of development to be normal. Coming back here after seven years, I understand that I was wrong. I wasn¡¯t able to comprehend the rate at which the city was developing. As Kazhakootam was growing up at a fast rate, it trickled down to the rest of the city.


    I got a taste of it during my occasional visits. We drove to Kazhakootam area to visit the cafes and restaurants springing up every week. Soon we were hanging out in the city itself. A lot of new joints were opening up in the heart of the city. There were teenagers and youth to cater to in the city. The upper class was waiting for something like this to happen in their neighborhood. Opportunists saw this and jumped into the fray.


    One day I had a conversation regarding this with Anna. She had studied in a medical college at the far end of the district. Trivandrum was the focal point of her travels. She was here for four more years after I passed out. Her view on this brought in an element I had completely forgotten to factor in - the coming of the National Highway. The work started during the time I had left the city and so I wasn¡¯t aware of it. I did see it as it was being constructed a couple of times. But it never caught my attention as it has now.


    The NH made it easier for people to travel to Trivandrum from the northern cities. For years the state of the road was not that great. It became small as it approached the city. The project saw the building of flyovers and multiple lanes along the length of the road. This saw a lot of development at a blistering pace along the vicinity of the NH. All this compounded the growth and expansion of the city. Places that lay on the fringes of the city have been integrated into it over time. Although it doesn¡¯t come in comparison to the expansion of Kochi and the integration of its nearby towns, it surely has changed how we define Trivandrum.


    The heart of the city is never going to change. I think I don''t want it to. It is beautiful the way it is. It is seeing growth and development, which I am fine with until it hampers what is already in place. Sustainable development with a vision for the future is how we should be going ahead.


    To my left is the famous Mascot Hotel. This has been a landmark of Trivandrum for a very long time. I have never been inside it. It is quite expensive. One of my friends had kept his wedding reception here. I was away for work and couldn¡¯t make it. G V Raja stadium lies ahead of me. I will be taking a slight right turn from the junction in front of it. Its walls have been covered with beautiful wall art. They are a treat to go through. They are mostly on the other side of the stadium. One should see them from that end at a leisurely pace. I would suggest parking your vehicle and walking through the pavement beside it.


    I reach the junction and take a slight right. On the right is the state legislative assembly. The gate remains closed for the majority of the time. On special occasions like Onam or Christmas, the building gets draped in lights. That is a beautiful sight.


    Being the capital, festivals are celebrated with much fanfare. The state government sponsors some of the events throughout the festive week. It attracts a lot of people. The streets are illuminated with lights and events take place at various locations. Onam is the main festival of the state and the way Trivandrum city celebrates it is a beautiful feeling.


    During Onam, I like to drive on the stretch from the secretariat to the museum following it all the way to Kowdiar. The tall trees, buildings, and institutions are draped in lights. Loudspeakers blare out songs celebrating the harvest season and King Mahabali. Flower stalls witness record sales. Restaurants prepare themselves to cater to the needs of the people with the delivery of Onasadhya at their doorsteps. It is quite useful for people who can¡¯t make the dishes that populate the plantain leaf from left to right. Last year my parents were with us. I was just about to come back from my workplace. By the time I arrived my parents had reached. A quick plan was made to go to a resort for a couple of days and chill.


    This gave us no time to prepare the Onasadhya. We ended up ordering it from someone we knew. We also invited a couple of our friends to partake in the meal. It was a good gathering. Dad took the video of us feasting. It was a really hilarious video. Mom takes the centre stage followed by dad. The video becomes fun when dad starts his commentary on the events taking place in it. The way he did this, we were laughing so hard, our stomachs hurt. This is the crux of the festival - to be with our near and dear ones and enjoy a hearty meal together. I wore a shirt she had gifted me along with a mundu. She wore a traditional Onam saree. She looked really pretty in it. Our friend clicked a beautiful picture of us. We were hugging and laughing at some comment I had passed. I have taken a print of it to go into the photo album. We want our memories to be tangible and easily accessible.


    I stop right in the middle of the road. I take out my phone and access WhatsApp. I look at her DP. It is a black-and-white picture of us. It is a beautiful one. I have put the same image as my DP. I received good feedback from my friends. They loved it. I rub my thumb over the picture. I can feel her. She is always with me. When I close my eyes I can see her clearly. This is just temporary. Things will go back to being the way it was soon. That is what I believe in.

 1.27

    The mobiles in my pocket have become a paperweight. I really want to throw mine on the ground and break it. One of my networks is out. The other is still up but to no avail. The chances of the networks getting re-established are long gone. If it had to, it would have come a long time back. The one that is showing the network will also go down. Till then it gives me a slight false hope.


    There is a church on my left side. I have been here with my parents when we were staying here. It is a beautiful small church surrounded by trees and greenery. For its Sunday mass, the church overflows with people. Seats have to be arranged on the outside of the entrance for people to sit and attend. It is one of the oldest churches in the city. Around the vicinity, there are a couple of churches belonging to the other congregations of Christianity existing in the state.


    I wanted to take her to this Sunday mass once. Owing to the restrictions put in place following the pandemic, we avoid it. Whenever we feel like going to a church, we drive to the one near the beach. It would be open and empty, providing us with the perfect atmosphere to pray in peace and silence. We then head over to the beach and spend some time walking along the shoreline and dipping our feet in the water before leaving.


    I have never been a church person. Instead, I am a praying person. I have faith, faith in a superpower. I am more of a theist - a believer in a superpower, an all-presiding entity. This does not imply that I don''t partake in the activities of my church. I do. I have no problem with it. I don''t mind them. But there isn¡¯t any consistency in them. My praying has consistency. I pray before I go to bed every night. It has been a habit inculcated in me from my childhood. It became even more relevant when my Grandmother told me the best prayer is the one you did all by yourself. In it, you were talking to your God one on one. You are free to say whatever you want to and you don''t need anyone for that. She said that is how it should be. Even the scriptures say so. This struck me and stays with me to date.


    Throughout the day I have been praying to God under my breath to bring her back and restore everything to the state it was. Just a small prayer, the smallest one - Dear Lord, please bring back my Anna and make it normal all again. Sometimes I would express my gratitude for all that I have in my life. This is a new addition to my prayers. She is responsible for it.


    ¡°We should be grateful for all that we have. When compared to the millions out there, we are very much happy and well off. We have food on our table, clothes to shield us from the forces of nature, and a home to feel safe and comfortable. Let us not forget that. No matter how much grace we say, it won''t be enough¡± she says. Now when we sit to pray, we express our gratitude for all that we have.


    If you ask me whether I am feeling particularly grateful right now, I am not. I feel like shit. There is nothing great in the situation I am in. It feels like a big joke to me, to be all alone in this city or this planet, trying to figure out what has happened to the rest of humanity. Gratitude had ceased to exist the moment I woke up today morning. It has been tossed out.


    This is a world that has been stripped of everything it had. What is in writing is all that is left. Everything else has vanished into thin air. Ideas, thoughts, movements, and actions, are all gone. Maybe they all existed because of the community. There is no need for all these for a single individual. I mean what am I going to do knowing how to run a state or a country without having the people that make it up? What is the need to know the latest development in the tech industry if all that works now is the radio? I will need to know how to take care of myself, how to preserve my health, and how to survive. Nothing more than that.


    I remove my helmet, take off the mask and throw it away. There is no need to fear corona. It is also gone. I take a deep breath. Ahhhhhh! It feels wonderful. I latch the helmet onto the side carriage support. I don''t need it. It feels so good without it. I take out the water bottle from the bag and quench my thirst. I wish it quenched my feelings of depression and helplessness. But they are here to stay.


    I get back to driving. I take the turn leading to the intersection. Right opposite to it is the fine arts college. Besides, it is the state library. It is also called the British Library. I took a membership when I was staying here. It lasted for a few months. Mom got transferred to Kottayam. I still have the membership card and the small booklet kind of thingy they use to keep a tab on the books you lend. Back then, I was eager to read. I had bought some books online but I wanted to explore more.


    It was the time when I was into George Orwell. He captivated me with his simple yet powerful book Animal Farm. It is a masterpiece in its own right. Next, I got my hands on 1984. It blew my mind. I consider it to be one of the best dystopian novel ever. Once again you see his writing prowess charm you into the book. Soon you can¡¯t let it go. I liked the switch in the genre and how effortlessly he had managed to pull it off. He has written some more books. I tried to find them online or in the local roadside bookstalls. They were not available. They weren¡¯t his popular ones. People usually know him through these two books.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    After getting the membership, the first time I went into the library I rushed to find his books. The books were sorted in alphabetical order of their authors'' names. I was looking for G or O, I don''t quite remember. I found him. Here too his known books had multiple copies. I dug deep to find the book Keep the Aspidistra Flying. It must have been old or damaged because the library had hardbound it. There was no cover to it. I came across it because I took it and flipped the pages. Else I would have missed it. Books with well-off covers always attract more attention. I have seen this in libraries and book fairs.


    The book is a hard read. It is hard because it hits you. The reality of the protagonist is something you might relate to on a daily basis. I was new to this kind of writing. It had a good impact on me. My head was hurting. I can¡¯t take heavy books back to back. They need to be consumed in moderation. After reading it, I was deep in thought for days. The premise of the story hung in my head. I have forgotten the exact ending but I know it wasn¡¯t your cliched one. I haven¡¯t read any of his books after that. I don''t know if this book is the reason for it.


    People make use of the resources provided by the library for preparing for competitive exams. There are plenty of newspapers and magazines available. The silence adds to it. I want to say to these people the whole city is silent. There is no dearth of serenity or silence now. It is in abundance. I wish I could trade places with them. You have no idea what I can do for it.


    Just as I take the long right turn, I see a car on the pavement, crashed onto the wall. Nothing major though. It was a slow crash. The front bumper has come out. There is a small garden-like enclosure on the opposite side of the road which acts like a divider for vehicles taking the free left to the road I came in. A bike has run into it. It lies stuck in the bushes with a tendency to fall any minute.


    Chandrasekhar Nair stadium lies on the opposite side of the road. There are two stadiums in quick succession here in Trivandrum. While the other one remains enclosed with stands, there is only a sweeping large stand on one side of this stadium. from here. They change colors from time to time. I haven¡¯t been inside it. They say it is a good stadium for track-related sports.


    I reach Palayam junction. I have to decide which road to take. Initially, I was thinking of taking the straight route, passing through the secretariat and statue junction. But now I am thinking of taking the left turn and following it all the way to the railway station.


    The secretariat has the cantonment police station. I can check that out. I hope I find something helpful there.


    If I take the left turn, I can take the bakery junction flyover. I can get a sweeping view from the flyover. I don''t know what I will find. But it is a good option. It will give me a slightly larger and wider perspective of the nature and impact of this phenomenon on the city.


    Diagonally opposite to where I stand is the Palayam Masjid. It is another landmark of the city. Thousands flock here during the Ramadan season to offer prayers. It is a time of bustling activity in its vicinity. Shops would have sprung up selling all kinds of dates and fruits in the lane that lies along its periphery.


    This lane leads to one of the iconic restaurants of Trivandrum. Iconic in the sense, it introduced Arabic food to the city in its nascent stages. It caters to the needs of all age groups. Over time, it found a loyal following amongst the young crowd. The restaurant is always crowded. It is full post six in the evening. One has to be in a queue for a while before getting a table. They have Arabic, Chinese, continental, and Indian, ice creams, desserts, fresh juices, and milkshakes. They maintain the quality and consistency of all their dishes. In the four years that I did my bachelor''s, the grilled chicken that we mostly ordered was as it was the first day I had it. The variety of ice creams for dessert was an added plus point. You didn¡¯t have to go anywhere else for it. In fact, there wasn¡¯t any other place to go at nine in the night.


    Today they have grown their brand throughout the city. They have an outlet in Kazhakootam to cater to the needs of the techies. I think I wrote about the experience I had when I visited it with my family. It is the same in all their outlets.


    Over time they have diversified their menu. Their desserts remain the same.I can vouch for the ones which include their own ice creams in the mix. It is as yummy as it was ten years ago.


    Nowadays owing to the added rush and traffic in the vicinity, you can order your food sitting in your car. They have people to attend to the needs of those who are in a hurry and want a quick bite. Mostly it is because of the lack of parking and the long wait.


    I finally make up my mind to go forward. I will take the other route when I return.


    It feels really weird to be alone. Suddenly the city feels huge. I look all around me. The silence and the emptiness paints a surreal picture. It plays with my mind. From where I stand, the metropolitan church seems like a titan. The stadium, an arena. Like the Colosseum. The trees seem mysterious and devious. The road is a highway to hell.


    I really want you to understand what it is like being me right here right now. I don''t know if I am doing a good job at it. I am trying. Maybe you will come across this anecdote long after I am gone. Maybe you won¡¯t. I will take the chance. I will take an effort to put into writing all that I am witnessing and how I respond to it, on how it is affecting me, I will not be able to express it as clearly as I want. It surely has had a profound effect on me, for it has turned my life upside down. From normal to abnormal. Yes, that is the word. Abnormal. I am a sort of anomaly in this abnormal world. As I strive to make heads or tails of it, I hope to stumble upon another anomaly.

 1.28

    I drive straight ahead from the intersection, keeping to the road. On my left is the Connemara Market. It is a really old market. It is followed by one of the earliest shopping complexes in the city - Saphalyam Complex. They have a colonial feel to them.


    The market lies within closed bounds. It welcomes you with a fading wall and an arch displaying its name proudly. Having been in Trivandrum for all these years, I got to visit the market for the first time couple of weeks ago. I didn¡¯t know what to expect. It is a regular market, just like any other. The tall walls that surround it gives an impression of mystery and secrecy. There is nothing of that sort. The wall is pretty old and tall. It adds to the charm and how the market is presented to its audience. We bought groceries, veggies, and fish for the week.


    Saphalyam complex is a shopping center. Before the advent of branded clothes and dresses, people came here to buy clothes. They catered to your every need, whether it be fancy ones to regular day-to-day use. There were shops selling toys and accessories, plants, electronics, and household items, almost all that was not available in the market. Together they formed a complete shopping destination. I have come here during my college days to pay my fees in the help center on the top floor. My father has mentioned it in the stories of his time in Trivandrum.


    It hasn¡¯t changed much with time. The shops might have changed hands. New restaurants and fast food joints have opened along with impromptu shops during the festive season. Apart from this, they retain the lackluster look that has become synonymous with them.


    A place that is supposed to be teeming with people must be deserted now. The shops are closed. The makeshift ones outside the building premises are covered with tarpaulin and secured tight. The pavement that is usually filled with hawkers and street vendors is empty. A few dogs are coming out onto the pavement from the complex. Even a hartal day doesn''t feel so empty.


    I ask myself - why am I doing this? The answer is simple - to find out someone who has survived this phenomenon and reverse it. Or to do something to restore it back to how it was before. That¡¯s it. But it is not that simple.


    In my current mental state, I am looking for someone to be with me as I deal with the ordeal. I don''t think I can hold on alone for a long time. It is slowly eating me from the inside, like a cancerous growth. I want to suppress it in its benign state. There is no removing it. It will only be cured when I get back to the life I had.


    As I keep wandering on, trying to find that support, I have to slowly start accepting my fate. I have to tell myself I might not see her or any of my loved ones anytime soon. Maybe never. I can¡¯t rule out that possibility. Rationally speaking, it can be true. I refrain from being one. I want to be this hopeful wanderer looking out for his wife and ways to bring her back. She anchors me. Today I realize how strong of an anchor she was.


    There is a lot of talk about how beautiful life is when you have found your soulmate. You become one and help each other grow to their full potential, making your connection deeper as the days pass. There are a lot of mystical theories attached to it. One of them is you start seeing recurring numbers in your life when you have the one. I don''t believe in this. I believe that we are infinitely complex creatures. We have this feeling within ourselves that we know who we are and what we are. But that is just an illusion. We really don''t know ourselves to be honest.


    I don''t know myself. There is a lot of me that still surprises me to this day. I am discovering them myself as the days pass by. So I feel this lifetime is not enough to figure out who we truly are. We die without a complete picture. Maybe our death is the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle. Maybe it is revealed to us in those final moments. There is a common saying that our life flashes past us as we die. Is it really that or is that the moment when everything is revealed to us? This statement is made by those who have had near-death experiences. Well, they aren¡¯t dead. They are alive. So things weren¡¯t revealed. You have to die for it to be revealed. Hence people see it as a flashback. Maybe that is what precedes the great moment. It is our fate to take it to our graves, finally resting in peace.


    When we took our vows and exchanged rings in front of our near and dear ones, our focal points became each other. I can say this on her behalf because I know it and I have felt it. I knew our lives had become like two binary stars in a collision course towards each other, going round and round and round. Today I realize it is much more than that. She was doing a lot more for me. She anchored me and gave me the courage I lacked. She motivated me to strive for what I want in life. She supported me unwaveringly in tough times. She questioned me truly and taught me how to accept the truth and live with it. She is more than my wife. She plays all the roles of every woman I have come across in my life. I never thought anyone could be as such. Yet she is.


    Her void has left me purposeless. My actions and thoughts had a direction on her arrival. Now they simply lack meaning. Nothing makes sense now.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    I keep on driving ahead. The steady sound of my scooter and the sounds of the birds and dogs are the only ones around me. The wind plays its tune from time to time. It is not a windy season. They come as a quiet breeze and leave as such. The only place where I will be able to hear more than this would be the beach. The lapping of the waves dissipates the silence and blends into the environment seamlessly.


    On both sides of the road buildings of colleges belonging to the Kerala university can be seen. University College is on the right while Sanskrit college is on the left. They are really old establishments that started before our Independence. The trees on these campuses are as old as the institutes, maybe older. The atmosphere they create is a beautiful calming one. They extend out into the road, providing much-needed shade.


    I wanted to go on rides with her through empty roads. There is nothing better than driving on empty roads carefree. I want to take her on a really long road trip across the country. I want to take her to all those places that I have visited and that have intrigued me. Secretly I want to sit behind her as she rides a motorbike. She doesn¡¯t know how to but I think I can teach her if I have empty roads like these. Then I would sit behind her, hug her tight and enjoy the feeling. I really don''t know if she will agree to all this, but I can give it a try.


    I am saying all this to feel good and take things in the best sense under these horrendous circumstances. The situation would have been way better if she hadn¡¯t disappeared away like everyone else. I would have been more composed. More than that I would have been more rational and taken things the way it needs to. With her beside me, I would be highly motivated to figure out what has happened and how to solve it. She is my rock and my strength. She doesn¡¯t know this though. I haven¡¯t told her. I wish I had.


    I pass the college premises and approach the secretariat. The junction is empty. The police barricade lies in front of the entry gate. A police bus lies next to it. All are empty. The shops on the right are all closed. I take the left turn at the junction. It reminds me of the time when I used to take this road on the way to drop my mom at her office. It is situated behind the secretariat complex and its ground. The cantonment police station lies just ahead. I see a police jeep parked right in front go it. I overtake it and stop in front of the entry.


    I enter the station. It is empty. I have to get used to this. The station is bigger than the previous ones as it has to serve the needs of the sensitivity in the area. I call out loudly. My voice echoes inside the corridor leading to the other rooms. There is no reply. The place has an eerie feel to it because of the emptiness. I don''t know whether I should check it out anymore. I take a few steps onto the corridor. I peek inside one of the rooms on the left. It has a couple of desks arranged at the corners. They are stacked with files and a PC. On one side I see a couple of guns hanging on the wall.


    I step inside the room and walk toward the guns. They are the ones carried by the policemen that take up duties along the gates and checkpoints of the secretariat. The ones you see on TV or in movies. I look at them for a while. These might come in handy during a tricky situation. But I am not sure even if such a situation would ever come. I hope I don''t end up with one of them strapped to my back.


    My grandpa had an air rifle with him in our home. He had used it to hunt down birds or critters on the property. He took it along with him when he worked in the high ranges as a plantation manager. When I was a kid, I came across it in his office. The room was adjacent to the one he slept in. He had made it his office room when his business was in full swing. Some of his close customers came here to have conversations with him over a cup of tea and make deals. He had an office adjacent to the workshop also.


    I took the rifle and examined it. I marveled at it. I thought it to be a real gun. I wanted to fire it. Grandpa caught me in the act of examining it. He took it from me politely and told me it was not something to be meddled with. I nodded in agreement. I asked him if it was a real gun. He said it wasn¡¯t. I asked him what it was. He told me it was an air gun. I asked him again if you could shoot with it. He confirmed it. I didn¡¯t ask him anything else.


    The next day he was fiddling with it in the evening. I went and sat beside him, eagerly looking at what he was doing. He was cleaning the barrel. I asked him if he could shoot. I wanted to see it in action. He took a few minutes and then agreed. I was excited. He went in and brought the pellets. He loaded one of them, locked the barrel, took aim at a piece of withered cardboard, and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the surroundings. I ran to have a look at it. There was a hole in it. I was so overjoyed. I lifted it and showed him the hole. He asked me to keep it where it was and come to him. He loaded a pellet and gave me the gun. It was heavy. He held my hands and taught me how to hold the gun. Then he showed me how to aim. I couldn¡¯t hold the gun steadily. He supported it in the barrel and asked me to to take aim and shoot at the cardboard. I took aim and pulled the trigger.


    I never expected the recoil to be so hard. I winced right after the shot. It took me a while to get my act together. Grandpa took the gun and rubbed my shoulder. I became okay in a minute. I rushed to see if my shot had hit the target. It didn¡¯t. I had missed it. Grandpa followed me and looked at the cardboard. There was only one hole in it. He looked at the surroundings. He found where I had hit. A look of dismay came upon him.


    I had scratched the trunk of a rubber tree. Soon the rubber sap was flowing from the cut I had made. I would get a good scolding from my dad. I had spoiled the tree. When father came to know, he laughed at the incident and dismissed it. Grandpa didn¡¯t say much. How could he? He was the one who gave me the gun to fire. Grandma scolded us both when she came to know about it.


    He still has the gun. It rests peacefully on the wall of his room. He can¡¯t fire it. He has become frail. I can. It seems like we have switched places. Strange how life is!

 1.29

    I will keep on visiting as many police stations as I can. I know what is in store for me but still, I will comb through them. Maybe it is because of the hope of finding something that will help me ahead. I step out of the room and get out of the building. I gave a long hard thought about whether I should take a gun. My mind wanders to the movie I was talking about - I am Legend. Will Smith had plenty of guns with him. He needed it in his situation. There were zombies to be kept clear of. Presently I don¡¯t think I will ever come across such a situation now or in the future cause, there isn¡¯t anyone left to be a zombie. Except myself.


    He also had a dog with him. I can use a dog like that. The dogs of the police academy would be the best contenders in that situation. I wonder where they keep the dog squad. There must be a separate facility for it. I could use one of them though. They will not be friendly to me. They will pounce on me at the slightest opportunity. They are trained for that. How will the fact that they are hungry from morning affect them? Will they see me as someone to trust and befriend if I approach them with food? Or has hunger gotten the better of them, unleashing their feral nature? I think I will pass. For now, I think I am good alone.


    I have never had the opportunity to keep a dog at home. We never stayed on such premises. Having always stayed in apartments, dogs were out of the question. A few months before leaving Trivandrum and moving to Kottayam, a kitty strayed into our garden. At that time we were living on the ground floor of a small apartment complex. I was away for work. When I came home, I was welcomed with a soft meow from under the sofa. Mom took me through how the kitty came to be a resident.


    The kitty was frail and hungry when my mother came across her at the corner of the gate. The other stray cats in the neighborhood had their eyes on her. She wouldn¡¯t have survived the ordeal if my mother hadn¡¯t taken her in. She was fed well. In a couple of days, she showed signs of recovery. Soon she was becoming healthier as the days passed. When I asked my mom why it was kept a secret from me she said it was to surprise me. I remember the blank state I was in that instant. I didn¡¯t know what to feel about the kitty. I have always wanted a dog as a pet. A cat, I don''t know. I didn¡¯t have a great impression of them. They have always come across as selfish cunning creatures of comfort and no loyalty, which is quite opposite to the nature of a dog.


    As the days passed, the kitty grew on me. I started feeding it at first. Then I slowly started to pat it and play with me. When my time came to go back to work, we had become comfortable with each other. She would come and sit between my legs on our sofa as I lie on it. One thing I liked about her was that she ate everything we gave her. She was not choosy. She had known hunger and was happy to have whatever she got.


    She was most attached to my mother. After she came back from the office, she would wag her tail and follow her into the kitchen. As she made tea for us, she would pour some milk for her. She would happily lick it dry. She instantly responded to the calls my mom made to her. We didn¡¯t name her anything. She was addressed by petting noises to which she responded.


    Mother got transferred from Trivandrum to a place near our hometown. We could only find an apartment on the fourth floor. Luckily there wasn¡¯t anything said about keeping pets in the house. So we decided to take her along with us. Mom couldn¡¯t part with her. She had become very attached to her. She was now a fully grown-up cat. Her initial cuteness had faded away. But she was loyal to us. In Trivandrum, she would jump out of the window and wander out into the main road. Once I had thought she was going away. But she would always return back in time to be there at home when my mother came.


    She stayed with us for over a year during which she gave birth to three litters twice. We gave them away after they were mature enough to fend for themselves. We kept her though. Mom loved her. She has even gone on to remark that the cat was more faithful than her two sons. She couldn¡¯t remark on the love towards her. In that, there was no question or doubt regarding our love for her.


    I haven¡¯t seen many cats since the morning. They must be oblivious to what has happened. They know how to find food and feed their hunger. In that regard, they are smart animals. They are too smart, to be frank. My friend has a couple of Persian cats in his house. His sister looks after them. He showed them to me when I visited him a couple of years ago. They are not at all like the ones we had. These cats had an air of superiority in them. They kind of knew the attention they were getting and acted accordingly. Our cat learned to hunt down small insects and scavenge for food. All these cats did was look cute (if you can say that) and do nothing. They would lie around on the sofa or the table and chill. I almost envied their chill lifestyle. Food for them would be served on a plate meant for them. They gave attention to their masters from time to time to please them. For the rest of the time, they ignored them. Cats surely are one-of-a-kind creatures.


    Ah! I just saw a cat walk stealthily on top of the compound wall. She looks at me, gives a quizzing look, and goes about her business.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I get on my scooter, make a U-turn and head back to the junction. Here I take a left turn to stay on the main road. I pass a single makeshift tent pitched on the pavement adjacent to the secretariat. This is where you come across people who are on strikes or protesting against the government and its policies. The numbers keep on changing. Sometimes it gets really overwhelming. For this reason, they have the cantonment station close by. I have seen plenty of protests happening here. Luckily none of them turned violent. Some do. It can get ugly. I can¡¯t decide if it is a good thing to go aggressive and get thrashed by the police when you cross a certain limit. I have never been a part of one. Maybe I don''t understand how it works. I am not a political follower. I don''t know if I have a political ideology. I want everyone to happy and respected and given equal opportunities for their growth and development. That''s it. Also, I condemn political fanaticism and the mixing of politics with religion. It is a danger to the very fabric of society and its smooth functioning.


    College politics is a minuscule version of its elder brother. The one that I came across in my college had its own flavor. A couple of parties that are actively present in the state have their student union across the hundreds of colleges in the state. They play small power games to rule over their campuses and enjoy the privilege they gain from it.


    As my final year was ending, elections were announced for forming the college union. The reigning union was going on solidly for the past five years. The government changed in the state the previous year. This saw the rise of a challenger - the student union of the ruling party. A clash was imminent. The ruling union took it a tad bit lighter. When the campaigning started they felt the heat. The students wanted a change and here was one.


    The college also brought in a rule whereby a student with backlogs couldn¡¯t contest the elections. This made some of the charismatic students of the ruling union invalid. They had to do with some of their lesser-known ones.


    I remember how some members from the ruling union come to meet us as part of their campaigning process. They were our batchmates. A couple of them were our classmates as well. One of them was my roomie''s lab partner. We were already having late-night discussions on how the voting would go about, who all are the candidates and how they fared against each other. As part of pushing their point on why this union would be a disaster for the college, they brought a religious element into play. They made claims that if their competitors came into power, they would bring in groups having a religious tone. We listened to them in patience and assured them of voting sensibly. We couldn¡¯t promise them our votes. We would vote for the deserving candidates. We had nothing to lose. We were passing out in four months times. We wanted our juniors to reap the benefits of the outcome.


    The moment they left, we burst out into hysterical laughter. We were so intrigued as to the level they would drop in order to beat their opponents. They had lost their votes with this tactic. We were a religious mix and were living peacefully. The whole religion thing never came in between us. We respected each other''s beliefs and even held healthy discussions regarding religion and what it meant to us as an individual. We didn¡¯t stop there. We questioned all that we can. It was the time to gather knowledge and broaden ourselves.


    Both parties rallied till the last moment. Unlike past times, it was peaceful and without any unwanted incidents. The nominees were held up for scrutiny by the public. They were given the opportunity to present their manifesto and ask for support. Some spoke like true leaders. They spoke of how they would bring a change. Some spoke like true politicians. They were more interested in belittling their opponents and projecting themselves as the better option. In my opinion that never makes sense. You should be focused on yourself and how you can bring in a change, not how you are better than your opponent. Throwing mud at someone''s face is a tactic employed by those who have little to offer. They are big on words and small on action. They can¡¯t be a good leader. Or a change-maker. They are here for the power, not for the people.


    Election Day came as announced. The general sentiment was for a change. The voting went on throughout the day. The turnover was good. It was being followed by our passed-out seniors closely. They too would have loved to have a change in their time, but the circumstances never came through. Some of them even tried, only to find themselves against a ruthless opponent. Times had changed and so had the tide.


    The results were announced late in the evening. The opponents came out victorious by a huge margin. The victory was welcomed with huge furor and fanfare. It was a historical moment in the history of our college. The stronghold was broken and in marched the new brigade. The change was inevitable and it happened. The flags changed colors. A new beginning had been scripted. I witnessed it all with happiness and a passive smile. I hope the victors stick to their values and act as they preached.


    Whenever there is a talk on politics among my friends or colleagues, I prefer to be the listener. I am curious to know how people think and their viewpoints on the topic. When asked I prefer to stay neutral. I am a diplomatic person in that way. I would have made a good diplomat for the country. My wife says this. She is a person who has strong views and likes to oscillate around the full width of the spectrum, while I am the one who likes to stay in the midpoint, safe and sound. It is a good combination, a balancing act of sorts. If she heard this she would have taunted me and pulled my leg by digging out some point from the context. Later she would accept it.


    The Secretariat looks desolate. The white expanse feels greyed out. Without the camaraderie surrounding the place and the activities that make the place come alive, its importance is nil. It is silent and still like any other building I have come across today. Even on a hartal day, there is some sort of activity happening here. Without it, an air of death and decay will take over the expanse. I don¡¯t want that to happen.

 1.30

    They call this place Statue Junction owing to a statue placed on the opposite side of the road. I haven''t paid attention to the statue yet. It must be of someone politically important. I chose to be back on the road and drive.


    Up ahead a car has rammed into the traffic signal post on the sidewalk. As I pass it I give it a nonchalant look. The crash is bad. But it doesn¡¯t make much difference to me now. I realize that the probability of finding someone still stuck in it is very less. I don''t think anyone would be out cold for such a long time. They would have woken up and done something to get out of the mess. I will become excited if a see an open door on a crashed car. It would mean the person had endured the crash and had not disappeared like the rest of his companions. The chance of the person closing the door behind while leaving is very high provided he hasn¡¯t had a serious injury. It is a reflexive action we have been doing from the time we have been traveling in four-wheelers. It is like how my hands go automatically to the seat belt as I get into my car. If it is a serious injury then the priority will be to get out of the vehicle at all costs and seek help, not close the door.


    I see a couple of bikes lying on the edge of the road as I move ahead. Another one has climbed the divider and lies on top of it, dangling onto the other side.


    The stretch of road from Statue to East fort is where people come to meet their shopping needs. The well-known brands have their outlets in the building complexes that populate the two sides of the road. They start as soon as you leave the premises of the Secretariat. I feel this is in stark contrast to how it is in other places. I have seen in other states that government offices will be cluttered together in an area. If a building comes up, it would be a government building. Here in Trivandrum, you can¡¯t make where one starts and ends. It is a seamless transition, no matter how odd they look together.


    There are plenty of smaller roads cutting off from the main road. They lead to clusters of other shops and businesses. One will surely come across whatever they have to purchase here. Although it is not organized like a mall or a supermarket, it has its own structure. I came to know about this when I was looking for some materials for my final year project. Although I didn¡¯t get what I came for, I got to see a part of the city that remained oblivious to me. Even my hostel mates weren¡¯t familiar with it. All were familiar with the Chalai market or the electronics market near it. It was recommended to me by my day scholar friend staying nearby. He knew the place and what it offered. I haven¡¯t come here since that day. With the advent of online shopping and home delivery, the need to explore such nooks and corners of the city for something specific has diminished.


    I am a person who likes to explore. I like to walk and explore places. I like to discover their stories and mysteries. Along the streets and lanes, buildings and sidewalks, squares and plazas, I get a feel of its history and heritage. Whenever I am in a new place, I might go for an early morning walk, or a stroll through the empty streets after dinner. Walking makes me become a local, become a part of the place. It is a great feeling. Although the pandemic has restricted this and given us a reason to explore them virtually, I will always prefer to do it physically. There is nothing more joyful than stumbling upon something on your walk, no matter how small it is.


    To be honest I haven¡¯t explored Trivandrum much. I came here to study and was engrossed in activities that saw me leave the college premises very less. If I left, then it would be to go home or for a movie or dinner. There was no need to go into the Chalai market and explore it. There was nothing in there that interested me.


    Whenever we went to college fests, we took part in the treasure hunt. We loved it. The act of solving puzzles was big fun those days. The prize money was definitely a handsome attraction that pushed us to do our best. This was the kind of exploration I had done back then. There was a reason for it, to win.


    To wander without a purpose can come across as unorthodox. At an age when you want to see results and are willing to immerse yourself in them, doing something for the fun of it without any expectations or results can be considered a waste of time. Currently, I have to wander and explore as much as I can in order to find my purpose in this weird situation.


    I did this once when I was in Bombay. I wandered and explored the fort area of south Bombay at my own leisurely pace. I took the help of google maps to find my way through some of the lanes, so in a strict sense, it wasn¡¯t wandering. But the place was new to me. It was fascinating and charming. I took random turns and ended up in plain normal lanes. But that didn¡¯t deter me. I continued and found myself walking along beautiful paths and the occasional odd street. I was to meet my friend a couple of hours later. He was late for another hour. I didn¡¯t mind it. I had been credited an extra hour to roam around the streets. I stopped at quaint shops to quench my thirst, bought the savory snacks being sold by the street hawkers to munch on, and clicked pictures of avenues that had marveled me with their great colonial architecture.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I have explored Chalai market a couple of times. The most recent one was with Anna. We had to buy some stuff for our home. They were available online but the price seemed to be on the higher side. We knew we could get it at a better price in the market. So we drove there one evening after her college.


    I loved the time we spent in the market. We couldn¡¯t explore it as much as we wanted due to time constraints and the ongoing pandemic. We did walk a lot. I showed her some of the iconic shops along the route. They had reopened as the cases dropped. But we didn¡¯t want to take any chance. We avoided crowded spots and shops. This pushed us to go deep into the market and explore its fringes. I am pretty sure we had just scratched the surface. The market is spread out. The lanes branching off from the main road are narrow and packed with shops of all kinds. Some of the lanes had shops dealing with similar products. This proved to be very useful while striking a bargain. Some lanes only dealt in wholesale. There was no point in visiting them.


    We spent nearly two hours in it. Some shops took time because we had to be certain as to what we were buying. Some were discovered by accident and saw us shelling out our money to buy something that had caught our eyes. Some were tempting us, but we fought the urge. They weren¡¯t a necessity. Some had things that we loved but kept aside owing to the price. The cheaper alternative was also available but it didn¡¯t appeal to us. We decided to buy it when we had the money. It can wait.


    We walked back to the parking lot with our hands full. A few days back we were reminded of this day and how jolly it was. Even though we walked a lot we were happy. I asked her if she wanted to do it again. She didn¡¯t hesitate to say yes. We decided to do it this Saturday if the cases were under control. But the recent news regarding Covid wasn¡¯t good. The third wave was upon us. Restrictions might come into place. We don''t know how this wave would turn out. The second wave was devastating. We prayed it to be an okay one. The shopping can wait.


    I only have a few minutes of drive to the railway station. The bus stand is right next to it. This is a huge boon for travelers. They will find almost all the buses plying throughout the city and the long-distance ones in the bus stand.


    I speed up my ride. The road is almost empty, except for the vehicles that have crashed here and there. As I look around my surroundings, I see a movement from the corner of my eyes on a bylane on my left. I brake hard and come to a screeching halt. The sound produced was a relatively new one. As it faded away, the silence felt magnanimous. I turn my scooter quickly and drive to the bylane.


    It was a fleeting movement, a quick one. I can¡¯t say what it was. But I did see it. The lane went downhill after a while. It was flanked by shops, all closed. A few meters ahead on the right side an old apartment stood. It was three floors tall. There was hardly any frontage to the property. The gate was closed. I decided to have a look at it.


    I opened the gate and took the flight of stairs. Each floor had two apartments on either end of the staircase, just like ours. All of them had their curtains draped. The topmost one had its windows open. I rang the calling bell of each house as I climbed the floors. They all chimed differently.


    On the top floor, the staircase continued onto the terrace. I took it. I opened the door and stepped into the terrace. I could see the immediate surroundings from up here. I decided to stay here for a while and look out for whatever made the movement. As I was climbing up, I started to doubt what I had seen. It wasn¡¯t a cat or a dog. It had height. Like a man. Or a boy. Definitely not an animal.


    I walked along the boundary facing the lane. There was a very old house a few meters ahead on the other side of the road. It was in a dilapidated condition. The house stood in a wide area. The garden was unattended. A couple of mango trees in it were huge and tall. A lone coconut tree took it to the skies. The windows were all closed, the garage door was locked shut. There was no sign of any vehicle in it. It seemed spooky. I observed the property for a while. A few crows sat on the mango trees and cawed occasionally. Apart from that, I saw no movement or sound.


    I trace the remaining length of the boundary. Behind the apartment, there is a warehouse kind of building. A small lane leads to it alongside the boundary wall of the apartment. The shutters are down. A couple of carriage vans remain parked in the small space in front of the building. No movement there.


    The main road has an air of emptiness and silence. The people who stay in this apartment can never even think of such a day in their lifetime. They are used to the camaraderie and chaos along the road and its surroundings. For them, silence would be alien. I don''t know if I can live like that. I would always prefer a place away from the sounds of everyday life. This is one of the main reasons I love our home. We are in the city and yet not a part of it.


    I climb down the stairs after closing the door behind me. I wonder what I saw as I jump the stairs two at a time. Did my brain play a trick on me? Have I been thinking so much of finding someone that my brain went a bit haywire and threw a gimmick? I exit the apartment.


    I am thinking if I should go ahead. Whatever I saw was at this distance from the main road. There was no point in going downhill. Also, there was nothing there. I traced the road as far as I can from the terrace. Apart from a few stray dogs, nothing moved on it.


    I could see a part of the old house from where I stand. On any other day, I would have taken some time to appreciate it. Currently, I am not in that mood. I am a little agitated at myself. A flutter of hope had come inside me when I felt that movement. It seems it was just an illusion. Sigh.


    I look at my watch. It is four pm. The day is slowly coming to an end. There is so much to do. I get on my scooter and head back to the main road. I need to hasten up things.

 1.31

    I exit the by lane and enter the main road. I give it a look one more time before I drive away. It must have been a fleeting feeling. I decide to drive at a normal speed.


    I reach the Ayurveda college junction and come to halt. A couple of roads bifurcate towards my right. I look at them thoroughly, looking for any movement or anything out of the ordinary. One road is narrow and vanishes away downhill. The other one is wider and can be seen for quite some distance. There aren¡¯t any vehicles lying on the two roads. I resume my drive.


    I will be reaching Overbridge junction. It got its name from the overbridge across the railway lines. If you take a city bus, it takes this route that I have taken. The long-distance buses usually take the left turn from PMG junction and take the parallel road passing through Bakery junction to the bus stand in Thambanoor. They drop you right in front of the railway station or inside the bus stand. The city buses have a different bus stand in East Fort. In order to reach the railway station or the bus stand, you will have to get down at this junction and walk the distance. It takes five minutes.


    These buses connect the various parts of the city. They are white with a blue streak. They are operated by the state road transport authority. Apart from these, there are privately owned buses. They are green in color. The long-distance state buses that connect the two corners of the state and all the underlying districts have an orchestrated color shade of red and mellow yellow. They are classified into different categories depending on their service. A seasoned traveler can distinguish them by looking at the pattern of the two colors.


    We used to take these local buses to come into our city from college. They would be instantly filled after four in the evening. It takes forty minutes to reach Overbridge junction. We got down and rushed to take the train tickets from the crowded counter. As the years passed our homeward journeys became less. We used to bunk the last class in order to get an earlier empty train. The enthusiasm of going home even if we had to stand the whole distance had faded away. We learned to make use of the weekends and holidays with our friends.


    This stretch of road has a couple of big shopping arcades on the opposite side. People come here for their clothing needs. Women come here to buy sarees and churidars. They are also a one-stop destination for your wedding needs. My wife comes here to do saree shopping. Since there are a couple of them side by side, you will never run out of options. Unlike a normal clothing shop, coming here is a task in itself. It will surely take away a good amount of time. But then you can do all your shopping from this one place and avoid visiting shops one after the other looking for clothes. They are always crowded no matter what the occasion is. One of them even has a supermarket inside it. They fight for customers with sales and offers throughout the year.


    The sidewalk and the entry to these arcades are silent and empty. Only when a hartal happens does one come across such a scenario. The smaller shops that try to pick on the leftover customers are also closed.


    I can see the junction in front of me. It is awfully quiet. As I approach it, I see a local bus rammed into the bus stand on my left. It has destroyed the waiting shed. There wasn¡¯t one in my college days. The road was extended in width and a bus stop was made there. Buses had to take the left lane and stick to it to enter the parking bay. They had built a divider to serve this purpose. They must have done this to lessen the congestion caused by the buses halting here to unload their passengers.


    Apart from this, a car has rammed onto the sidewalk on the other side of the road. I overtake the crashed bus and look at it from the front. The windshield is cracked. It remains intact. There is no sign of anyone inside it. The sign board reads East Fort. It was coming from the northeastern part of the city. I deduced it from the remaining names of the places printed out on the board below the destination.


    I resume my journey and take the free left onto the road leading to Thambanoor. It is a significant part of the city. Everyone knows it. This is the end point of your journey into the city. The railway station and the bus stand, opposite each other, make sure that you reach in or get out of the city. A ticket to Trivandrum will see you getting off here to the call of the conductor or the blare of the railway announcement system. Get into any auto or taxi and say your destination as Thambanoor, they will drop you in front of one of them. They will obviously ask you which of the two along the journey.


    Thambanoor can be considered to be the center point from which the city grew. It is a low-lying area that feels the brunt of the monsoons every year. During heavy rains, the place becomes flooded and becomes difficult to navigate. Since it is a place seeing a lot of travelers, there are a lot of restaurants and food joints to cater to everyone''s needs. I was introduced to the iconic red spiral building of Indian Coffee house. Dad took me here to have breakfast on my first visit to the city. We had come to complete the process of admission to the college. The building and its structure impressed me a lot. Once inside I was fascinated by how things were managed inside it. It did have a lot of tables inside it, which surprised me given its design. It spiraled upward with the tables placed on the outer edge. They were mostly full. We had to walk to the end of the spiral and take the last table to have our meal. It felt like I was being a part of a heritage.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    As I take the free left, I come across a car that has driven off the road and into the pavement. It hasn¡¯t crashed onto anything. It stays part here, part there. A bike lies flat on the little strip of divider that began with the turn. I wonder how it fell this way. It intrigued me. So I stop to examine it. It doesn¡¯t look like a crash. It looks as if it was standing stationary when it fell down. Since it has fallen to the side that doesn¡¯t have the side stand, the only explanation I can think of is the driver disappeared when he stopped here. That is a bit strange. It doesn¡¯t feel like the crashes I have come across. I have seen many of them in such a short time period to figure out their dynamics. There is no traffic to come to a halt. I wonder why he stopped.


    One of the factors that made me reach this conclusion is that in the other bike accidents I came across, some part of the bike was damaged or disfigured. This one is intact. Also, the way it fell on the divider seemed to be like how we sometimes leave our bikes to fall on the ground as we rush onto something. We come to a stop and then let it fall. That doesn¡¯t damage the bike. Maybe a bit of paint might peel off. Or a small scratch.


    I am wondering why the rider stopped his bike. What made him stop at an odd time of the day in the middle of the road? If I had to stop, I would take the left end and stop at the edge of the road, not in the middle of it. Seems very strange.


    I get back to my scooter and continue on. I cross a newly opened vegetarian restaurant that she had discovered while I was away for work. She was looking for a reason to take me here for a meal. She got one when we decided to go for a movie at one of the theatres around here. We had our dinner after the movie and parcelled home some sweets.


    There are a lot of movie theatres in and around Thambanoor. This was a boon for us during our college days. Movies were a craze back then. The balcony ticket cost sixty rupees while the first class was half of it. It was really cheap. Because of the close proximity of the theatres, there have been multiple occasions where we would go for back-to-back movies. If the movie was a super hit, we would buy the balcony tickets. If it was a mediocre one, we would settle for first class.


    Back then the concept of a multiplex was alien to the city. The generic theatre design was to have a lower seating called the first class with an upper balcony section jutting out from the back of the theatre to a certain distance so as to not create a hindrance to the viewers sitting at the end of first class. This design was universally followed in the country. Some modifications can be included on the balcony or in the first class. Like the cinema complex that stood close to the railway tracks close to Overbridge junction. It housed four theatres. Three of them followed the traditional design. The fourth one was carved out from the remaining space. It was small and cramped. It extended length-wise because of which they had to go for a single sweeping floor. We knew the theatre and avoided it at all costs as the movie experience was bad.


    Adjacent to the restaurant is one of the oldest theatres in the city. I remember standing in long queues to get tickets on Fridays. Theatres have changed with time. They have adopted the trend of making the movie-going a wholesome experience by undertaking a major revamp. They brought in comfortable seats and premium seating options (like the recliner), improving the sound system, keeping the seating to a comfortable number, and providing more options in the food and beverages department. The ticket price went up as a matter of fact. But the public was ready to shell out the money for a better movie experience.


    With the advent of mobile apps, booking a ticket has become easy and quick. One need not stand in long queues to watch a movie premiere. They can book them beforehand and show up on the day at the allotted time. Times have really changed.


    Adding to that was the exponential growth of media streaming. If you had asked me when I was passing out of college about a technology that will bring the movie-watching experience into your palms in real time, I would have scoffed at you and had a hearty laugh. One had to overcome the existing big screen industry followed by the DVD/home media. Back then we had to download a movie first to watch it. It has not even taken a decade for it to evolve into a form wherein you click the play button and start streaming a movie the moment it releases. Technology indeed has grown by leaps and bounds.


    But has it failed to take into account a doomsday kind of scenario? Kind of like the one I find myself in. The bitter truth is I have become wholly dependent on it from the time I wake up to the moment I shut my eyes and call it a night. To a very large extent we all have.


    This technology that we rave about is absolutely useless to me right now. I want to throw my phone into the ground and see it break into pieces. But I need it. It has been the preferred method of communication for us for a long time. If something has to happen, it will happen in this space. There have been outages worldwide. They do get restored soon enough. This is also something like that. I will hear the chime of a message or my ringtone and jump with joy. I just need to give it some time. It is being looked after as we speak. Just some more time.


    I take out my phone from the left pocket. I double-tap on the screen to wake it up. The familiar home screen greets me. Both my networks are dead.

 1.32

    I reach the wide opening of the entrance bay for the buses. On my left is the spiral Indian Coffee House building. Its door remains shut. I wish I could get a cup of coffee from them. As I scan the premises, I see black fumes rising from beyond the coffee house. I turn my scooter and hurry up to where the smoke is coming from.


    The black fumes are coming from a tea shop. These shops have their tea-making setup right at the entrance. People stand adjacent to it and have their beverage fresh and hot as it gets made then and there and served in glass tumblers. They always have the stove on in order to boil the water and keep the milk hot. These containers have burned out. The smoke is emanating from them. They haven''t caught fire though. The gas must be still on. I get out of my scooter and tread carefully to the shop. Through the smoke, I can see the flame on the burner. The milk container has deformed very badly. It isn¡¯t stable anymore.


    I walk into the shop. The smoke hits me. It is suffocating and has started to burn my eyes. I have to kill the stove from the inside. I take a deep breath, keep a good distance between myself and the stove, extend my hand and turn off the knobs one by one. The flames die out. The crackling sound of the containers being destroyed by the flames slows down. The milk container shudders to this. I back off from the shop and come outside. The fumes should die out soon.


    If my memory is correct, this shop has been here for a very long time. It caters to the hunger needs of the passengers throughout the day. The shop doesn¡¯t close. They have a shift system or something like that, I don''t remember. I read about them in an article a long time ago. Thanks to them, one can always find something to drink and munch on. The glass cupboard housing the snacks have turned black with the smoke. I can see a few items in it. I am thinking about whether I should get one for myself. I chuck it.


    The line of shops here hasn''t changed a bit. They have kept on providing their services for a long time. For a weary traveler, this is more than enough to bring about a smile and a dash of energy needed to continue on his journey. They fall under the category of places that have remained oblivious to time. The very establishment they serve has transformed over the years. Yet they remain constant. I keep on saying that change is the only constant in life and that it is inevitable. I guess there are a few exceptions to it.


    Thambanoor bus stand underwent a major makeover after I passed out from college. The government invested a good amount of money to develop it into a bus terminal that matched up to the standards of international ones. A multi-storied curving building was built here to replace the old terminal. It has a grand entrance that lights up beautifully after dusk. The building was designed and executed with the provision to house a lot of shops. It was intended to be the next shopping center with a plethora of shops that catered to every need of the traveler and the common folks. It didn¡¯t work out as expected. The ground floor is filled with bakeries and tiffin joints, shops selling essentials, and looking out for the needs of a traveler. The floors above them are mostly vacant. Businesses didn¡¯t come in as expected. They remain mostly empty. There was a good scope for making this into a transportation hub. I guess it didn¡¯t work out.


    Keeping that factor aside, the new terminal was a boon to travelers. They now had a solid space to sit and relax. All their traveling needs were met inside the complex itself, without having to wander around much. The whole setup was neatly organized. Each bus route had its own bay. There was a good order to how things functioned. The first step towards setting a high standard had been taken. More has to follow.


    From where I stand, I can see the workshop garage. It is huge. A lot of buses are parked in and around it. Their maintenance and repairs are done here by their in-house technicians and engineers. Once when I was traveling to Kottayam at midnight, the bus I took developed a snag in its gearbox the moment it exited the bus stand. It traveled for a kilometer or two before the driver decided to turn back. We hadn¡¯t taken the tickets. In ten minutes, I was back in the stand. The next bus was half an hour later. We all waited patiently for the next bus. Ten minutes later the same bus was standing in front of us, urging us to get in quickly. The problem was solved, but now it had to make up for the lost time. We filled it as quickly as possible. The bus left immediately. By the time it reached Kottayam, it had made up the time. I had slept through the journey like a log.


    I hear a sound coming from the workshop. After listening to it for a while, I think it is an air compressor. I am familiar with sound in my workplace. I contemplate going into the workshop and having a look. But I dismiss it. I get back on my scooter and drive into the path for the bus entry into the terminal. A few meters in, I enter into the shade of the building. A couple of buses are lined up on their bays. Up ahead a bus lies perpendicularly on the path, blocking my advance. I come to a halt in front of it. It seems the bus was backing out from its bay, or coming into it. It is empty, just like the other buses. There isn¡¯t anybody anywhere. A couple of dogs are sleeping on the floor. One of them wakes up when I kill my engine and get out. I walk to the front of the bus and have a look at the signboard. ¡®Thrissur via Kollam, Alleppey, Vytilla Hub¡¯ is written on it in Malayalam. I realize something.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I turn back and look into the terminal. I find what I was looking for - the information counter. I walk towards it. Right on top of the wall housing the glass window of the counter, bus timings are written on a huge whiteboard. It is divided into sections. I go to the one showing buses leaving for the north. In it, I narrow down to the buses to Thrissur. There is a bus leaving fifteen minutes past midnight. The route mentioned is the same as the signboard. This must be the bus.


    I think I have narrowed the time frame of the phenomenon. Taking a buffer of fifteen minutes, the disappearance must have occurred between midnight twelve and twelve-thirty. Time is displayed on a large LCD panel on the window of the counter. It has been nearly sixteen hours since then.


    I don''t know how to take this fact. I look at the board once again. There it is once again, the bus that shone a light into the day''s proceedings. I sigh. I don''t know what to do now. The time frame seems really long. I don''t know what has become of Anna or if she would survive whatever she is going through for such a long period. My gaze remains fixed on the board. I feel exhausted.


    Slowly I stop staring at it. I start reading down the rest of the timings. I come across something that has brought back my full attention.


    There is another bus that leaves for Thrissur at four in the morning. I immediately comb the route it takes. It is the same one as the one on the bus. Oh, dear! There are two buses leaving for the same destination in a gap of three and a half hours. I can¡¯t be sure which of the two is the one standing there in the middle of the road.


    The time frame has to be extended now. It has become midnight to four fifteen or four-thirty. I don''t know if the four-hour gap would contribute much to the turn of events. I really don''t know.


    I take a stroll inside the terminal premises. I see a shop with a glass window displaying backpacks, rucksacks, and other stuff. They are mostly curated keeping the traveler in mind. Looking at the backpacks on display, I come across one similar to what I had. It tore away from my frequent use. The shop is closed. Only a few shops serving tea and snacks are open.


    I am an avid traveler. I traveled a lot when I had the opportunity. That opportunity came because of my job. Even though I hated it, I was thankful for it. I would calculate my off days after a stint at work and plan my trips accordingly. Sometimes I directly left for my travels from my workplace and returned to resume where I left off, skipping my holidays to go home to my family or friends. Those trips would last for three or more weeks. I would be on the road, hopping from one place to another, like a true vagabond. As they say, I was bitten by the travel bug.


    This is when I got a camera. Dad gifted me one before my Ladakh trip. I learned the basics and tried my hand at clicking pictures along the way. It wasn¡¯t that easy. I knew I had just started and had a long way to go. From then on, my travel backpack always had my camera. It has been my steady companion throughout all my journeys. I have tried my hand at all kinds of photography. The one that excites me is landscape photography. My pictures found their way into my Instagram profile. It soon became the medium through which I shared my pictures.


    The two years of hectic traveling and exploring finally slowed down when I was given my new assignment. This required more input from my side. My pattern also got constricted a bit. I could have continued with my travels. But something inside me said I needed to slow down. It didn¡¯t mean that I wasn¡¯t traveling. I was but in a local capacity. My besties came together and started a hospitality venture in Varkala. Whenever I was coming back from my work, I would visit them and spend a couple of days in their company. It deepened our friendships and the amazing bond we had. We would go to the nearby beach in the evening and have discussions on the obscurest topics as the sun set into the sea.


    In short, my traveling style changed. I was happy with the four-hour journey I had to take to be in the company of my friends. We drank and danced, followed by game nights that stretched through the night. From time to time the group grew. Everyone came and left with great memories.


    This had become my routine. Whenever I packed my bags, my mom knew where I was going. She would remind me of taking extra clothes for the sea. It came to an abrupt pause with the advent of the pandemic. Things had flipped in a matter of months.


    Having done a very long stint at my workplace owing to the successive lockdowns imposed in the country, I found myself in a world bereft of traveling. Everyone was experiencing the same feeling. We were all huddled in our four walls, staring into the different black mirrors we had placed around us. I had to undergo a two-week quarantine in my home. It was mandatory at that time. We have a small house near our hometown. My parents bought it a long time ago. I told them to keep it ready for me. If I stayed with my family, I would be confined to a single room. I didn¡¯t want that. I wanted to freely roam around in the house, take a small stroll in the backyard and sip my evening tea leisurely sitting on the verandah. They brought me food from time to time, kept it at the entrance, and left.


    Thinking back to it now, it wasn¡¯t a bad time. I had all the time for myself. I read some books, watched some movies, and spent my time going deep down the youtube rabbit hole. I was having a good time. Sometimes I did feel lonely. But thanks to technology, I was always connected to my family and friends. We did group video calls, shared funny memes and posts on Insta and laughed together, shared music and videos, and talked about it over long phone calls. I didn¡¯t feel alone or isolated. In fact, compared to my current situation, that was nothing. This is isolation. This is loneliness.

 1.33

    I am not a lonely person. I never was. I just like my own company. In my childhood, I was totally accustomed to playing with myself. I had lots of toys. After coming back from school, I would eat my lunch and play with my toys. These included cars and action figures. I had quite a few of them. The action figures were my favorite toys. I would make a plot and play it along with them. The house would become where the story was happening. Every object in it would have become something that the figure interacted with. Dark spaces would become the enemies'' lair. Tall bookshelves became fortified castles. The bed or the floor was the battleground. There would be skirmishes and encounters in these places. They would fight with each other and continue with the story. If the story finished, another would be made within minutes. There was no dearth of imagination. I could make stories on a whim and live them.


    Sometimes my best friend would come over to my house in the evening. Whenever he came we ran to the playground to play something more physically involving. Most of the days it was cricket. Badminton happened when we had new shuttles. Football wasn¡¯t played much. Somedays we explored the little forest and its undergrowth close to where I stayed. It bordered the property I lived in. There were plenty of fruit trees. When it was the season we would dash to pick up the fallen fruits. There was an orange tree in the playground. My bestie would climb it and pluck fruits for us. I wasn¡¯t much of a climber.


    If it was cold or gloomy, we would be inside playing one of the board games I had. Later on, we graduated to sitting in front of the TV and playing video games. We would exchange game cartridges and compare our progress. Games with two players were extensively played when he came to my house. That was more fun than playing alone. Sometimes Dad would join me if he was in the mood. One of his friends loved playing video games. He would join me on his occasional visits.


    On days when I felt like being outdoors without the company of my bestie, I would make the forest area my playground. I can¡¯t recollect what exactly I did there. All I remember is spending hours in it. I would create some kind of fantasy adventure on those premises and follow it along. Playing video games and watching movies gave me the inspiration to make my own stories and enact them in the wild. I would gather some sticks as my weapons and roam around fighting imaginary monsters and villains. Berries became my potions, trees my watchtowers, the tall grass minions, and the thick bushes my hideouts.


    My brother was born when I was nine years old. After he came into our lives things changed. I would spend more time with him and look after him when needed. As he grew up we played together. We did all kinds of things together. After he took his first steps, we would play a game called a superhero. We would drape a white towel from our necks. We would run around the house pretending to be superman or batman and fight bad guys in front of us. As we grew up, we started playing video games. When my Dad bought me a computer, we started playing games on it. He learned to use the mouse and keyboard very quickly. Soon, we could be seen sitting together - him on my lap - and playing games one after the other.


    I had friends in school. I was friends with everyone in my class. I didn¡¯t harbor any enmity toward anyone. Over time I made a couple of really close friends. We became a close-knit group. This has been my story throughout. I end up with a few close friends who stick with me.


    In school, the lunch breaks were mainly utilized to play rather than eat. We would gobble down our tiffins and head to play cricket. Later on, it became football as I shifted to a school that had a huge ground. Hide and seek was a popular game everywhere. We played it whenever we didn¡¯t have any other options.


    I used to think I was an introvert. That is not so. In the tests, I always come across as an introvert. Yet my friends refuse to believe this. They say I didn¡¯t take it properly. I took it with all seriousness because I wanted to know what kind of a person I am.


    Later I realized that I am an ambivert leaning over to the introvert side. I can have conversations with strangers and not make them seem awkward. But I take time to make friends. It is a process that needs time and effort from both parties. These friends remain throughout my life. I have a friend from when I was one year old. We were family friends. We parted ways in high school but have maintained the friendship over the years. Currently, he lives in a different city. We rarely meet nowadays. Either I have to visit his city or he has to come to his hometown and maybe meet us here or somewhere in between. We have our own lives to live. When we talk, the conversations last long. We resume from where we left off. There is no break in the continuity of our friendship.


    I wish I had someone to talk to now. I have endured situations at my workplace in which I know I won¡¯t be able to contact anyone for a week or more. I haven''t felt bad then. I do feel now. In the previous situation, I knew they will always be there. I can call them after the ordeal. They would be a phone call away. I can meet them upon returning home. Their existence itself was soothing.


    The vastness and the emptiness of the bus terminal followed by the lack of basic everyday sounds make me feel all alone. The dogs that were sleeping on the floor woke up. They start to bark at something in the distance. They dash towards it. I wonder if I should follow them and see where they are headed. It must be another dog. I don''t entertain the thought.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    I walk out of the main entrance. The sunlight that welcomes me is soothingly warm. I look at the sun. I see its outer circle for a while before it blinds me. I shake away the feeling.


    I turn and look at the bus terminal. My eyes scale the height of the building. It towers before me, empty. I wonder if I could get access to the roof. I would have a great view of my immediate surroundings. It must be locked. I don''t have any tools with me with which I can break in. I make a note to myself on getting some tools ready for all kinds of use. I will have to make a list of it.


    I walk back into the terminal and get to my scooter. I turn back and drive out the way I came. I take the left turn and drive past the terminal entrance. On the opposite side of the road, an autorickshaw has come and hit the last one in the line of three rickshaws. It was a skewed hit. The three rickshaws stick to each other.


    I take the roundabout and take the exit towards the main entrance of the railway station. I drive into an empty spot near the entrance and get out. I can see that the train information screen is still running. I enter the station.


    On the information panel, I go through the trains and their timings. There is a train leaving at four ten from the third platform. The next train on the list is a long-distance one coming from the north of the country. Its scheduled time of arrival is four forty but is running late by half an hour. I look into the platforms from where I stand. A train stands on the third platform. This must be the four-ten one. Another one is behind it.


    I traveled a lot in trains when I was studying here. The train was the preferred medium to travel for most of us. Buses would be jam-packed. The probability of getting a seat on a bus was low. Also, train journeys were much more comfortable whether you got a seat or not. Along with your friends, you wouldn¡¯t even know the passing of time. You could also make a reservation and sit or sleep for the whole journey. My friends from the northern end of the state had to book tickets in advance as they had to do overnight journeys to reach their homes.


    This information panel was of great use when catching trains back then. It was initially a digital panel made up of small red led lights that displayed the information in a very basic manner. Now it is basically a large TV screen that is connected to a computer displaying the information. It looks good though.


    The screen showed the trains leaving or arriving at the current time. If a train left or arrived with the station being its end destination, its name would be removed from the list within five minutes, maybe before that. In some stations, I have seen that they write departed or arrived next to the train name respectively. Wherever there wasn¡¯t a digital display panel, the person who looked after the train table would rub it off from the display board. Even here, there is a whiteboard right next to the information counter. The person who sits inside updates it frequently.


    With this information, I can say that the trains before four ten had left or arrived.There aren¡¯t many trains after midnight. After the last one around twelve, the next one starts early in the morning, around three thirty, four. They vary daily. Most of them are long-distance trains. There have been a lot of changes in the timetable following the pandemic. I really don''t know much about it now. I have stopped keeping a track of trains after the pandemic.


    If I assume that the last train left or arrived at midnight, the time frame stretches from twelve to four ten. A decrease of five minutes from the one I had calculated at the bus stand. Not much but still encouraging. I have slowly started to figure out the occurrence of the disappearance. I need to keep it going. It keeps me distracted from all the emotional upheaval that has built up inside me.


    I walk into the platform. Memories rush through me. I contain them all. I walk in the direction of Kollam, the north. The station has changed from the last time I saw it. That was two years ago. Two years of the pandemic.


    The empty railway station reminds me of the movie Train to Busan. I watched it only recently. I liked it. It is made well. The ending got me. I had a few tears in my eyes.


    I come across the seating arrangement laid out on the platform. They are all empty. Some of the seats have a bag or a plastic cover right next to them. Some of them have slippers or a bottle in their immediate vicinity. Things that people kept as they took a seat. There aren¡¯t many though. They are all scattered among the long row of chairs. The time was as such. I take a bottle of water from the seat near to me and finish it. I crush it and throw it in the dustbin in the corner. I continue with my walk.


    I pass the first overbridge that connects the platforms. This is the one closest to the entrance and so the most used one. The other one is at the end I am walking to. It extends after the last platform all the way to the secondary entrance. You use this overbridge if you want to exit towards East Fort and the local bus stand. Thambanoor bus stand caters more to the needs of long-distance passengers and the ones traveling to the fringes of the district. For traveling in the city, the white state buses ply from the East Fort bus stand. After deboarding our train, we would have our dinner and walk to the East Fort bus stand to catch the bus that would drop us in front of the college or nearer to our hostel. If we take a bus from Thambanoor, it would drop us on the main road, leaving us to walk the odd kilometer and more just to reach the college front. Then there is the distance to our hostel. No one liked the ordeal, especially when we were carrying luggage.


    I reach the second overbridge. There are a couple of shops near it. They are closed. They used to remain open throughout the day. Maybe they couldn''t sustain their business owing to the lack of passengers during the pandemic. Things were getting better. The worst days are gone. The future will be better. I don''t know what future I am in now.

 1.34

    I climb the overbridge. I want to scan the station and its premises. I should have climbed the first one as that would have given me the view of the other end too.


    As I climb, I hear the slow pulsating hum of an engine. I run up the stairs and look at the tracks coming into the city from the Kollam side. There is no trace of a train or an engine. I look around the platforms. I observe that the engine attached to the train on the third platform is making the sound. I walk towards the exit leading to platform three and jump the stairs in a hurry.


    The train is empty. The compartment right next to the overbridge is a sleeper coach. A few windows are open. I peek through the windows as I walk towards the engine. Some of the seats have bags and covers in them. Others are empty. The lights are on. The whirring of the overhead fans engulfs the silence and stillness in the compartment. I call out loudly in it. There is no response to my call.


    If I was a traveler now and had to catch a train, such a scene would have elated me. An empty train meant a place to sit. For short journeys, I book tickets from the ticket counter at the station. For the longer ones, I book the ticket online. Some trains didn¡¯t have spot booking. You have to book your ticket online. Most of them were the super-fast trains connecting the two ends of the state. Some of these trains had only sitting compartments since their journey would be in the daytime. They stopped only at the major stations and mostly ran on time. I would try to book as they were more convenient and faster than the remaining ones.


    I love train journeys. When I was a kid I had the pleasure of doing a long-distance journey with my parents. We were going on a tour of a touristy city in the north with a couple of our close family friends. Back then AC tickets were costly and difficult to get. We booked sleeper tickets for the two-day journey. The train got delayed by almost twelve hours and so the journey was extended to three days. The moment we entered the train and took our seats, I called for the window seat. We had a coup¨¦ for ourselves and a part of the adjacent one. Once I sat on the window seat, I quickly took to staring outside and marveling at the sights that unraveled in front of me as the train left the station.


    We were three kids. The initial fascination for the window seat faded away when my friend took out the Ludo board. We got hold of my mother and cajoled her to be the fourth player. Soon we were totally immersed in it. The men were having their conversations. The women teamed up with us for the game. The rest of the time they would be busy talking about their stuff. The three of us enjoyed ourselves. We explored our coach from time to time. In some stations, the train halted for five minutes. We would beg our fathers to take us out with them. Initially, they would pass it off. But when the time came, they would take us out and buy us something to eat or drink from the platform vendors. I particularly liked the grape juice. Mom would scold us for buying it because of the water used. It can be filthy and cause problems. Thankfully nothing of the sort happened on that journey.


    We were a bit sad when the train finally came to a halt at our destination. We were having so much fun on the train. We would swing from one berth to another, play all sorts of invented games in the small space between the two coupes, stare out the window and count the trains passing us, shoot them down, or the people we see on the farms and grasslands.


    Once we started to explore the city and the touristy places, the journey faded away from our minds. The city was exciting. We had lots of fun exploring it. Only when the time had come to return home and on our way to the railway station did we get excited about the return train journey. We made full use of it just like the previous one. Once again as it neared our station, we felt a void swelling inside us. We would miss this journey. I would miss it badly. It planted the love I have for the railways and their beautiful journeys.


    When I had to travel to work by train, I got a second AC ticket from my company. The AC compartment that once enthralled me and eluded our pockets became affordable and a normal thing. Every three months I would be taking the train to go to our various work sites in these AC coaches. The twenty-four-hour journey would go away in a jiffy without any fatigue. I stopped traveling in sleeper coaches because of this. I needed to be fresh and ready to work when I reach in the morning.


    One thing I don''t like about these compartments is the sealed window. Whenever I felt the need to get some fresh air I would walk out of the AC enclosure and stand at the door. The openness of it makes me feel better in an instant as I enjoy the scenery passing in front of me.


    The AC compartments of this train are at the rear end. I pass two more sleeper coaches after which I come across the general compartment. Most of my college travels happened in these compartments.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    During my college days, the process of booking a ticket online was tedious. You needed to have your own internet banking account for the payment. Debit card payment was slowly catching up. But it required some kind of internet activation. I had a basic debit card back then. Internet baking was not enabled in it. Because of this I couldn¡¯t go online and book the sleeper tickets. I had to go to the railway station or a ticket booking counter to get one. This was not practical for me when I stayed in the hostel as the nearest booking counter was in LIC, Pattom. I did book tickets when I used to return back to college as we had a ticket booking counter near our house.


    I peek through the windows into these compartments. They too have luggage scattered here and there. Some of the windows are shut. Being an early morning train, the general compartment would fill up ahead of the journey. The rumble of the engine grows louder as I approach it. I see it is the electric engine has a generic design. It is the most common one. The railways do have some different and uniquely designed engines in their fleet. I have come across a few. One of my friends is a dedicated fan of the railways. He knows a lot about these engines. If he happened to receive news of a rare engine in the vicinity, he would rush to see it. He would then describe the whole experience to us.


    The engine was idling away. I walked to its front and looked at the cabin. It was empty. I want to get in and bring the engine to a stop. But I am no loco pilot. I do want to get in though and see all the controls and how they are all laid out. Call it the curiosity of a very young kid. And an engineer. I take a look around my surroundings. I know there is no need for it presently but it is a force of habit. I hold the railings and climb on top of the engine. This feels nice. This is the one good feeling I have had today. I wish my wife was here. I want her to be here with me. It would have been fun. I would have obviously gone on to explain all that I understood. She would have seen the kid in me come out.


    I open the cabin door and enter. Right in front of me are the instrument panel and an empty seat. A bag lay beside it. The cluster is filled with various gauges and buttons. Lights are on, some are flashing. The thing that catches my attention is the big wheel in the center of the console. It resembles the circular handle of a gate valve that is common in our workplace. I come closer to have a look at the label beside it. In it is written Traction. I think the pilot controls the speed of the engine with this.


    I am looking for an emergency shutdown switch. It should be here somewhere. Having dealt with a lot of heavy machinery at our worksites, I know this.


    Ahhhh! I see it. I see the red switch. I hope this shuts down the engine. I bring my hand to press it when all of a sudden the engine dies. The sounds come to a fading stop. I haven¡¯t pressed the button.


    I back off and run out of the cabin. A low fading hum resonates from the engine. It has definitely gone off. I climb off from the engine and walk back to the overbridge. The power supply to the rest of the train has ceased with the engine coming to a halt. The lights and fans in the compartments I cross are all off. I get into a slow jog. As I reach the canopy covering the platform I see that the lights in the platform are all out. A power cut must have occurred. This must have affected the overhead lines. The engine lost its power supply from the overhead line. But this is something that is avoided at all costs by the railways. They always have electricity passing through their overhead lines. All their electric engines are dependent on it. Any blackout in them can pave the way for an accident. The resulting consequences are bad.


    I climb up the staircase of the overbridge and turn towards the way I came. I take a glimpse from the vantage point I have on the bridge. I think the few lights I saw in the distance have gone off. I can''t be sure. I turn to look at the platforms. The lights have gone off on all the platforms.


    I jump the stairs and land on the platform with a thud. Now the silence is for real. The silent hum of the tube light and the whirring of the overhead fan have stopped. They can¡¯t be compared to real sounds. They blend in with the silence because of their continuity and repeatedness. They don''t vary. They don¡¯t change their pitch or volume. These are constant sounds. And they are everywhere. These sounds will be prominently made by non-living things, prominently contraptions made by us for our use. With living ones, there is always a variation. Always.


    I can hear the trickle of water from the filling hoses alongside the tracks. They have come to dominate the landscape now. I run towards the entrance through which I came in. The lights on the high roof are out. The information panel is off. A melancholic feeling suddenly prevails over the foyer. I get out of the station and walk to my scooter.


    I take the exit out of the station. Besides the exit, there is a prepaid auto service being offered to the passengers. Autorickshaws have lined up in front of it. You take the ticket from the small cabin, show it to the first auto in the queue and get going. As expected the cabin is empty. The table fan that keeps the person sitting on the counter cool throughout the day is off. There is no power supply to it. I stop near the side entry and take a peep into it. The PC is off. So are the lights.


    Trivandrum is having a blackout. Trivandrum railway station has no electricity in it. If there is no power in the railway station I don''t think there would be power anywhere else in the city. I feel a bit apprehensive thinking about the implications of this blackout. This is not a good sign. I think this is the worst sign, the worst thing to happen after the disappearance. I need to get back home and figure things out. The day will end soon and the city will plunge into darkness. I have to be back home before it is too dark.

 1.35

    I have decided to go back home. The absence of power in the city is not a good thing. I can¡¯t think straight. I need time to sit and take my next decisions. Till now it has been all about exploring the city to find her or any other survivors, followed by a journey out of the city to find out if this is a larger phenomenon. It all changes now.


    There is backup power in my home. It should last maybe twelve hours or more, depending on the usage. I don''t know when it would have kicked in. The power supply could have been disrupted in my area much earlier. I will need to get back and charge all my stuff.


    I take the right turn out of the station, get into the roundabout, and take the first exit. It will take me through Model Junction followed by the Bakery junction flyover, all the way to Palayam. This is the road I had decided to take while going back home. I can use the vantage view from the flyover to look for any signs in and around the vicinity.


    There are a couple of cars and bikes lying crashed here and there. I am not paying them much attention. It is the same story again and again. My focus has shifted to the power situation.


    The blackout must have affected the city completely. It wouldn¡¯t have left any street untouched. Maybe the power for the railway station or the overhead lines comes from another power grid. Maybe that has just failed. But I saw the power in the prepaid auto cabin was out. Surely it would be getting its power from the local grid. I don''t know much about our power grid system. I wish I knew. I wish I had learned this somewhere so that the knowledge can be put to better use. I am starting to get the feeling that I have never been ready for this kind of situation. Are you? I haven''t been taught to survive in such a scenario. Life has become so automatic that I have not learned much of the basics needed to survive. This is not good.


    Without power, the city would plunge into total darkness after sunset. Not complete though. All the backup batteries would have fired up by now. Solar-powered homes and offices will still have power. There won''t be any street lights turning on in the evening, and no lighting in public places and buildings, roads, and streets. Thinking about that gives me the creeps.


    I pass the two theatres run by the film development board of the state on my left. This theatre becomes one of the main venues for the international film festival that takes place in the city towards the end of the year. I haven''t taken part in it although I was here and the event happened right in front of me. The theatre is currently undergoing renovation. I liked this theatre. It was big and comfortable. I haven''t seen a movie here since passing out. It looks all beat up now. I wonder if it wasn¡¯t as such.


    I pick up speed on the road. As I take a turn I am greeted by a white ambassador lying squarely on the road, blocking it. It lies in front of an old hotel. I take the sidewalk of the hotel (which was made with a gradual incline) and cut across the Amby.


    This stretch of road is known for the many private bus operators that operate daily buses to and from the city. You will find all the long-distance interstate private buses right here. They have built their offices adjacent to the sidewalk and their parking lot behind it. Now they are empty. The buses arrive in the city after six in the morning. I have taken their service for traveling to Bangalore and Chennai. They also provide service to places that are not serviced by the trains, like the hill stations. The offices here have their names and services displayed in flashy colors on big TV screens or LED tickers. This is how they advertise locally. They are blank currently owing to the lack of power.


    I slow down at Model junction to have a quick glimpse of the surroundings. A car has crashed into the pavement on the opposite side of the road. It is nothing different from what I have seen throughout the day. I think there is no point in paying attention to these crashes. There would be no trace of anyone inside or any other sign. I thought I would find something of importance that would point me in the direction of unraveling the disappearance. Initially, I was looking for survivors from the crash. Now I know there aren¡¯t any because no one underwent the crash. They all disappeared before the crash and it is precisely their disappearance that led to it.


    I continue straight on the road. A bike lies fallen up ahead. I don''t slow down. There is another car that has crashed onto the wall of a hotel. It is a bad crash. The front is totally gone. The front right wheel has come off. It lies on the pavement, away from the car. I observe them and move on.


    I cross the Bakery junction only to slow down at the sight in front of me. A tempo has crashed horrendously into the compound wall of a house on my side of the road. It has toppled and lies on its left side. The premises is filled with shattered glass. The walls have given way for the front of the tempo to be wedged in it. I pull my brakes and stop. I walk around to the front of the tempo. There is no windshield, only pieces of it in the corners. The dashboard has been crushed, and the plastic is all broken. The fog lamps are lying around on the pavement. I look beyond the tempo. The overpass starts just behind it.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The tempo must have been coming down the flyover for such an accident to occur. Gravity increased its momentum. It somehow avoided the beginning of the divider. Otherwise, it would have jumped over it and toppled much farther and away from here. I look around for any other crashes. There aren¡¯t any, which is good. I take a peep inside the tempo, just in case anyone was inside. The chances of anyone surviving this would be slim. If there were passengers, they must have been sleeping. Apart from the bags, I see no one. I walk back to my scooter to resume my journey.


    Even though I have decided to be indifferent to the crashed vehicles I see on the road, I can¡¯t help it at times. Like the tempo now. I had to go and check it out. If there is even the remotest possibility of finding someone badly injured and needing attention, I will try whatever it needs to save him. If I can¡¯t then at least I will have known there is someone other than me who has not been affected by the disappearance. That would be a big revelation. It will surely spike up my hopes to find a survivor. As the day passes, my hopes are dying.


    I don''t think the power is returning. It has happened because of this disappearance. People would have disappeared from power stations and substations, thereby leaving the equipment and machines unattended. This would have resulted in the blackout, owing to a lack of supervision in controlling the usage and distribution of electricity. Something similar of this sort might have happened to the communications network also.


    The networks in my mobile must be gone now. The walkie-talkie is the surviving means of communication. I need to ensure it remains fully charged and find a source of power to charge it from time to time.


    We have an inverter in our home. It powers the lights and fans and a couple of power sockets. We have never faced a situation in which the battery has run out. So I really don''t know how much it will give me. I need to be conservative and judicious with my power usage. I am conservative in this regard. So is she. She doesn¡¯t like to leave a room without switching off the lights and fans. Because of this, we get a modest electricity bill.


    I resume my journey. I drive onto the flyover. The sky is filled with tufts of white clouds obstructing the blue sky. The sun shines through them, casting shadows and being playful.


    I reach the vantage point. They have built the side walls high. I can¡¯t see sitting on my scooter. I get out. I walk to the wall and look over. I see the petrol pump in the junction below. I am familiar with it. Before the flyover came, all the state buses going to Thambanoor took the road below, leading to the Bakery junction and so on. This petrol pump always caught my eye. Maybe it was its location.


    I look below and follow the couple of roads branching out from the junction. A bike and car lay crashed on the roads. There isn¡¯t anything else. The road adjacent to the petrol pump leads all the way to the secretariat. It joins at the small junction adjacent to the cantonment police station.


    There is no movement down below. I go through all the roads, houses, buildings, and open areas that I can see from here. It is not a plain area that is spread out. The roads that branch off all climb onto a nearby hillock. Trivandrum is a city made of these small hillocks. It has been developed and populated to such an extent, people residing in them forget what it was once.


    My attention draws to the dogs that have entered the junction from the main road below. I follow them for a while. They go round and round each other, fighting playfully amongst themselves, as they slowly make their way into the street. I stretch myself from the ground so that I can have a look right below the bridge. My stomach rests on the base of the side wall. It has been made wide and strong. I am glad nothing untoward has happened on the bridge. That was the first thing I was looking out for when I reached here. There are no accidents along the whole stretch of the bridge. All the side walls are intact. Nothing has flown off the road. I hate such scenarios.


    A wind blows and ruffles the branches of the large tree adjacent to the petrol pump. It flows past me, sending a slight shiver down my spine. It had a chillness to it. But the air is still hot. Did my mind make it up?


    I cross the road to the other side. I can see the iconic name of a five-star hotel in the distance. It has been only a few months since it started. They have fine chefs in their restaurants. I wanted to take Anna to their hotel in Kovalam for a dinner. But it never materialized. We always kept it away for the next time I came home. I guess I shouldn¡¯t have done that. I should have just taken her along on a whim. There is no use saying this now.


    Just ahead of me down below is the white building of the Reserve bank of India Trivandrum branch. They are the apex authority of banking in the country. They dictate the terms and conditions of banking for all the other institutions. People here are more concerned with the economic decisions and their effects on the community rather than plain old banking. A job here is deemed to be coveted. I like it because they provide a living quarter facility for their employees. And the fact that they are located at some good part of the city. I have observed that their quarters and office are situated close to each other, often in the same compound. I don''t know if it is the norm throughout the country. I like the concept of having your workplace close to where you live. You save on the time spent commuting.


    Right beside the bank, a road winds up. It leads to Vazhuthacaud. It is a busy road at this time of the day. Currently, it is empty. I don''t see any kids waiting for the local buses to take them home from the bus stop near the turn. I don''t see people coming out of the bank after a day''s work. I don''t see anyone anywhere. I am recollecting things from my past and trying to fit them into the current scenario. It doesn¡¯t help me a bit. In fact, it is affecting me more. Sometimes the feeling becomes strong and the imagery real in my head. It helps me to beat the loneliness for a few seconds after which it silently returns and takes control.


    I find the edge of the side wall precariously dangerous. A fall would be pretty fatal. I stare at the wall only to be tranced by it.

 1.36

    I am a coward. I haven''t done many courageous things in my life. I have been scared of a lot of things as a child. I got over some of them as time passed. The rest have remained with me. They have pretty much retained their scariness from the time I had been exposed to them. There is no way that I am going to climb on top of this wall and jump. That is so not me.


    I did have second thoughts when I stood on the edge of the plank, ready to take the plunge when we had gone to do Bungee jumping. I knew I was safe and sound among the professionals making this happen. I wasn¡¯t afraid. I was scared, but I knew nothing would happen to me. I would come back alive from it. When it comes to keeping my life on the line, I will back off immediately. I don''t want to die anytime soon. There is so much to see and do in this lifetime. I want to experience all that I can in the limited time I have on this planet and then have a peaceful death.


    If you think I had suicidal thoughts right now, you are very wrong. I didn¡¯t have any. I don''t think I have it in me to take my own life. It requires immense courage. Also, I can¡¯t fathom the situation a person has to be to commit suicide. I haven''t had any such situations. My life has been good. It has been a great journey for which I am eternally grateful.


    Having lost my wife in such strange circumstances should push me to my limits. I am at my limits. Just that ending my life is never a solution to the problem. How will my death bring her back? If it could then maybe I can try. I again say try because I am afraid. I don''t want to suffer as my life ends. I want it to be peaceful and tranquil. I really would like my death to occur in my sleep, where I drift off from my dreams into the worlds beyond, without knowing much pain or what caused it. But death isn¡¯t easy.


    When someone dies, they affect all the people around them. They leave a void in the hearts of all the people that have loved them and have been a part of their life. This is one aspect not taken into consideration when you commit suicide. You are often thinking just about yourself. You fail to account for all the people in your life, how their lives would be affected by your selfish decision, and how that can lead to cascading effects.


    Unless you are truly alone on the planet, your death will affect everyone near and dear to you. Currently, I am alone. But I believe all the people that have disappeared will come back. That is what I am striving for. That is what I am trying to figure out. That is what fuels me, the hope they will return and things will go back to being normal.


    Then I will not be alone. I will have my near and dear ones with me. This time I will surely make it a point to tell them how much they mean to me. The current circumstance has made me realize the need to appreciate the friendships and relationships we have with our near and dear ones. We should express it, let them know how important they are to us, remind them of the role they have played in making our life happier and brighter, recollect all the good and bad times, the laughter and tears, everything.


    I back off from the edge and walk back to my scooter. I don''t want to waste my time entertaining dubious thoughts. There is no room for it. But they will sneak in from time to time. I can delay them, keep them aside and focus on what needs to be done. I start my scooter and continue on the bridge. The dogs start barking loudly from down below. I stop at the side. The barks subside. They have settled their issues. Good for them. I get back on the road. The flyover ends. I can see the Palayam underpass right ahead. I take the side road beside it. It climbs away from the road leading to the underpass and joins at the main road in Palayam junction. I reach the junction and stop.


    I look around the place to see if any changes had occurred in the past hour. The lights have gone off and shadows have taken their place. Sunlight is fading as it approaches the horizon. These are the few differences I can make out. Nothing else has changed anywhere on the road or the premises. It has become a bit more silent. I take the right turn and enter the main road. Chandrasekhar Nair stadium sits empty in front of me as I take the turn.


    Instead of taking the free left towards the road leading to PMG junction from the front of the legislative assembly (the way I had taken to come to the city), I continue straight. I pass the fine arts college junction. On the left is the boundary of the church I had talked about. I can see the back end of the church from here. This site offers a better view of the church as it is closer to this end of the property. Soon the boundary wall gives way to the colorful wall of the G V Raja stadium.


    Being the capital city and a growing hub for professionals and the youth alike, the state came up with this novel initiative of painting the walls of some of the iconic places in the city. There are more like murals, not graffiti. The scheme is called Arteria. I came to know about it from this wall on my left.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    After moving to Kottayam, I had to visit the city for some work. My friend picked me up from the station and took this route while going to his home. I asked him why he didn¡¯t take the free left. That was the easier route. He said he wanted to show me something. As the wall started I saw these beautiful paintings drawn on them. I followed the first one to a point where it stopped and the next one began. He told me this art initiative would be implemented in different parts of the city soon. I told him to slow down so as to get a good look at it. He suggested we park it nearby and see it walking along the pavement. I was up for it.


    I was very impressed by all the artwork I came across throughout the length of the wall. It was a really good walk. He too had an artistic inclination. Whenever we came across something that interested us, we would stop and discuss it. It can be anything - the way the artist has expressed his thoughts and ideas or the fresh perspective of something very familiar to us. When we finished it, we had covered one side of the stadium. We had to walk back. It didn¡¯t feel bad at all cause we were talking about how awesome this initiative is by the authorities. I asked him where else would this be implemented. Apart from the part of the wall of the zoo that was painted recently, he said he didn¡¯t have much idea.


    After having moved to Trivandrum and traveled throughout the city for various purposes I have come across some more of them. One of them has mesmerized me. It lies on the bypass, near Akkulam. The small hillock had to be cut through for the road to be widened. They reinforced the sides of the hillock with concrete to ensure its integrity. On this concrete wall, a mural depicting the women of our culture is painted at full height and width. It is huge. It caught my attention instantly. I had to slow down my car to have a good look at it. Whenever I pass through this route, I make it a point to look at it and be amazed. I can only wonder about the effort that had gone into making such a huge painting.


    I look at the murals as I continue my ride. I had shown her these when I moved here and had to take this road. Since we were in the car and couldn¡¯t stop for long, we decided to come and see it properly some other time. When I had seen it the first time, it stayed in my head for days. I even clicked some pictures and went through them for a couple of days. Later on, I had to delete them to free up my mobile space. When I saw them again, I couldn¡¯t recollect them much.


    If they can take away the pain I carry and give me an explanation as to the current scenario, I will gladly get out of my scooter and comb them for it. Sadly they can¡¯t.


    I reach LMS junction. I am supposed to take the free left to join the road through which I came. But I come to a halt in front of the junction. A car stands still adjacent to the divider on the opposite side of the road to my left. It must have stood there for a vehicle to pass before taking the turn. I see a bike lying on the pavement against the entrance of the church. This is the reason for the parked car. I think this is the first one I am seeing on the road that had not crashed.


    This stretch of road comes alive during Onam, Christmas, and New year. There are huge trees flanking the road. They would be draped in lights from top to bottom. The two churches on either end of this stretch would have decorated their premises with lights and stars and all things Christmasy. Even though the Palayam church lacks frontage, it makes up with its huge towering spire. At the top of the spire, an idol of christ with his arms open greets everyone. It is an iconic symbol of the city. Taking the idol as the focal point, rows of stars with lights in them would be strung on wires and pinned down to the walls and the buildings nearby, creating a cascading effect. When they are lit, they mesmeric everyone with flowy patterns as they blink in tandem.


    I haven''t been inside LMS church or its premises. They have a men''s hostel here. I had a friend in college who used to stay here for a couple of years. He used to describe to us the whole setup of the hostel, about the seniors and other hostel mates from various wakes of life. It was not confined to harboring college students. It housed young adults doing part-time courses or preparations for competitive exams. They had access to the state central library, which was a two-minute walk.


    Whenever the name LMS pops up, the image that comes into my head is that of the front facade of the church. It is made out of stone, which gives it a raw look. I won¡¯t say it has gothic features. The rubble masonry doesn¡¯t resemble it in any form. The rawness of the stones used is very much perceptible. It hasn¡¯t been painted on also, which is really nice. They have preserved it the way it was made. That is the reason why the image is stuck in my head. It just stands out from the rest of the crowd.


    I look at my watch. It is nearly five. In an hour''s time daylight will start to fade. I need to prepare for it. I need to get back to my home and put things in order. I have supplies to last for the coming few days. The fridge we have isn¡¯t that great, but that''s okay. Maybe I can use the perishable items in it tonight and figure out something else for tomorrow. I do have time. I can take the right turn. It is a longer route passing through Museum and Kowdiar junction and joining the main road at Pattom.


    At the same time, I need to be in Pongumoodu junction at six. I need to make sure I am there even if no one turns up. I have made a commitment and I need to stick to it. It may or may not be fruitful. That is not in my hands. I need to do what I had intended to do. One hour is more than enough. I will make it. But I don''t want to take any chances. I don''t know if I will get held up with something along this route.


    I find it tough to take a decision. I shut my eyes and think hard. I finally decide not to take the longer route and stick to the one I came in. I take the left turn with the thought of exploring this area tomorrow if the situation persists. I hope that I wake up to the ordinary world.

 1.37

    I am not speeding. I am taking my time and driving at a good constant pace. A pace at which I can have a glimpse of the surroundings I am passing through. Today''s experience tells me not to expect any change in it. There won¡¯t be any changes to the crashed cars. None of the shops will have opened. The only thing I am looking for is a survivor like me.


    I don''t know if I should call myself a survivor. I haven''t survived anything. In fact, I think I belong to the excluded ones. When everyone disappeared why didn¡¯t I disappear? Why was I left out? Is there some kind of a problem with me, something that cut me out from the list? I don''t know. I feel as if all the vanished are looking at me from a grand stadium, watching me and analyzing each and every action of mine. None of them would understand the pain and agony I am harboring inside. Except for Anna. She would know what I would be going through. She would figure it out the moment she sees my face and my actions. She is the only one among the lot who gets me. Even my parents don''t know me as much as she does. They have made me and raised me. Yet they miss out on a lot of things.


    I have been an independent and mature person from a young age. I had to face certain hardships that made me what I am. I would never want someone to go through it because it can be emotionally hard at that age. I managed to absorb it all and not reflect it in my daily life. I thought it was a normal thing at that age. But it wasn¡¯t. I will never want it to be any other way because these hardships have molded me. It has taught me many things that have become my principles for life. I have lived with them ever since. They have only helped me in my life.


    If given an opportunity to go back and change something, I would pass on it. Over time I have realized I will complain over the moments in my life in which I could have taken a different decision or mustered the courage to stick to a decision and see it through. There will always be what-ifs. I don''t have any regrets. Whatever has happened has happened the way it has to. That is how I want it to remain.


    We all have made decisions we come to regret sooner or later. This is very much human. We all make mistakes. We aren¡¯t perfect sentient beings with a perfect conscience throughout the entire population. We all are different. We have our own quirks and pitfalls. We find it easy to stray away from the normal path, whatever that is. If there is an intergalactic dictionary, the word human would mean the imperfect sentient creatures of planet earth who have a primitive brain residing in a corporeal form capable of achieving marvelous feats of advancement and development all the while succumbing to their basic uncontrolled emotions.


    I think what the philosophers were trying to teach us and make us realize is this basic thing. They knew that we as a collective species have the potential to achieve everything we set our eyes on. The last century is a great example. We have had exponential growth and development over these years. We are more advanced than we had ever been. There is no stopping that.


    Even though we have achieved such amazing feats, we are still controlled by our basic emotions. We fight over petty things and escalate them to levels unthinkable. We fight wars over resources and to assert dominance of one group of people over the other. We discriminate on the basis of a hundred different factors actively and passively. While doing this we forget the underlying fact that we are all human beings. We all have the same genetic structure with some minor differences. We come in all kinds of colors, heights, weights, and features. But essentially we are the same species.


    Imagine a world where everyone had the same features and characteristics, a world without diversity. It would be bland. It would be a repeating scenario throughout, leading to a lack of imagination and creativity. Maybe it will solve the problem of the feeling of superiority amongst people, thus promoting a harmonious endeavor with everlasting peace and brotherhood. Maybe it would make us more advanced beings in a lesser time. We would be working as a collective entity, having no differences, thereby having no hatred or intolerance. Peace would reign over us. We would utilize our resources for the best, taking care of the planet along with our growth, making grand plans to explore the universe and find life in some corner of it, thereby asserting the fact that we are not alone in this cosmos.


    I would never want such a life. It is the diversity among humans that makes us beautiful, that makes us what we are. Without diversity, life would be like the shades of grey - interesting at first but boring and depressing later on. If there is an option to make the rainbow, wouldn¡¯t you take that?


    I cross PMG and continue straight. I stick to the left road as it splits into two with the two lanes being one way for the traffic in their respective directions. There is an office belonging to one of the mobile networks I own on my left. I slow down and stop in front of it. I wonder if I can get any information on why the network is down. But the office is closed. I can¡¯t see any kind of dish antennae or anything of that sort on the roof that tells me this is a transmitting station. Besides, there is no power now.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    It just dawned on me that the unavailability of power is a big problem. Our whole life is run by electricity. Without power, cities and countries will come to a halt, economies will fall and businesses will be lost. The whole machinery would come to a standstill. Nothing would be made or traded.


    I am going back home with the confidence of having power because of the inverter. It is going to run out sooner or later. Then I will have to find ways to keep myself powered.


    One thing I can do is find a generator. I can fill it with petrol or diesel and use it to power my house. I don''t know how I will be able to do that if I get my hands on a generator. I will have to go through the wiring near the inverter panel to get it working. Yes, I think that should do it. I can keep the generator outside or on the balcony, connect it to the plug point to which the inverter was feeding power and start it. I have seen a generator being used back in my father''s office in my childhood. They would fire it up whenever the power went off while something important was happening. Those generators were powered by kerosene. The newer ones aimed at the common user use either petrol or diesel as these are easier to get.


    I think I should get a couple of batteries also, the big ones used in cars and inverters. I can keep them charged and ready to use in my inverter. I only have a single power bank with me. We don''t use it much. Her phone has a great battery backup. Mine has started to show signs of wear and tear. It has been with me for the past four and a half years. I don''t intend to replace it with a new one. My needs are being met without any hassles. Some apps were becoming slow to load, but otherwise, it is fine.


    I resume my ride. There is a church on my right. It has used this hillock to its advantage. It is constructed in such an elegant way, it makes its presence felt. It isn¡¯t a big church. That''s what we feel when we look at it from the road. Once you enter the premises and see the construction, you come to know how well it is built. The architect has done a fantastic job of building the church in sync with the terrain. I came to know about it when I had the opportunity to attend the wedding of our family friend. Before that, I always assumed the church to be small. Only when I went in for the wedding did I realize how sweet it was.


    This stretch of road is much wider than the one going in the opposite direction. I cruise on it and my speed increases automatically. It is a slight downhill stretch. Up ahead I see a car has crashed into a tree on the right side of the road. As I slowly approach it, I see the car has totaled onto the tree truck. Even though it isn¡¯t a big tree, the trunk is solidly thick. Nothing has happened to the tree. The car has become unusable. It is a new car, a top model, cause a lot of airbags have fired up inside it.


    I retain my slow speed as I approach Plamoodu junction. Once again the force of habit makes me look to my right side for any incoming vehicles. It will take some time for my mind to register the fact that there are no vehicles on the road anymore. I can close my eyes and drive freely without even thinking of crashing into a vehicle up ahead. Although it sounds amazing and is something that I really love, I would rather not have them. I have wished for empty roads while being stuck in traffic or behind a slow-moving vehicle. I will never wish for it again.


    I cross the junction and regain my lost speed. I am reminded of the one time I was riding with Anna behind me. We mostly take our car if we have to travel into the city. We were on our scooter once and had to travel to Palayam. Since it wasn¡¯t practical to go back home and get our car, we decided to go on our scooter. As I was coming down this stretch I was telling her about the bakery and the various shops I used to visit when I was staying nearby.


    Our house was in Marappalam. There is a cutting on the road up ahead that leads to a small road on the other side. Take that to reach Marappalam junction. From there if you took the immediate left turn after joining into the main road leading to Kowdiar, you have entered the road that leads to our lane. I knew the place in and out. It has changed a lot. Plenty of new shops have come up. Traffic has also increased because of this. It is quite evident in the long traffic block that gets created on the road leading from this junction up to Pattom signal. The signal turns green only for twenty seconds. This has been the case from the time I was staying here. Recently, when we got stuck here, I checked the signal''s time duration. It was the same. Eight years had gone by, traffic has increased. Yet the signal time hasn¡¯t been modified. I kept this info in my mind as I didn¡¯t want to fall prey to it again. If I was coming from Kowdiar junction in my car in the peak hours, I would take the left turn onto this small road and exit onto the main road. The extra distance is worth the time.


    My exploration of the day is coming to an end. I can feel it. There is nothing much to be done now. I need to be in Pongumoodu junction before six. I am early and that''s good. I don''t want to reach there in the nick of time. I don''t know if anything positive will happen. I am keeping an open mind with a slight tinge of disappointment. It comes from all that I have seen in this journey. I am ready for it. Whatever happens, I will resume my journey tomorrow. I will cover up the remaining part of the city, visit the homes of my other friends and maybe try to find a way to communicate with my parents and brother and her family.


    The five pm sun is sweet. It is not hot. It leaves a pleasant feeling in you. Just like the early morning sun, the feeling is good. On moody days, we crave it. We rainy days, we wish to see the sun peek out from the clouds and shine forth for us. The sun is a powerful entity in many ways. No wonder why every civilization gave it utmost importance. Their lives depended on it.


    I feel it much more now. I get a peek of the sun from behind a distant tree. It brings a small smile to my face. I wish it had the power to reset the day and bring back all that is gone.

 1.38

    This is not an adventure for me. I am someone who loves adventure but believe me, I never want one like this. This is something that I am forced to do, that I need to do in order to find out the problem and its solution. In the movies, such a scenario can look good with the downcast lighting on tall buildings, forlorn streets filled with ominous silence, the fit protagonist and his trusted four-legged companion, and the zest to find the solution to the problem. Only the zest part is true in my case. I want to find out what caused the phenomenon, why it occurred, and the means to reverse it.


    In a way, this is the biggest adventure in the world, maybe even the entire universe. It is just that I didn¡¯t want to be a part of it. I still don''t want to. If anyone is hearing me know this. I will gladly give way to anyone else. Take me along with you, wipe me out from the face of this planet just like how you did to my wife and the millions out there. If I can¡¯t be with her then I don''t think I want to be a survivor. I am happy to go away. I am not the player for this game of yours. I truly am not. And just like everyone, I don''t want to be forced into doing things.


    But the bitter truth of life is you are forced to do things you don''t want to. That''s how things go about among maximum humans. You are forced to do a job that you don''t like, forced to live a certain lifestyle because of what you earn and spend, and forced to follow the etiquette and norms established by the society in order to be a part of it. Everyone is being walked down the conveyor belt whether they like it or not. Very few jump off it and explore what remains while managing to avoid getting back onto the set path. The people who jump off will be viewed as castaways and treated differently by the majority. Some find ways to absorb the treatment, while others succumb to it. They get back onto the conveyor after which they cease to entertain the possibility of a life beyond it. They become part of the effective system running in place to tame us all and keep us going on the conveyor belt.


    I have been in this conveyor belt for my entire lifetime. Everyone I know is in it. The conveyor belt is my world as well. I didn¡¯t know if there existed a possibility outside of it. I did happen to glance across a few of them outside of the belt. They seemed very much out of context to me. They were being coaxed into getting back into the line by various methods. Some of them got back. Others took the plunge. The ones who fell in line are a part of this more than ever. Those who took the jump were nowhere to be found. I hope they have escaped to a place where they feel at home. For me this is my home, this conveyor belt is where I have been my entire life. I have thought of exploring the fringe ends, thinking of what lies beyond it. I have looked into the abyss a couple of times. It stares back at me. It scares me. So I retreat back to where I come from and go on with my life. But I have never given up on thinking about it. I don''t know if I will be able to jump off one day just to explore it. It will surely change my perspective cause that is what I have come to see. People who have left are misfits. They talk a weird language, do weird things that are non-conforming to the established and accounted ones, and have an exotic take to life. They have been branded by different names throughout the millennia. But the meaning remains the same - the other ones. Since they constitute a minor part of the entire population of the species they pose no threat.


    The ones I have come upon haven''t looked dangerous in any manner. Instead, they come in peace and only wish the best for us. They want us to think for ourselves for once and decide without bias. This is a rarity in a world where our surroundings heavily influence our decisions. We are molded in such a way as to take these influences as part of everyday life and adhere to them as much as possible. How many of us question authority? How many of us question the society we live in? How many of us question our parents? They want us to take the first step to question. That''s it. From there it is solely our path to tread. They can only show the way, like a teacher.


    I am on the uphill portion that ends in Pattom Junction. As I am about to reach it I decide to take a left turn. I did traverse it when I was going in the opposite direction. I had taken it to the hospital opposite where my friend stayed. But I hadn¡¯t taken the remaining stretch that leads to medical college. I want to take this stretch now. I want to reach medical college and go to her department once again and look for her. One more time before the day ends. I need to do that.


    The roads and the streets remain the same throughout my journey. The minor difference is the silence that hangs in the air more ominously owing to the lack of noises generated by anything that used to feed on electricity. I can see the electricity board building in front of me. I look at it as I pass it. The windows on the top floor have the glow of the setting sun. The lower ones are dark and desolate.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Just beside the main building is a smaller one that caters to the needs of the common people. I have come here to pay the electricity bill when we were staying in Marappalam. Back then it had to be paid in person. Now the process has been digitized. There is hardly any crowd anymore in front of it. Only a few from the older generation visit it to pay their bills. Internet and mobiles have made it easier for us in ways we can¡¯t imagine. But in the current situation, they fail to be of any help. They too need electricity to function. It makes me realize that electricity should be declared as the fundamental right of every individual. The Internet is just one of its derivatives.


    Opposite this is a school. It looks spooky now. Is that possible? Like can a place feel different in a short span of time? The only difference is the lack of power. And that is normal. But I don''t know. It feels weird in some different sort of way. Or is it the whole atmosphere that is responsible for this feeling? I don''t feel like pondering on it, so I continue on the road.


    The road follows a gradual decline onto the hospital and the street where my friend lives. I continue straight. In the junction up ahead, I take the straight road. After the small uphill portion, I cruise at a leisurely pace. The couple of food joints that have opened recently remain closed along with all others. I wanted to try them out. One is a shawarma joint. The other is a takeaway run by a family. Their dishes have a homely touch according to the reviews I have got from my friend. He is a regular here.


    This road ends at the medical college junction. I am back again to check on her. I don''t care if I have to do it many more times. I will gladly pitch a tent in front of her department and be on her lookout.


    I reach the junction. In the setting sun, the place has a cooler feel to it. This is very much bearable and pleasant compared to the hot atmosphere in the mornings. You will get a tan in no time if you are not careful. I am definitely not. But then I don''t go out on the scooter at that time. I did today. I look at my arms. They might have tanned a wee bit. I can¡¯t say it with surety cause my arms have a dark brownish complexion than the rest of my body. This is a result of all the football I played with my school friends in the baking hot sun. Our uniform shirt was half-sleeved shirts. I took it off on the hottest of all days to help myself cool down. That combined with the constant exposure to the sun at my workplace has given me this permanent tan. I don''t mind it.


    Nowadays I have started wearing full sleeve shirts because they suit me better than the half sleeves. When it comes to tees, I always prefer half sleeves. She has sensitive skin. She gets a tan quickly. For this reason, she prefers long sleeves. I always tell her to buy a light jacket kind of clothing with long sleeves to cover her arms whenever she rides the scooter. She nods in approval but never buys it. I think I will get her one. It would be a pleasant surprise for her when she is back.


    I take the left turn onto the hospital premises. Even here, nothing has changed. A couple of dogs roam around one of the blocks. I reach the front of her department. It is as it was in the morning - closed. The window of her room remains open. I realize that she is not here. I decide not to go inside and check it out. I will come here tomorrow morning.


    I take the roundabout and exit to the right. I pass her department, the nursing college, and the multi-specialty block where she used to go for her Covid duties. It really feels weird to be out here without any presence of anyone, looking for my wife. I can¡¯t ask for any advice, nor can I know where else to look for. I have looked at her department thoroughly and its immediate surroundings. I don''t know where else to look for. Sigh!


    A weakness grips me. I feel tired all of a sudden. Tired of this ordeal. If this is a test of sorts, I really want to quit it. I really want it to end as I don''t care about excelling in it. Whatever or whoever is responsible for this phenomenon, this disappearance, I beg you to stop testing me. I surrender to you. I really do.


    I say this having stopped my scooter at the intersection. I was looking up at the sky as the thoughts flooded me. I wish something happened up there to tell me that I have been heard. I wait for a sign. Nothing happens. The skies are slowly turning orangish and grey. The fluffier clouds have gone, leaving some of the high-altitude ones scattered in the sky. I take out the bottle of water from my bag and drink half of it in a go. It is a thirst fuelled by helplessness. It is a thirst unquenchable. It is a thirst that has an origin but doesn¡¯t have an end in sight. The long gulps of water bring me momentary respite. As soon as I am done with my last gulp, the thirst returns. I keep it back in my bag. I take out the walkie-talkie and broadcast a message through it.


    ¡®To every survivor out there who is hearing this message. You are not alone. Please do not panic. Stay calm. Try replying on this channel. I will hear you out for sure if you can¡¯t then try to figure out a way to come and meet me. I will be in Pongumoodu junction in twenty minutes. Please do come. Let us figure out what has happened and how to solve it together. Please. Do come. I repeat you are not alone. You can do this. We can do this. We just need time. I will be waiting for you in Pongumoodu junction from six o¡¯clock. Over.¡¯


    I wait for a reply to come. Nothing does, not even the static crackle. I put it back into the bag and wipe off the tears that have welled in my eyes.

 1.39

    I take the steep decline and turn left to enter the main road. I pass the bakery and it ignites memories of my time with her. The setting would be very similar to now, only that she would be behind me after having picked her up from her department. Even if it was open now, I don''t think I could go in. The place means nothing without her. In the short time of being here in Trivandrum, the bakery holds our stories and our tastes. I have mentioned this before. It was brief. It didn¡¯t justify what the place really means to us.


    I am the kind who will eat anything and everything in this bakery. I love snacks and junk food. I might skip the spicy biscuits or something similar. I will be fully focused on the sweets and pastries. They draw my attention the moment I enter one. She is the kind who is choosy and has clear-cut preferences. She doesn¡¯t like anything that is colored bright. This narrows it down to chocolate, which is her comfort flavor. To be honest, it has become hard to find good chocolate cakes or pastries. I like all kinds of flavors. After I started to try out the chocolate pastries of the bakeries in the city with her, I have come to realize which tastes good and which is not good. Some of them have a plasticky taste to them. It lingers in your mouth for a while. I wasn¡¯t aware of it at first. She pointed it out to me. I tried with this new perspective and yes, there was a plasticky taste to it. I asked her what it was. She didn¡¯t know, but it was something that turned her off. This wasn¡¯t the chocolate flavor she liked. Sometimes the pastries are okay. Rarely do we find one that is interesting and gets her appreciation. If something makes the cut, it is heavenly. She knows what she wants and how it should be.


    We look out for anything exciting being offered every time we are inside the bakery. Once we stumbled upon chocolate and caramel tart. I bought it without much hope. It turned out to be great. She gave her thumbs up. I liked it too. The chocolate was tasty and had a tinge of tartness to it. Thinking of it makes my mouth water. We buy it if it is on the display. Either they don''t stock it up, or is in high demand and gets finished quickly.


    In the sweets category, she has a clear-cut preference for a couple of varieties of a famous sweets. Rest she discards hastily. She hates milk sweets. If I buy one and ask her to have a taste, she would reject it with a gagging expression. She likes the savory things being offered in the shop. She is very fond of their spicy potato chips. It is one of our constant purchases once we are inside. She likes two varieties of cakes being sold. One is obviously the chocolate cake. The other is a ghee cake. She likes to have it with tea in the evening. Finally, there are the chocolates. She loves them. No matter what we purchase there will be a bar of chocolate to accompany the items. This is fixed. Lately, she has fallen in love with the Belgian Chocolate version of a popular chocolate.


    We enter with the idea of buying a packet of bread but end up with a whole lot of other stuff. There have been times when we have checked out without having bought the thing we came for. That is how much this bakery means to us. The only thing that sometimes gets to my nerves is the time it takes to get things billed. There is only one person behind the counter and another one to bill it. If there are a couple of people inside who are buying things that are on display, then it will take some time to get them all boxed up and segregated. I think I have slowly come to terms with it. Once she felt the slight restlessness in my stance. She quickly held my hands and made me calm. I gave her a huge smile. It was my way of appreciating her innate ability to gauge my mood and respond accordingly.


    We haven''t found any other bakery in the vicinity that caters to our needs. I have visited a few on the road and a bit away from our route. Since I know her preferences one look into what they are offering is all I need to determine whether I need to visit it again or not. This doesn¡¯t mean we don''t visit any other bakeries. We can¡¯t always go to this bakery. It is far from our home. There are a couple of good ones in Pongumoodu. They do have a couple of stuff that appeals to our taste. We get them while we are there.


    I have a friend who is a baker. She makes all kinds of mouth-watering stuff and uploads them on her status on Instagram. Once when we met for a mutual friend''s wedding she had brought a macaron made of a local Indian flavor. It was delicious. I have had the flavor in some of the cold refreshing drinks you get in the northern states of the country during the summer season. They call it thandai. The macaron was thandai-flavored. She had also made a cake with the same flavor, but it was finished off before we met. Seeing her make all this stuff made me wanna do something similar.


    I attempted my hand at making a sourdough batter when I was quarantined for a fortnight in my home following my return after the second lockdown. Since I had nothing to do for the entire day, I decided to take the first steps toward becoming a home baker. To make a sourdough batter you need to make the culture first. This required the mixing of flour and water in definite proportions for quite some days. It resulted in the production of yeast in the culture that would then go on to make the bread. I contacted my baker friend. She was also up for it. We both started it. Every twenty-four hours the culture had to be fed with flour. It had to be weighed first, a portion of it has to be discarded away and then an equal amount of flour and water should be added to the culture mix, stirred, and kept away.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I kept on with this for a week. We decided to share our results. My culture didn¡¯t come out as expected. Her did. It was all bubbly and ready for use. I felt a bit disappointed. I didn¡¯t know where I had gone wrong. I combed through the internet to find an explanation for it and the proper way to do it. All of them said there was a chance that it might just not work, that it might take more than a week or two for the desired results to come. A lot depended on the surrounding environment. You were essentially making your own culture of yeast to be used for making your sourdough.


    I tried to salvage it in the next few days, but that didn¡¯t work. It just wouldn¡¯t rise as it should. Finally, I gave up on it because my quarantine was coming to an end and I had plans to go and meet my friends. Then a lot of things happened and I had to drop the idea completely. I threw away the culture I had stashed away in the fridge. It was turning bad. I wanted it to work, wanted to bake my own bread. Maybe some other time. I haven''t given up on it though. I have plans to get back into it. I mean I had. Now the plans have changed - to find my Anna, figure out this disappearance, and meet a fellow human being.


    It might come across as if I am not thinking about my parents or my kith and kin. I am. In fact, I am thinking of what to do to confirm their presence. Without any mode of communication, I am totally in the dark. The only thing left for me to do is to drive all the way to my hometown and check for them physically. This is the only thing doable. When it comes to my brother, he is in Bangalore. It is quite far, a very long drive, spanning more than 12 hours and 700 kilometers. If I leave the city it will be to my hometown. Along the way, I can check on my maternal grandparents, uncle and aunt, and her parents and sister. Once in my hometown, I can find out if my kith and kin are present. I am thinking of leaving for it tomorrow itself. But I feel I need to be in Trivandrum to figure out the cause and to find out my wife. Since she has disappeared from her hospital I don''t think there is any way in which she could have left the city.


    The thought of finding her in one of our houses is impossible. A small part of me wishes it to come true. At least I will have her back.


    Regarding my friends, I am concerned about them. I haven''t met a few of them in years. There were some opportunities recently that I missed out on. It makes me feel bad. It makes me curse myself for not cashing in on the opportunity when it was presented. The mindset that life is a long journey spanning from your birth to your death and there will be opportunities to meet your near and dear ones in the future is actually pointless. I realized it today. I wish I knew this before. It would have helped me create more memories, which I can hold on to in dark times.


    How do we come to know if we are seeing someone for the last time? How? There is this song by Nickelback (I forgot the name) in which the protagonist after surviving a crash can see a large number floating on top of people''s heads. He can¡¯t make heads or tails of it initially. He figures it out when he sees an incident showing how the number becomes zero when you pass away. He then sees someone''s number reducing drastically. He is crossing the road and a vehicle is about to hit him. He jumps in and saves the person. From then on, he can¡¯t see the numbers. Instead, the person who gets saved starts seeing them. I loved the video. I had seen it a long time ago. I loved the concept. I don¡¯t know how I would take it if it happens to me. But it was interesting.


    Essentially, we can never know. But if we somehow came to know, what would we do? We might try to stop it, or postpone it. Will that be of any help? Death is around the corner. It will surely come and claim its victim when the time comes. According to popular fiction, if we try to stop or postpone it, what we are doing might be the reason for death. Maybe it is our actions that lead to it. If that is the case then the bigger question that arises is do we have free will?


    Are we all a code written in perfect order whose actions and thoughts have been simulated and are being tested out as a beta program or something? Can it serve as the answer to the phenomenon that has just occurred here? Can it be that the program has been reset? Or was everyone supposed to disappear, but then something happened and I am left out?


    Oh dear, this sounds very much like the Matrix. God, I love that movie. But I seriously hate it now. Shit! My head is spinning from all these thoughts. This is too much to handle.


    I shake it off and focus on the road ahead. I have reached Ulloor Junction. Only a few minutes'' drive to Pongumoodu junction. I will be reaching ahead of time. I hope I get something out of this endeavor. I don''t know what to expect. I am keeping an open mind. I have to.

 1.40

    I consider the stretch from Ulloor junction to my home to be the home stretch. Although it should actually be the one from Pongumoodu junction, I stick to this because Ulloor junction would be the last place where I get traffic block. From here it is a smooth drive. In the mornings after returning from dropping her at the department, I like to cruise this stretch at a sweet speed, soaking in the slight chillness in the air. In the evenings, Pongumoodu junction can get crowded.


    There is no change in these roads. The crashed vehicles stay in their respective positions. The shops are all closed. The homes lining up the roads are all dark and silent. The eeriness that I had talked about is everywhere. It is growing day by day. In a way, I will get used to it if it persists. In a couple of minutes, I reach Pongumoodu junction. I take the left turn into my street and park my scooter near the pavement. I open the bag, take out the walkie talkie and get out of the scooter as I slide the bag onto my back.


    I walk to the center of the road and look towards the Kollam direction. As far as I can see, there is no movement on the road. I take a cursory glance in the opposite direction. Nothing new here.


    The volume is fully cranked up in the walkie-talkie. I bring it up close and send out another message.


    ¡®To all the people out there. My name is David. I am a survivor, just like you. I have lost everyone I know in this disappearance. If you can hear me, I am here in Pongumoodu junction just like I said before. I will be here for half an hour. If you can come, please do come. We can figure out what to do together.¡¯


    I wait for a few seconds. I pick it up once again. I think of sending out a message declaring tomorrow''s meet-up. I will send one on my way back home. I walk to the medical store near the waiting shed. There are a couple of steps leading to the shop. I sit on them with a view of the two ends of the road.


    What will you do if you find yourself all alone? Most probably you would have woken up today at your home or some other place that is familiar to you - maybe your friend''s house or a cousin''s. In this case, you are not trapped. You have resources with you, just like in my case. Maybe you might not have a vehicle or you don''t know how to drive one. What will you do then? You would obviously try to find out where the others are, the people who were with you when you went to bed last night. You would realize slowly that they are not in the house. Your communications are dead and you can¡¯t call or text them. You will give some more time. Maybe they have gone out to get some milk. You will wait.


    After a certain point, you will get worried. You will have to get out of the house and go out. You might try asking your neighbors if you are friends with them. But they won¡¯t answer your knock on the door. It also depends on where you are living. In apartments, you can quickly check on your neighbors. But in villas or homes, you will have to go out and check on them. Only if they are very much close to you, like a family, would you know their whereabouts on a Thursday morning. Otherwise, it can be that they are not at home, or they left early. This will certainly seem fishy. Yet you can¡¯t be sure because you just can¡¯t confirm. Maybe you can, by figuring out if their vehicle is parked or not. A lot of factors come into play. The end result is you are getting worried when you are not able to find anyone or contact them.


    The absence of the internet will have irked you if you are heavily internet dependent. This is something I went through, I am still going through. When your network is being shown and you can¡¯t call or connect to the web, it becomes even more frustrating. You will check it every minute to see if the issue has been resolved. The frustration is not because you are waiting for a message or a mail to come in the morning. It is because it has become an essential part of your life, just like air or water. You find it difficult to live without it.


    Since you are not accustomed to a life without the internet, you will initially take time to figure out what to do. If you were a bachelor living off Swiggy, you will need to find out a way to make your own food or source it for yourself. If you were dependent on autos or uber as your travel means, then you will have to get out and walk. Or brush up your cycling skills and maybe take your neighbor''s kids'' cycle.


    A darker scenario comes to my head. What if you wake up without your partner beside you? That is something I can¡¯t fathom. You might initially feel their absence as normal - maybe he gets up early and goes for a jog or hits the gym, is at the washroom, in the kitchen making tea or breakfast. When you wake up fully and still do not find him or her, you will be skeptical. It can be more mysterious if your door is closed from the inside. This eliminates the possibility of going out. And no matter how big the house is, one can¡¯t hide in it forever. Panic will take over slowly. You will try calling him. Maybe your network works (if this scenario is happening before I woke up) and you call him, only to find his mobile lying on the bed table or on the floor beside the bed or anywhere he keeps it before going to bed. More panic!


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    What about the kids, if one has them? They are sure to be in their beds. Yet, they are nowhere in the house. This must be a ghastly scenario. I can¡¯t imagine the horror creeping into the face of someone who wakes up to find their children disappeared without leaving any trace. It gets really frustrating and downright torturous when you can¡¯t account for what has happened. I try dismissing this line of thought as it is getting to me. Initially, I was thinking of kids above seven years. If I think of babies and infants, it is even darker and more depressing.


    What if a kid or a baby has survived this phenomenon? What will happen to them? Will they survive the ordeal? Will they be found out and rescued? I can do that provided I know where they are. But how are they going to tell me? They are kids. They won¡¯t be able to get out of their homes. I can¡¯t go about every nook and corner of the city looking for survivors. I can¡¯t do that. That''s not how it works. I hope I don''t come across such a scenario. Also, I don''t want to end up finding someone who was able to survive the phenomenon but perishes owing to the unavailability of help or its delayed arrival. That would only hurt me. That has the capacity to destroy me. I pray to God to avoid such a scene.


    Ten minutes have gone by. It is almost dusk. A few dogs came together on the road. They bark at me on seeing me. Since they can¡¯t get a response out of me, they leave. A cool breeze was lingering around for a while. I was deep in thought when it blew. I get up and stretch myself. My bum feels a bit sore. I think it is because of all the driving I was doing.


    I could do with some kind of comfort food. A laddoo, an ice cream, a cake or a pastry, a good chicken puff, or a meat roll. I am not hungry. It is just that I wish to find some sort of consolation, something that makes me feel good. I think these can. Behind the closed shutters of the various bakeries in the vicinity, I am sure to find all of these.


    Just beside the bus stop, there are a couple of old shops. One of them is a small bakery. I had to visit it to buy something after I couldn¡¯t find them in my regular shops. There were some laddoos on display at the counter. They looked okay. I bought half a dozen. I was surprised by its price. It was almost half of what was being charged at my regular shop. I brought it home without any expectations. When we ate it, we were surprised. It was actually good. It was soft and had a good consistency. It reminded me of the kind of laddoos I used to have during my matriculation days from the shop near where we stayed. I used to buy milk and snacks. Laddoos cost two rupees a piece. With the ten rupees I had to buy snacks, I might buy three and a small veg bun after putting in an extra rupee. This was my and my brother''s evening snack on some days. He liked the veg bun more. I was happy to give him the whole bun and treat myself to the laddoos.


    It is going to be half past six soon. The sky is turning all kinds of orangey shades. It is a beautiful evening. Sad I can¡¯t enjoy it. I let out a smile. Skies like this always lift my spirits. They send a message of beauty and peace across the horizon. I have come to love, respect, and appreciate them from the time I started working.


    My first posting was in a village. My days would stretch till late in the evening. I would get to see the sun set behind a thick patch of green cover. On some sites, the green cover would be absent. Instead, the vibrant paddy fields would be extending into the distance. The sun would set behind them, making the fields change colors.


    Some days I would have to get up before the sun rises and be on my way to the work site. I open the window to be greeted by the chilly wind. It would awaken me from my sleepy state and make me ready for the day. I get to see the sunrise beyond these paddy fields draped in a blanket of mist.


    Once our site was near the coastline. We were in the eastern part of the country. On one of these early morning visits, I saw an amazing sunrise take place from the sea. The horizon was clear and devoid of any cloud cover. The sky lit up initially followed by the slow rise of the sun. It was a beautiful moment. Since I have been living on the west coast for the major part of my life and having seen the sunset in the sea, witnessing it rise from it was a memorable experience.


    The streets are getting darker and darker as time passes. By now the street lights would have come on. The vehicles on the road would have turned on their lights. The shops would have all lighted up. There would have been artificial lighting to delay the feeling of darkness. And when it comes, it wouldn¡¯t seem so eerie.


    The omniscient silence along with the onset of darkness does seem haunting. I look up into the sky. I can¡¯t see the moon anywhere. A planet is all lit up bright in the sky. Without the presence of any lights in the city, I am sure you could see the stars much more clearly, more than you could ever see on a normal day.


    I should have been excited by this prospect because I love stargazing. I love to capture them with my camera, especially the Milky Way. But I am in no mental state to do so. It is six thirty. The time has come to go back home. I take out the walkie-talkie from my pocket and send out one last message before I leave.


    ¡®To anyone out there who can hear this, you are not alone.¡¯ I take a brief pause to gather my thoughts. ¡®Come and meet me at Ulloor junction tomorrow morning at ten in the morning. I will be waiting for you with food and water. Remember, you are not alone in this.¡¯


    I wonder if this is a futile exercise. I shrug my head. I can¡¯t entertain these negative thoughts. This is something I must keep on doing. I walk back to my scooter to head back home. What a day this has been.

 1.41

    The day is coming to an end, and the night is slowly upon me. The correct sentence commonly used would be in the plural - the night slowly upon us. When it comes to my species, currently I should be using singular sentences. I start my scooter and ride on to my home.


    It feels weird to drive through the darkness. Very few houses have a light turned on inside them. It must be the inverter. None of their outside lights are on. Normally people don¡¯t give their inverter supply to the outer lights since they remain on for the entire night and can consume away the battery backup of the inverter while one is asleep. I know this because I had asked my grandfather when he was setting up the inverter in his house. It was one of the first in the village. Along with his brothers and cousins, they had procured them at a good price when they hit the market. It was also the time of load shedding.


    Every night for half an hour, the power supply would be cut off for a panchayat or a part of the town. This was when I was seven or eight years old. In that half an hour we would all take our chairs outside and sit in the open for thirty minutes. There would be discussions about how the day went, who all came, the latest family gossip, etc. Sometimes I had my cousin stay over. We would play some games in the dark. Hide and seek was difficult owing to the lack of any form of light. Another attraction for us at that young age was the bunch of fireflies that played around. We would capture them and put them in glass bottles. Inside it would glow intermittently with a beautiful intensity. I loved it. Sometimes we would capture more than one and stuff them all into a single bottle. It would serve as a mini torch to walk in the dark.


    Darkness scared me when I thought of all the things that lurked in them and how they can attack me. When I was a kid, I used to go outside into the open to pee. There would be a single light outside lighting the entrance and the open area. I would have to walk out of the open area and reach the periphery of where the plantation started to let it out. There the light grew dim and the grass grew thick. Sometimes I bravely traversed the distance and got the job done with confidence. But on some nights, if I hear some sort of a movement or a commotion in the undergrowth, I became really scared. I would be very alert. I would pee in the fastest time possible and run back as soon as it is done. As I reach the foyer I would slow down and walk in as if nothing had happened. I didn¡¯t want them to know I was scared of the sounds I had heard out there. It would only come out as if I am afraid of the dark. I guess I was. I think it went away when I grew up.


    There is a slight chill in the air. This is rare. It becomes chilly only after eight or nine after the night has us. The street lights would have a misty halo effect hanging around them. Once when I was coming back with her in the scooter after nine, we felt chilly as soon as we entered our street. She hugged me tightly. Her hug made me feel warm. I had started to feel cold and numb with the chilly air hitting my face, chest, and fingers. That night was a cool night. We didn¡¯t need any AC to fall asleep. We had even lowered the speed of the fan. The windows were kept open for the air to come in. It brought in the slight chillness and made our room bearable.


    It feels weird to not have her behind me. I yearn for her presence, her touch, her laughter, her sarcastic comments, and her coy nature. She says she is not like this. This is not how she presents herself to the world. This is just for me because she loves me. In my case, I tell her she is the only one who will ever come to know what makes me me. Only she will know what goes in my head, what I think and why I think, what I have gone through and how it has forged me through these years. I have good friends who are really close to me. But the closest among them doesn¡¯t know a lot about me. They know a part of me, the part that I have kept on display for them. They will never know the rest of it. The part I have displayed is the truth. I haven''t portrayed a false image. That is not me. They know me, but not deep enough. The perfect metaphor for this would be the iceberg in the ocean. You only see the smallest part of it on the surface. The majority of it lies below the surface. Only she has the access to it. It is deep. She will take time to fathom it, just like how I will take time to know her. We both know it is difficult to know a person completely and a lifetime might not be enough for it. We both look forward to meeting each other in the next life if it happens.


    I enter the small lane leading to our apartment. The darkness throws in a bit of uneasiness. The only light that is penetrating it is the one from my scooter. The feeling is almost similar to driving in a secluded area devoid of any lights, like through an estate. The only difference is you know the darkness is inherent to the area and is always present. It will end as soon as the area ends. It can be pierced and is pierced by the vehicles passing through it.


    Here the darkness that was dormant for decades is back in full force. They, which were banished with the arrival of the light-bringers, were soon forgotten. People were afraid of them. All they wanted was some respect. Their age-old enemy - fire - had taken a new form and had become omnipresent. The light bringers could quell away even the slightest pocket of darkness, leaving them no place to reside. They took to the gallows and made it their home. They looked at humanity go about their business, expanding to their domain one at a time.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I don''t know if they know what has become of humanity. They must have felt it. Otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t have come up with such brute force. It must have been their doing, to kill the power. Without the thing powering the light-bringers they had the upper hand. They have done it from time to time only to see it up and running again. These small moments of coming back to power could only feed a part of their curbed desires. It could never quench their thirst. They would be at it till they reclaim what was theirs.


    I enter our compound, drive to the entry and park my scooter right in front of the stairs. I get out of the scooter with my backpack. It is really dark in here. There are no lights on the driveway as they do not have any power backup. Normally the stairs would be lit. I switched them off in the morning. I switch on the one nearest to me. It doesn¡¯t light up. Just beside it is the calling bell to her cousin''s house. I press it. It rings. I walk out into the driveway to see if there is any movement inside. It is pitch black. I will not be able to make out any movement if there was any. I take out my mobile and switch on its flashlight. I shine it in my immediate surroundings. Everything looks in order as it was when I left. I climb the stairs to my home.


    In front of the door to my apartment, I fumble with the keys. I find them and unlock the door. I switch on the lights. It dispels the darkness in a jiffy only to unveil the emptiness that has taken over our house. It is more profound than what I had undergone in the morning.


    Someone had rightly said that a house is made up of bricks, a home made of souls. This home is made up of our souls. It is where we started our lives. In it lies all our dreams, our conversations, our fights and cries, our turmoils, our desires, our passion and love, and our present. Every day when we wake up together, it feels like the safest place to be in. For her, it is my chest and vice versa. In our embrace, this house becomes our home.


    We have spent Sundays idling away here. We would make lunch and do nothing else. We would binge-watch some series that appealed to her or watch a repeat of our favorite superhero movies. We would just lie down in our bed and fall asleep. We would play board games and taunt each other. We would get horny and make love when the passion rises and finish it off in each other''s warm embrace. We become emotional knowing how much we love each other and how we have become so close and so tight. We see ourselves getting old together, holding each other''s hand as we walk to greet our children and maybe our grandchildren. We dream of all the places we would like to visit, what we will be doing there and how we would always cherish them.


    This is not confined to a Sunday. A lot of it happens on a daily basis. When we are together we want to be with each other as much as we can. Reading this you might feel that we have it all going great. That''s not true. We do have tough days. Days when I can be insensitive and not care for her. Days when she might be moody and irritated the entire time. Days when we fight over something and stretch to the end of the day. These are normal in a relationship. I have come to realize that. This is something that is common in every relationship. We are not special. When two human beings come together there is going to be a mismatch. And that¡¯s okay. That''s how it is. Like yin and yang. I like that analogy because it includes the fact that we are all imperfect and it is two imperfect halves that are coming to make a beautiful whole.


    I switch off the light. I walk into the darkness ahead. It takes a few seconds for me to make out the faint silhouette of the sofa ahead of me. I put my bag beside it and slouch into it.


    As soon as I hit the sofa, tears start running from my eyes. I let them flow. I have been holding them back for some time now.


    I miss her. I really do. At this moment I really don''t care what has happened to all the people. All that matters to me is my Anna. If I had her with me, I would have been able to handle this situation in a better way. Knowing I have her beside me gives me the strength and courage to go ahead and achieve anything I set my mind to. She is my rock, my anchor, the one who knows me and gets me, who trusts me and has faith in what I think and do. She is my source of power. You might ask me how can someone be something like this in a short period of time. I don''t have an answer to that. I really don''t know if people have felt this way with their partners. I know what I have felt and how it has evolved me as a human being. The person I was when I met her two years ago has undergone a beautiful transformation along the way. Some are wary of that, and others might see it in a totally different way. I don''t care about that. All I know is that she is the catalyst that makes me grow.


    I bend over to cusp my wet face. I wipe my tears away. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. A couple of them helps me to regain composure. A few more and I feel okay. I wipe off the remaining tears. As I take my hands away from my face my gaze happens to fall on the outline of our framed portrait sitting on the table. She had to nag me a lot to get it printed and framed. I clench my teeth and squint my eyes but to no avail. The tears come rolling once again.

 1.42

    ¡®Dear lord I thank you for all the things you have given us. Bless our mummy, daddy, brother, sister, niece, nephews, family, friends, and all our dear and near ones. Amen.¡¯


    This is one of the first prayers taught to me by my mom. We were staying out of the state because of my parent''s work. There was a church that held its mass in our native language. We used to visit it every Sunday diligently. At that age sitting inside it silently and still was a huge task. The hour would stretch out endlessly in front of me. The only thing that kept me going was the prospect of playing with a couple of friends after it finishes. Our parents would gather together and take a good amount of time to talk and catch up on the latest happenings. After that, we would proceed to have lunch at a fancy restaurant. The time in between was used to play catch or police and thief in the sprawling lawns of the church. It had a lot of space covered with grass and a couple of huge trees. For this one reason, I didn¡¯t mind going to church. And the lunch.


    Since I didn¡¯t know how to read or write my native language, I was taught this prayer along with the Lord''s prayer. The Lord''s prayer took some time to memorize. But this one was easier. I learned it in no time. From its inception, it has had only a couple of changes.


    When it was taught, it was singular and personal. ¡®Us¡¯ was ¡®me¡¯. There was no mention of a brother back then. Later when my brother was born, he was included in the prayer. My mother made me do that. I was accustomed to reciting the prayer at full speed before I slept. It took me some time to get used to the addition in it. Soon it became a part of the prayer.


    The next change happened after my union with Anna. When I prayed with her in our bed for the first time, I realized it was very much singular. I stopped short, went back to the beginning, removed the singular terms, and made it plural. I also extended the tail end of the prayer to include her sister, niece, nephew, and the rest because her brother and his family and her sister had become a part of my life now. I am grateful for the family and friends I have with me. They made their presence felt during the wedding and the events leading to it.


    For now, the prayer is complete. It will change whenever it has to. That''s how prayers should be, dynamic and accommodating. After we sit and pray before we go to bed, she tells me to recite this prayer. I do it followed by saying grace to whatever we have and for blessing us with this wonderful life.


    What was once my prayer is now our prayer. It feels more beautiful. It is the one prayer that I always chant regardless of the situation because in it I am just being thankful for whatever it is that I have, whether it is good or bad. The prayer harbors no distinction between the two. Both are part of our lives and we are being grateful for giving us the opportunity to experience both of them and everything else. We are being thankful for this life. This prayer gives me the strength to go forward in hard times. It lifts me and helps me gather the courage I need to wade through deep waters. That is why I recited this prayer right now. I need strength to carry on and it surely does provide me with some.


    I get up from the sofa and walk towards the dining table. I switch on the tube light. In an instant the darkness that clouded me disappeared. It has brought a stark contrast to the mood. I look at the clock. It is going to be seven. I remove my tee and pants and throw them onto the sofa. Much better. This is how I am at home, in my boxers. It minimizes the heat and doesn¡¯t give me the sticky feeling I get when I have a shirt or a tee on. I start to sweat quite easily.


    I can hear the slow hum of the inverter. I open the door to the cabinet under the washbasin where it is kept. The inverter mode is on. It doesn¡¯t show how much battery is left. I have to be judicious in my power usage.


    I walk into the kitchen, switch on the lights, and open the fridge. It is dark inside. It doesn¡¯t get the backup power. I take out the packet of milk from it. I am going to make myself a cup of tea. Also, there is no point in keeping the milk in the fridge. It will go stale by tomorrow morning.


    I take the vessel from the rack, pour a cup of milk into it, and keep it on the stove. Before I light it, my eyes fall on the small filter coffee tumbler sitting next to the jar of sugar. It reminds me of her. She is the filter coffee person in this house. I make it for her. Whenever I am home, she wants to have my coffee. There is nothing special in it. It is just that while we were finding out what beverages we like after moving in together, we found out we both liked filter coffee. From that day, it is our preferred form of coffee. I make it in the evening as the morning routine can become a bit hectic. Also one needs to enjoy it at their own leisurely pace. Evenings are the best time.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I dismiss the thought of making one for myself. I only make one for both of us. We share from it. The whole experience of drinking coffee is to enjoy its strong and bold flavor by sharing the cup back and forth. For this reason alone, I know that I will not enjoy it now. I light the stove and decide to stick with tea.


    When it comes to making something I like to stick to the recipe. I am a textbook cook of sorts. She is very much the opposite of it. She doesn¡¯t go by the recipes. She goes by the feeling she gets when she looks at it. If it seems less spicy she adds more condiments by hand. She doesn¡¯t go by the spoons. Even while making tea I stick to the recipe that I have used to make it for a long time. It is simple: take milk and water in equal proportions. Bring it to a boil. Just before the milk starts boiling add the tea leaves. I prefer to use the bigger one. The small CTC dust tea is required only in small quantities and need not be brewed for long. I don''t like its taste. I like the bigger one. I let it brew for a while. The longer I brew it the stronger it gets. But one shouldn¡¯t overdo it. A slight bitterness can seep in. Also, one should put nearly double the amount of what you usually add to the dust tea. Sugar comes last, according to your preference. I tend to keep it on the lower side.


    I follow the same procedure to make my cup of tea. I strain out the leaves and add a little bit of sugar. I stir it and use a steel mug to beat it and make it frothy. I taste it. It feels good. She would have wanted a bit more sweetness to it cause it is strong. I like my tea strong. Tea should taste like tea, not like milk. I take the cup and walk out of the kitchen. Instead of going to the dining table, I walk into our room towards the balcony. I open the door and step out into the open.


    This is a ritual we do from time to time. Way past our tea time, she would have this urge to drink coffee. I would make it and we would come to the balcony to savor it. We don''t light it up. We stay in the darkness that surrounds us. It is ever so slight owing to all the lights in the vicinity. We have a good conversation standing here as the coffee finishes. Mostly it would be an emotional one - a conversation about our future and how things would fit in, on the things that have disturbed us recently -ending in embracing each other and being thankful for all that we have, for the time we have together.


    I was hesitant to come here when I got out of the kitchen. But then I didn¡¯t want to sit inside. I was already feeling her loss sorely. I knew I would feel it more here but the open air would soothe me a bit. It does.


    I am standing in darkness. There are no street lights around our vicinity. All the houses are dark. Only a couple of them has their outdoor light lit up. One could see the tall buildings of the medical college from here. And the buildings near the Akkulam area. These are the buildings that light up our horizon. They are soaked in darkness.


    The sky is dark. It must be a new moon. The bluish tinge of the moon is absent in the surroundings. It seemed as if a big black blanket had covered the city. As expected, I can see quite a lot of stars in the sky. They are relishing the absence of all the light pollution that had rendered them invisible. They thrive in the darkness, their old friend.


    I wanted to take her to a hill station or a place devoid of this light pollution and show her all the stars and the Milky Way. I had witnessed it multiple times and have been mesmerized by it. It makes me realize how small we are in the grand cosmic scheme. It piqued my interest in the night sky and its photography. I wanted her to have a first-hand experience of it. She had seen some of the photos I had clicked. But they hardly do any justice to the experience of seeing them through your naked eyes. She was up for it. I decided to take her to the mountains after she was done with her course.


    This is why I feel she would have appreciated this darkness. She would have loved to stare at the stars and listen to all that they had to tell. We might have even taken to the rooftop to have a wider perspective of it. Maybe take our carpet and comforter, lay it out on the floor, and lie down on it as we gaze up into the sky. Stargazing at its comfiest version.


    I want to show her the satellites. The ones that zip past the sky at a constant speed without any twinkling or a tail. Polar satellites. At my worksite after taking a walk in the evening, I sit down with a colleague of mine and stare out into the sky. We follow these satellites for a while and leave when we had our full. On clear nights, we have seen three of them in the sky simultaneously. It is a fascinating site. When I saw it first, I thought it was a shooting star. My colleague had some knowledge about it. He explained to me what it was and how it differed from the shooting stars. He also gave me a detailed explanation of what an asteroid, meteorite, and its other varieties were. I don''t remember it.


    I am staring at a portion of the sky when I see a satellite travel from one end of the night sky to the other. I follow it for a while and finish my tea. It is time to go back in.


    I walk into the bedroom and close the door. The cloth stand is filled with her churidars and tops. She looks beautiful in all of them. She had worn the patterned chic top for the anniversary dinner. It was a beautiful night. It was two nights ago. I wish time froze that night or it proceeded at a snail''s pace. I wish I knew what was in store for me. I would have tried stretching it for as long as possible. I wish I had done a lot more things with her. I thought I had time.

 1.43

    This is going to be a long night for me. Time seems to have slowed down. I am looking forward to falling asleep and waking up to a normal world. I don''t want to force myself into sleep. I want it to happen naturally so that I can dream.


    To pine my hopes on sleeping and dreaming is a weird thing to do. This is the hopeful me talking. The practical me has always been saying this is my reality. I need to get to the bottom of this and solve it, like a puzzle. I will have to figure it out successfully for the world to be restored to how it was before, for the people to be back along with my Anna.


    I walk into the kitchen and put the cup into the washbasin. I throw out the tea leaves from the vessel and keep it adjacent to the cup. I will wash them later on. The tea has made me hungry. I open the fridge once again in the hope of finding something new and exciting in it. But it doesn¡¯t happen. The contents are the same as in the morning. I think I will have the rice and leftover curries. Not now though.


    Our staple food is rice. I have grown up having rice two times a day. For breakfast, we do have things made of rice powder which has been made into a batter. Dosa and Idli are just that. They are rice products. Over time I have grown less fond of it. I have come to like rotis and chapatis more. A major part of this shift must be attributed to the food I got back in my college days. The rice that was served was of a different variety as compared to the one we had in our home. Brown rice.


    In college, since they had to feed the masses, they resorted to cheaper white rice. I don''t like that. I don''t eat much but when I eat I want to eat something I like. Somedays when we used to go out to a vegetarian restaurant to have their meals, I would opt for brown rice.


    After college, I had to leave the state and go to the northern part of the country for my job. Here it was predominantly wheat. They preferred wheat over rice. Chapatis and rotis are the staple food. When I had them, I liked them. It took me time to realize that the people here are very much conscious of the wheat products they consume. They won¡¯t tolerate any impurity in it. Having seen the difference in the rotis that are served here and in my hometown, I realized the wheat flour we got was adulterated with cheaper materials. We were not getting the original stuff.


    I decided to have what was available to me locally. I loved it. In fact, it was not something unfamiliar to me. Since our family had to move out of the state because of the transferable nature of the job my parents had, I have been subject to a culture different from our native one. My mom embraced it and it seeped into her cooking. She would make all kinds of stuff with wheat for me. I loved it back then. this just got rejuvenated when I moved cities.


    I refrain from having rice at my workplace. I only have it at home. I don''t consume a lot of it though. I take what is necessary and enjoy it. The switch in eating habits came about for the same reason.


    The only thing I have learned to cook is rice. I learned it after coming here. When she leaves for her department, I cook the rice in the daytime so that we can have it for our meals in the following days. I don''t make much of it though. She doesn¡¯t like to store food for long in the fridge. She keeps them at max for a couple of days, after which she discards them. It means more cooking, but that''s okay because they are fresher.


    I want to learn to cook. It is just that I feel lazy and don''t take an effort in that direction. I have been thinking of learning to make dough for rotis and chapattis. It is an easy process. But my laziness prevents me from starting it. I want to progress in a step-by-step manner. I made a Caesar salad once. It was easy. Salads are easy. They don''t involve cooking. One day I want to make a meal for the two of us. Rice, curry, saut¨¦ed veggies, and maybe a chicken item. There is a long way to go for me to achieve it. Given the current circumstances, I think the process will be sped up if I want to eat something fresh.


    I walk up to the sofa, pick up the bag and open it. I take out the chargers and the walkie-talkie. I need to put it for charging. The indicator in the charging station should tell me when it is fully charged. I am dependent on it. There is no other way to know the state of the battery. I take out the torch also. I leave the other non-electronic contents in it. I will have to charge the torch. It can''t be trusted without being charged.


    There is only one power plug that draws power from the inverter in the house. This is a neat ploy implemented to reduce the draining of the inverter battery by plugging in multiple things to charge. The objective of the inverter is to provide enough power for lighting to get by the night and into the day. Fans are also added to it to give you a better sleep. Otherwise, the heat would get to you at night. You need fans for the 365 nights you intend to sleep peacefully.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The backup duration of the inverter solely depends on the amount of power you are using and the number of batteries hooked up. It is normally a single battery. You can add more to it, thereby increasing its capacity. I think connecting extra batteries in parallel would do the trick. I don''t know much about it. I have seen the same setup in homes powered by solar energy. They have lots of batteries connected to the solar grid. They are powerful enough to run the house entirely on solar energy. They are gaining traction throughout the country. Some states have even started to buy the electricity being produced by the solar grid in the house. It is a novel idea that should propel the way we power our homes in the future. In the current scenario, I feel it is not worth the initial cost of investment required. The batteries also will need to be replaced after five or six years, thus increasing the maintenance cost it incurs over time. For it to be truly successful, the costs should come down along with some battery technology that makes them more powerful, more efficient, and less susceptible to maintenance.


    I pick up the mobiles from the sofa. They are not showing any network. They are dead. I am considering whether I should charge them or not. They can come in handy though, like the flashlight. Anyways their battery percentage hasn¡¯t decreased much. Her phone is in the nineties. Mine is in the seventies. I toss them onto the dining table.


    On the study table, I see the power bank. I pick it up and check it. Half of its power remains. I need to change this too. I take the extension cable lying at the corner of the table and plug it into the socket. It is a five-socket extension. I put the walkie-talkie to charge in one of them and the power bank in the other. I go into our bedroom and take out the charger for the torch from the heap of stuff lying near the cupboard. I plug it in to charge the torch. The mobiles can wait. I don¡¯t want to put too much load on the inverter. It might trip off.


    The night has barely started and it seems I have nothing else to do. I can sit and sulk. It can go on for hours. Or I can lie down and sulk. That way maybe I might fall asleep. But there is a high chance of waking up in between. Now is not the time to sleep. I can''t. She can. She need not be tired or sleepy for that. She can lie down and fall asleep in a matter of minutes. She has developed this skill for her lifestyle from her work. Having had no fixed schedule as to how her duty might pan out, she had to learn to get a wink whenever she could. Somedays she sleeps like a log after coming back from doing a back-to-back night and day stint. Then she finds it difficult to sleep at night. She then studies after I have slept.


    Seeing the washing machine reminded me of washing the clothes that are in the laundry bag. There aren¡¯t many, just a few of her clothes. I don''t let them pile up. I wash them every other day. Sometimes I can get a bit obsessive about it. She likes to pull my leg on this. She calls me washerman whenever I talk about doing the laundry. I laugh at it. When I am at home I take up the duty of washing the clothes. There is nothing to do about it. Just load the clothes into the fully automatic washing machine and put them out to dry after they are done. Easy peasy. If it was a semi-automatic one, I would run it when there is a good pile of clothes.


    I think I am highly bored. Yes, I can feel that. My mind isn¡¯t functioning properly. It is going a bit haywire. If there was internet connectivity I would have been on my phone for sure. Without it, I might be doing something else, like reading a book or doodling something. But that is not the mood. How can I sit and read a book when my life has turned upside down? It is just preposterous.


    I walk into the bedroom and crash into the bed. I pull up the pillow and hold it tight. I really want to hug her. I really do. I want to hug her as tightly as I can, feel her warmth and safety, and be ensured that all is gonna be okay, that things will fall into place. I want to be comforted to a peaceful state. I want to remain in that state for as long as I can. I want it to permeate into my life and guide me in the coming days, cause I have no idea how I am going to survive ahead. I might seem all composed and okay but deep inside I know I am cracking up. Like the cracks developing on a snowy mountain. The avalanche can be triggered anytime. I am not prepared for it.


    I curl myself and hug the pillow tighter. I really feel like things are slipping away from my hand. All kinds of questions flood me. Will I be able to find her? How will I do that? If not then what next? What am I going to do all alone in this city?


    The answer to the last question can be to leave the city and go out to see the state of things elsewhere. But I haven¡¯t seen any kind of vehicle on the road the whole day. If anyone had to come from anywhere else, they should have entered the city by evening. Given the length of the journey, one can reach Trivandrum all the way from Thrissur and beyond in this time. From the Tamil Nadu side, it can go up to Trichy or Salem. Trains aren¡¯t running. I don''t think there are any flights in motion. All of this points to the bleak truth - I am alone.


    They say truth is always hard. I am pretty sure it hasn¡¯t been this hard for anyone in the entire history of humankind. The puzzling thing is the reason for the truth is nowhere to be found. I can''t find a single reason as to why this phenomenon has occurred. There are no signs anywhere. It is as if someone snapped his fingers and all are gone. Disappeared into thin air. Except me. Why was I spared? This thought keeps nagging me. Why was I spared and left alone? What did I do?


    The pillow has become a squished-up ball in between my arms and chest. I take a deep breath and release it from my grasp.

 1.44

    It doesn¡¯t take time for me to get out of bed. I was comfortable in the curled-up position but I couldn¡¯t control my racing mind. I needed to find a distraction, do something to kill time. For that, I needed to get out of bed first of all. I did that and go to the main hall.


    I sit down at the dining table. I pick up my phone and unlock it. I access my gallery. I scroll through the photos I have clicked recently. There isn¡¯t much. I have stopped clicking on my mobile. The camera is kind of old and outdated. If I have to buy a new mobile I would prioritize the camera in it. I had installed a third-party modded camera app in it which enabled me to maximize the power of the camera so as to click better photos. The phone has a single camera. Nowadays every mobile has more than one. The app did a lot of backend work to make the pictures look amazing. It had become my primary camera app. The next one I am buying should be able to harness the power of this app. I have a few in mind, but it can wait.


    I have been using her mobile to click pictures. Even though her phone isn¡¯t a high-end one, the cameras housed in it are good. I like the wide-angle camera. It offers a good sweeping view. I have started to love clicking landscapes in it. She uploads all of them to the cloud and shares them in our common account. If I had internet I could access them on my phone.


    I exit from my gallery and open WhatsApp. This is another place where we share our pictures, memes, stickers, gifs, and whatnot. I see an exclamation mark right next to the unsent message. I click it. It says the message was not sent. I know that. I didn¡¯t need extra confirmation for that. It also displays the added option to delete it or try again. I click on the try again option. I am keeping my hopes up, even if there aren¡¯t any.


    I browse through the messages we exchanged recently. They are mostly smileys of hugs and kisses and hearts. She was feeling sleepy through our video call. I was feeling sleepy too. The time was nearing midnight. When she realized she was dozing off intermittently during the call, she urged me to keep the call and go to sleep. I said I can wait for her to fall asleep. She said that was okay and I should get rest. I agreed to it and kept the call. Emojis followed that.


    Before that, her messages were about when I would be coming to meet her. I clicked on her profile and accessed the media tab. A few seconds later all our shared media was displayed. Her photos were the major part of it. I clicked on the first one that caught my attention. It was a candid picture from our anniversary night. She was saying something to me when I clicked it, which resulted in a weird expression. It reminded me of her reaction when she saw it later on. She said in a coy tone - You really know how to click my bad pics. I laughed at it. But then she was happy with the couple of pictures that had turned out well.


    I swipe left. The next picture is of us. Another candid one. We had wound our hands on each other''s back and clicked it. Like always, only one from the many that were clicked came out satisfactory. All others were weird and funny. But they stay with us. We never delete them. We keep them as part of our memories. She has more of them compared to mine. I somehow manage to look okay in the pictures. She feels she doesn¡¯t. That is so wrong. She is the animated one among us. I can''t come up with all the expressions she can.


    The next one is a solo picture of mine that she had clicked. I am sitting on the sofa in the foyer of the hotel. It turned out well. I really like it. She had orchestrated that picture. As we were departing she came upon this beige sofa lying in the foyer. She instantly instructed me to go and sit on it for her to click on me. When the pictures came out I was impressed by her observational skills. The color of the sofa was complimenting the polo and trousers I was wearing. It is a good DP pic. But I didn¡¯t want to put a solo pic. Also, the current DP is really sweet. I really don''t think I want to replace it.


    I go back to the previous menu. A couple of gifs can be seen in the grid view. She always sends them to tease me. Gifs and stickers are her game. She has a huge collection of it. These stickers don''t show up in the image gallery. They are seamlessly present in the chat.


    In the beginning, we started chatting casually. Once the ice was broken and we became comfortable with each other, she started sharing stickers in our conversations. Initially, I was surprised to see them. In one of those early conversations, she resorted to using only these stickers to reply to my messages. I was fascinated by it. It seemed she had a sticker for each and every occasion. I dubbed her my sticker queen. To date, she keeps on surprising me with her new stickers. When I asked her she told me that it was a family thing. Her sister was the one who supplies them to her family group. From there she saves them and uses them as and when required. I have started saving all the stickers she sends. I use them only to communicate with her. Maybe I have used them a couple of times in our boy''s group. But it is a place where stickers aren¡¯t used.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    It reminds me of something else. We do have a code in which we talk from time to time. It is mostly used during the calls I make when I am at my workplace. Since the network available there is really low and is surrounded by heavy machinery, it becomes difficult to hear her voice clearly over the phone. She would then use this code to dictate out some of the important words to me with which I have to make out the matter being shared. We have become quite comfortable with it. There are certain other code words we use to express what we want to say in a public space. I can''t share the code. It is our thing.


    I exit the app and return my phone to the table. I pick up her phone. I unlock it and go to her gallery. Here lies the vast majority of our pictures. The latest ones are from our anniversary outing as I said. Before that, there are some pics we clicked when we went to the beach. I can see a couple of her selfies too. She must have clicked them when she felt bored in her department. She did share them with me. Scrolling back more I come across the pictures from the wedding we attended at the beginning of the year. Her cousin got hitched. She wore a beautiful orange saree. I wore a maroon kurta and a mundu. Needless to say, we looked dashing together. There are a lot of pictures from that day. We clicked wherever and whenever we could - in the church premises, at the reception hall, in our homes and her cousins, in the car, outside the car, amidst the decoration of the hall. A couple of selfies clicked on her cousin''s phone are included in them. I am the one who clicks them owing to my long hands. They act like a selfie stick when you need one.


    I do a fast scroll of the gallery and wait for it to stop. When it comes to a halt, the pictures being shown on the grid make me smile. They are her selfies, her pouting sad selfies. She is so good at them. She had clicked them just to send them to me. I was busy at my workplace when they arrived at my chat. It takes me completely off guard. Seeing her pout and express sadness makes me melt away. It makes me miss her all the more. I don''t need these pictures to tell me how much I miss her, but they compound the effect. Sometimes I try to return the favor. I click some of my own pouting pictures and send them across. It doesn¡¯t come close to the effect her pictures have. She really knows how to pull my heart. And as I have told you, she is the animated one among us. That makes her all the more awesome.


    I quickly exit the gallery and swipe to the page that shows a summary of the mobile system. I look for the remaining storage capacity. Only 1 GB remains. She was complaining about how her phone was running out of space. I knew it was because of the photos and videos taken in it as well as the media shared through WhatsApp, especially videos. I have her phone with me right now. I can clear the necessary space if I want to, but I let it be. I will certainly not delete any of the photos in it. Without net and google photos for backup, I won¡¯t be able to access them once I delete them. I also need to transfer them to a laptop or a hard disk. A hard disk would be the right option as both our laptops are running low on space.


    I put her mobile back on the table and pick up mine. I open up the camera app and switch to video mode. I am going to record a video. A video log of sorts. I don''t know how long it will go on, but I want to record one now. I switch to the selfie camera. I see myself on the screen. I look okay. I take the bottle of water and bring it closer to the table. I keep the mobile on the table and use the bottle as a support. This looks better. I take a deep breath and click the record button.


    ¡®Ummmm, hi. This is David. I am a survivor of the phenomenon that occurred today morning in which all the people from Trivandrum city and its vicinity have disappeared. My wife, Anna, who studies in the Oncology Department of Government Medical College is one among them. I have spent the whole day looking for her in all the places I know. She is nowhere to be found. Nor have I come upon any other human soul in this city. I have looked at some of the prominent places in the city where people gather. I have found no one. This is day one.¡¯


    I take a pause, but I don''t stop the video. I could use some water but the bottle is in use. I will have to go to the kitchen to get some. I don''t want to spoil the flow of it.


    ¡®The networks are down from morning itself. I don''t have any mode of communication with anyone anywhere except the walkie-talkie I got from the police station. It operates in the VHF bandwidth and has only limited city coverage. I have sent messages from it since morning. I also kept two points as rendezvous points to meet anyone who got the message and was able to make it. No one turned up. I will keep on doing this daily.¡¯


    ¡®As the day was ending the power supply to the city went off. The light that fills this room is because of the inverter we have in our house. Otherwise, it is dark outside. It is a blackout.¡¯


    ¡®It seems the animals and birds have not been affected by the phenomenon. They are going about their usual lives. This might change if things don''t go back to being the way it was. Also, the roads are empty except for the vehicles that have crashed. So far I haven''t seen any trapped humans in them. The shops are all closed. A couple of them are open on the medical college premises. These are the twenty-four open shops.¡¯


    I can''t continue one. I am welled up by my emotions.


    ¡®I hope this is my first and last video. I don''t want to do this again tomorrow.¡¯


    I stop the video. The more I speak of the day the more I am becoming affected by it. What I said at the end is what I truly want. I want to wake up to the normal world. Let this day be an anomaly in the normal scheme of things. I am okay with that. But please, let me wake up to the normal life I have had till now.

 1.45

    It takes a couple of minutes to compose myself. I am bound to have these waves of emotions. I hope they don''t flood me. They can. I realize it is only I who can keep it at bay. I will have to make sure I remain steadfast and logical in my thoughts and actions as much as possible and keep the emotions at a distance. I know I can keep them away if I am engaged in something. If I get a thread to follow or a lead into things, I will be occupied. I will have to remain worked, otherwise, they will get the better of me.


    Speaking of remaining worked, I think I need to work out. I need to be fit and ready for anything. I will not have the comforts I had normally. I might have to make a run or fight some animals or creatures, I don''t know. If I have to survive then I must be in good shape. I remember the scene from I am Legend in which Will Smith and his dog are running on the treadmill at the start of the day. He then goes on to do some workouts - pull-ups if my memory is correct - before he goes out. For me to achieve some sort of a fitness level of that pedigree, I must be strict with my workout regimen and see that is followed through consistently. I can start by jogging and upping it to running. I like to walk. I can use that to start small and scale up.


    A few weights are lying in a corner of our room. I bought them during an online sale. When it was delivered I was really excited. Even she was excited. She wanted to exercise on a daily basis and progress to lifting small weights. I felt excited at the prospect of working out with her. I had to leave for my work in a couple of days. So we decided to start after I return. In the meantime, I told her to try something small on alternate days. She said she would start when I am back. I agreed to it. When I came back after a month, we forgot about it. I saw it lying in the corner but the interest that had built up previously had faded away. We did go out for walks. That was the only exercise we did.


    She has an active work style in her department. She has to walk through the wards and visit her patients multiple times a day. The days she has to attend to the outpatients are the most hectic ones. She completed almost double the steps from a normal day. Compared to this I have a very sedentary lifestyle when I am at home. I am mostly lazying around throughout the day. I do climb the two floors twice if I go to drop her off. Otherwise even that doesn¡¯t happen. For this reason, I am much more pro at taking a walk or going for a jog in the evening. I can understand her reluctance to come for a walk. She just wants to spend the rest of the day in peace after her work. That is exactly what I want when I am at my workplace.


    Since I work in the field, I am active throughout the day. I will have to go here and there and climb structures as when needed. I got used to it. That along with a controlled diet helped me maintain my lanky physique. It isn¡¯t muscular. It is more of a lean figure. I am happy with it although I would be happier if I can somehow remove the small belly I have. I don''t want a six-pack. I just want to have a flat tummy.


    Because of this active lifestyle, I never worked out. I would rather play some kind of sport if we had the time. If we returned early from our worksite we would play volleyball or badminton. If there was a trek coming up, I would wake up and go for a jog. I love to jog in the slightly chilly morning weather for a few kilometers before I began the day. The main problem is always getting out of bed. I used to delegate that duty to my colleague, who was into running and never missed it. Because of him, I was able to run for a few weeks in a stretch. My legs did feel the brunt of it a couple of days into it, but I kept on going. I was more fit four years back than I am now.


    One of the major problems is my sweet tooth. I just love sweets. I would rather have the desserts in a buffet than the main course. Desserts mean heaven. I know sugar is the culprit when it comes to weight loss. I am not looking for any weight loss. I want to just reduce my belly. It requires proper workouts, which I was not into. Now the extra few kilos I have put in has everything to do with my sugar intake. My current workplace has a better menu to offer. I was enticed by the prospect of two desserts that were being served for lunch and dinner. Already I was eating less. I maintained that but my intake of desserts increased. Over time it contributed to the added weight that I carry around. I want to cut short my intake, but it is not easy. Once I tried to, but it lasted only a couple of days. I gave in to the temptation of hot gulab jamuns for lunch.


    If the current scenario has to continue for a while I guess I don''t have to worry much about my diet. I will only be eating what is available to me. I can''t demand desserts or sweets. If there is no electricity all the ice creams would melt soon. They would all go bad in a few days. The same applies to all fresh fruits and vegetables, milk, curd, cheese, meat and meat products, and anything that is frozen. All will begin to thaw soon and perish.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I will have to stock up on my supplies tomorrow if the situation remains. The food in my fridge will also go bad soon. There isn¡¯t much in it, so that''s good.


    But all the shops are closed. None of them are open. I will have to hack into one of them and get my supplies. I think of the supermarket that we frequently visit. It has all the things that I need. I don''t know if I will be able to get in. I will have to go and see to it. I also need to gather the tools I have at home. I will need things to break open a lock or the glass.


    I get out of my chair and approach the space under the wash basin. The few tools we have are kept here. I take out the small cardboard box containing them. There is a hammer, a couple of long screwdrivers, a plier, and an adjustable spanner. The hammer is the kind used for driving nails into walls. But it is sturdy. It is useful. I decide to take all of them. I pick them up one by one and put them in another compartment of the backpack. It suddenly reminded me of the big strong knife that we use to break open the coconuts. I walk into the kitchen and take it out from one of the bottom shelves. This would be of great use. I walk back and put it into the bag. I lift it to see if it weighed too much. It doesn¡¯t. There is a hardware shop along the road, near where I had found the first crashed car. I think I should visit it first. It will give me more tools.


    Apart from the dry ration, the only things that have a long shelf life are canned foods. Dad used to buy canned tuna and some other canned fish in my childhood. No one uses canned food here because everything that we need to run a house is readily available in the market. It is accessible to everyone. Even the homes that lie deep into the high ranges cook with fresh ingredients. Also, there has never been a culture of using canned products. Locally the fish gets dried and salted, leading to a much better shelf life. Then we have jams and pickles. I can resort to them for a while.


    I am thinking of how I can keep my fridge running. I cannot connect it to the inverter. It draws a large amount of power which the inverter is incapable of supplying. It will trip and not function. The only other way of powering my fridge is by using a small generator, the ones used for lighting purposes in a wedding or an outdoor function. I will have to read the specs to see if it will be suitable for my purpose. It can power my home also. I can get it to charge the inverter. If I get one, it is sure to be useful. I will have to find one that can be lifted and carried two floors into my home. I have seen ads for small ones that can be pushed and picked up without much effort by a single person. I will have to find a showroom that deals with such kind of equipment. I haven''t come across one till now, or I might have missed it as it wasn¡¯t of any significance to me. For the connections, I will have to visit an electrical store. There is one close to Pongumoodu junction. I will get all the necessary stuff from there.


    I feel a bit sweaty. I decide to take a bath. I look at the electronic items I had kept for charging. The walkie-talkie is fully charged, its adapter lighting up green. I take it out. I fetch my phone and put it for charging. I walk into my room. I open our cupboard and take out a boxer and a tee. I turn on the light in the bathroom. I open the door and look at the hanger. The towel is already in it. I enter with the fresh boxer in my hand.


    I am going to take a cold shower. In this heat and sweaty weather, I don''t think I can bathe in hot water. It is quite the opposite for Anna. She always prefers to have a hot shower. She goes into a state of trance when the hot water hits her. She forgets everything else and enters a blissful state. She can stay in that forever. I too have felt the bliss at times. At my workplace, some days are just too cold to take a cold shower. I would turn on the hot water. It really does soothe and relax you. You feel as if all the pain is fading away the more you stay in the hot shower. I mostly want the water to be not cold. I am happiest with normal water. I can''t handle the piping hot water as she does.


    I look at the bottles of hair care products that are lined up on the low ventilator sill. Amongst them is this body wash my friend gifted me when he came back from Germany. It had an awesome mint lime fragrance to it. We love it. I wasn¡¯t a fan of body wash. I always used a bar of soap. I feel the body wash is an uneconomical product. You are not sure how many washes it will give you for the price you are paying. At its price, you can get soaps that will last much longer. I have a small bottle in my travel pouch. It does come in handy when I am traveling. That is the only advantage I see to it. But this one changed my perception of it. I began to use it for the fragrance. It was really soothing. She too became a fan of it. The bottle is almost finished. We tried looking online for its availability. It wasn¡¯t available in the Indian market. We looked for alternatives. None of them offered the kind we wanted. We felt a bit sad.


    I pick it up and look at it. There are two or three washes left in it. I keep it back. I am saving it for her. I love to smell it on her more than on myself. I step back out of the range of the shower and turn it on. Cold water rushes out of it. I wet my feet first. It is cold. I wait for a while. It becomes less cold. I enter the stream of water and feel the cold engulf me. I don''t shudder like I always do. I stay still in it. I wish it would wash away my pain.

 1.46

    I stood still in the shower for a few minutes. I don¡¯t move. My eyes are closed. I focus on the water falling on my body and the sensation it creates. It is soothing me. At the same time, my mind is flying through strong turbulence. Emotions are welling up once again. It seems everywhere I go, everything I interact with here will lead to this. Everything has her presence. I think I am experiencing a similar feeling she would have gone through when I was away for work for weeks. I knew I couldn¡¯t comprehend it because I wasn¡¯t in the same situation. Now I am. It is haunting.


    It suddenly dawns on me the water might run out if I waste it. I turn off the tap. The water supply comes from the municipality. It is stored in a huge underground tank after which it is pumped up into the overhead tanks. I don''t know exactly when they do this. I have heard the pumps running at some times and the sound of the water overflowing from the tanks. I don''t know if mine was filled or not. I will have to check it. I will do it in the morning.


    I take the soap and quickly apply it to my body. I take some shampoo and lather up my hair. I massage it for a while and let it be. In the bucket below the shower, some water has accumulated. I scoop it up with the mug and use it to wash my body. I switch to the shower to rinse off the shampoo. I don''t waste much time on it. I try to be as efficient as I can. I am done with the bath. I take the turkey towel and dry myself. I put on my boxer and open the door. I dump the used boxer into the laundry bag. It reminds me the washing machine will not work. I will have to wash them myself. I ruminate on whether I should wash them now. It can wait. I get out of the bathroom.


    The water issue is something that has caught my attention. It has to be addressed. I skip wearing my tee. It is hot. I am sure I will be sweaty in an hour''s time. I dry my hair once again, put away the towel and go into the hall. I walk to the study desk and take out a paper, in case I have to write down something.


    The blackout and the fact that power is not going to return have really brought in a dicey situation. Let us consider the case of water. Since no pumps will run, the existing water supply in the overhead tanks is all that there is. Near the first crash site, there is a huge tank. It belongs to the water authority. It feeds the water to its surroundings. Whatever water is left in it is all that there is. I think the municipality line that brings water to my home is coming from this tank.


    Considering my home, I should look at how much water is left in the overhead tank. They are placed on the roof above the staircase. It is nearly eight feet higher than the open terrace. There is a ladder leading to it. I haven''t climbed it. All six residents have been allotted their own individual tanks. As such, I won¡¯t be able to draw out the water from the rest of them without making some modifications to the pipeline. I know basic plumbing but that is not a solution. If I can get my hands on a small portable pump, I might be able to empty them one at a time to mine. Once again it will require electricity. I need to get a portable Genset. It is the one essential thing that will help me get by if this ordeal continues.


    There is another solution to this. I will have to check out how much water is there in the underground tank. It lies in the pillared section of the building. The structure of our apartment is built on top of a pillared foundation as the land is uneven. It is actually on the slope of a tiny hillock. The owner parks his cars in the vacant area. I have seen the large white tank jut out from the ground in a corner. Accessing it would be easy. I think there will be water running through the municipality line. It will only stop when the water in the large overhead tank runs out. Now if this is all good, I need to provide power to the pump to fill my tank. Once again I will be needing a Genset for it.


    I try to rack my brain into remembering a shop I might have across selling such equipment during all the journeys I have done in the past year. The images that come are from a couple of similar shops in my hometown. Towards the town''s outer end, a couple of shops cater to farming needs. They sell Genset, pumps, motors, cutters, etc. There is one shop that only sells products of a Swedish brand. It is this image that comes to my head.


    The water situation can be tackled. That''s good. I am thinking in a much more logical and rational manner. In these few minutes, I have kept my emotions at bay. They haven''t overwhelmed me. I was able to think and function properly. I need to be in this state more often.


    Suppose there isn¡¯t much water left in the underground tank and the main storage tank in Pongumoodu. I will have to resort to finding out some other means of getting water. There isn¡¯t a well on this property. But there are wells in the adjacent ones. I can pump out the water from there. This should be everlasting since my consumption isn¡¯t much. I am sure that a full tank can run for three or four days. I will use it to cook, wash the dishes and clothes and take a bath. There is no other need for water. I can delay the washing of clothes if needed. There are plenty of tees and pants in the cupboard.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Ultimately I need to find myself a power source. Preferably a lightweight one that can be easily transported. I will get the fuel for it from the petrol bunks. They should have enough fuel to support me for a very long time. I will have to arrange a couple of jerkins to store them. The hardware store is also a must-visit.


    As I was thinking of all this, it slowly dawned upon me that the petrol bunks will not work without power. The dispensing machines need the power to pump out the fuel. The fuel is stored in underground tanks. This got me worried for a second. But then I realized they must be having a backup power source, a mini generator of sorts that would power their establishment. I have seen it near the office. I think I will be able to get them running without many hassles. They should be equipped with an easy start and stop mechanism. In one of the bunks, I had seen the same mini DG that was used at my workplace. I haven''t switched one on, but I know how to do it. I hope the ones here are similar to it.


    If all goes well, I will fire up the DG and fill up as many jerkins with fuel as I can. These bigger generators run on diesel. I don''t know what kind of fuel the smaller Genset will run on. If they run on petrol, I need to keep aside a jerkin of diesel to feed the DG. It should have some reserve diesel for now. But let me not be complacent. I need to take precautions and not slip on trivial details. Also, I need to note down all these things for reference. This piece of white paper will not do. I look at the table. I see a dairy I had gifted her at the start of the new year. I pick it up and open it.


    ¡®Let your thoughts and emotions find a place in these bound yet boundless papers. Love. Yours truly.¡¯


    I had written this. It reminded me of her smile as she opened it and read it out loud. I flip to the next page. She hasn¡¯t written anything in it. I wonder if I should use it or not. This is meant to be her, a place where she can write down whatever she wants to. I find myself in a dilemma. Will she like it if I wrote in it? I will be giving it back to her when she is back with me. It will be a testament to how my days were spent trying to survive and make sense of this phenomenon and bring her back. She wouldn¡¯t mind that. Yes! She would be okay with it. I decide to use it as my journal from here onwards. The piece of paper that was used to note down all my observations in the afternoon is lying on the table. I fold it in half and put it into the journal.


    I bought this journal along with an ink pen and some stickers for her as a New Years'' gift. I fixed this after a long deliberation on what would be the best gift for a new beginning. It should be something that will motivate her to take a step in a new direction. It should last for some time, not finish off in a day as in the case of chocolates or sweets.


    She can write. She does write. Initially, when we started to get to know each other, I was posted in a place without stable connectivity. It was very erratic. My network hardly gave me a stable internet connection. A week into my posting the telecom company came and did something to the only tower on the premises as a part of their upgradation plan. The result was the only little network available was gone. It was very frustrating. On the site, I had a very slow internet connection that was provided by the company. Our main form of correspondence switched to mail. We chatted through long emails. We exchanged more than two emails a day. Some would be long and exploring, some short and sweet. She actively took part in it.


    Later on, I was posted to a place with a stable internet connection. We used WhatsApp to communicate. But we still wrote emails to each other. I still do that from time to time. It is not going to stop. It is something we do. Letters brought us together and they will keep us going strong.


    She would write in Malayalam on a piece of paper and send it to me as a picture. All my emails are in English. Seeing one in Malayalam brightens my mood and spirit. I would take my own sweet time to read and soak it. I love it and always tell her to keep writing to me in Malayalam, or English, however, she likes. She writes only when she is in the mood. That is how it should be. You should write when you feel like writing, especially when it is for someone else. Never write for the sake of writing. There will be no life in it, no joy. Thus, when her letter drops in I am excited to read it. I read it multiple times just to relive it. It is a special feeling. She knows this.


    This was a major reason that prompted me to buy this diary for her. Let it be a place where she expresses all that she wants to freely. Let her emotions flow into it along with her dreams and wishes, her joys and sorrows, her ups and down, her ifs and but, her laughter and tears. Let it be where they accumulate safely. Let it be her trove of memories that can be sifted through in the future, reliving them once again with a slight smile.


    The stickers, well I felt them to be cute. She can use them to maybe decorate the insides of it. I don''t know if she will use it. I also bought a couple of washi tapes. It is up to her to use it or not. And now I find myself with the diary in my hand, ready to note down my journey in it. It will be plain and simple, just like me. She is the colorful one. Let her portion remain bright and cheerful.

 1.47

    It seems time has been stretched to the limits. It isn¡¯t passing by. It is only eight-ten. Normally at this time, I would be doing something or the other with her, like playing a game or watching a movie or series. Or maybe even just lying on the bed. I feel as if I am cursed. If so, then it is a really bad one.


    The point it drives through is crystal clear - we are so much dependent on technology and its products that it dictates how our lives go on a minute-to-minute basis. My phone is dead. There isn¡¯t much to do there. I can play some of the offline games I have in it, scroll through the gallery, maybe go through the old chats and read them once again. These are only temporary solutions to the problem at hand. Without the internet, I will not be able to chat with anyone (if there is anyone left). I will not be able to gather any kind of information from the web. I will not be able to search for answers like I used to when I had them working. Google has ceased to exist and without it a lot of instant answers and solutions.


    I can easily kill time by mindlessly scrolling through my Instagram feed. If I am caught up with all the latest updates, I just need to open the search page to be flooded by an infinite list of posts and videos. It doesn¡¯t end. It will never end. That''s how they are created - to keep you engaged throughout. When you are used to it, to the mindless scrolling and infinite options in front of you, how will you cope in a situation when all of it is suddenly unavailable? Will you be able to accept the drastic change it has caused in your life? Or will you succumb to it and let it play around with your head, subjecting you to feelings that were being powered by an algorithm? Why hasn¡¯t anyone thought of a social media system in which everything is moderated? The content you see is limited, the likes and comments you can give are limited, the searches are limited, and everything is within bounds. Won''t it push you to make mindful choices, select only what you really want, and appreciate things that really need to be appreciated? Will it not promote better quality because of a lack of quantity? I would always prefer to go for quality rather than quantity. Limitless as a concept is fine, but practically it is dangerous. There should be limits in place. Otherwise, how would you appreciate what you have in hand? Everything in this cosmos is finite. Why shouldn¡¯t technology be so? Why can''t it be designed to enforce sensible limits?


    I know it doesn¡¯t make any sense but this is something I strongly feel. I have cut down on my Instagram use a lot. I have unfollowed all those who don¡¯t matter to me. I only get notifications and stories from my close friends. Because of my work pattern and the remote sites I work in, I go weeks without proper internet. In some sensitive locations, I have to surrender my phone. It becomes a forced detox on me. I am able to survive them. When I am come out of it, initially the fear of missing took over. I would go through the feeds of my friends and see what I missed. Nowadays that urge is also gone. There is nothing important I have missed. If there was one, I would have been notified of it by someone through any other means. There is a need to declutter our lives of all the anxiety-inducing stuff. Life is simple. It should remain as such.


    I can write something to while away the time. Writing has always been therapeutic for me. It takes me to a blissful state. I am talking about casual writing, like letters. When I write them, I am wholly present in the moment. Sometimes I start it with the feeling of having much to say. But I end up without writing much. It seems what I had in mind has made it into paper in the least possible words. I don''t prolong the mail. I wind it off. I don''t want to push myself into writing for the sake of it. That defeats the purpose with which I had sat down. It also puts me in a different state of mind, which is quite opposite of what writing means to me. I know when to stop it when. I let the words flow when they are flowing. I stop when they are done.


    Two decades ago, mobile phones were just entering the Indian market. They were costly to maintain. I remember the first mobile phone that my father bought for us. It was a basic one. The plans were costly. One gets charged for incoming calls as well. We took it instead of a landline. It served the purpose of calling. Beyond that, there was nothing much to it. It had a couple of games in it. I played them sometimes. Mom wouldn¡¯t allow me to play for long as the battery gets drained quickly. Even though I had a video game console back then, playing on this new handheld device was a novelty. I don''t think anyone would have thought two decades later this small thing that they held in their hands would rule their worlds.


    That was the time of television and cable TV. It was the quintessential form of entertainment. Everyone had a TV. Most of them had a cable connection too. We killed time in front of it. Our meals could be easily fed to us if our favorite shows were airing as we ate. Television will never go out of fashion. It will keep evolving. It is basically a screen. And we are living in a world dominated by screens. With the advent of streaming services it has undergone, it owns its fair share of evolution. It is surely keeping itself in time. I can load a movie into a pen drive and plug it into the TV to watch its contents. It will provide me entertainment even in this direst of all hours.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Black mirrors will surely keep us entertained. That is what I can make of all this. They are a part of our life, an integral part. And they are here to stay.


    With the penetration of these black mirrors deep into our lives, we have resorted to a much more chilled-out, sedentary lifestyle. We have all the knowledge and resources we want in our hands. But do we really know how to put them to practical use?


    In my current situation, I realize I need to depend on basic survival skills. I have to be concerned about food and water, shelter and clothing - the basics. Nothing else matters. I need to have them figured out before I can go around finding what has happened. I will have to move more. I will have to use force when needed and do things that would have been difficult for me in normal times. I need to switch to a version of myself that will adapt to my current scenario. It is going to be stripped of the comfort that had engulfed our lives in recent times.


    Consider food. I need to preserve as much of it as I can. They are all going to get spoilt soon. I will have to depend on alternatives when it happens. Dry provisions will last for quite some time. Fruits and veggies will not. So will all the dairy products. Meat and fish products can be frozen and made to last for a long time provided they are kept frozen. Canned foods will stay. I can learn to make bread. I mean I know a part of it from the sourdough experiment I had done. I can take it forward from there. I can get an oven for myself from a shop. I know how to make rice. There will be plenty of rice and flour sacks in the supermarket. They will last for a lifetime. But I can''t keep on having them forever. I will need to mix it up from time to time.


    I will need to get some multivitamins too. I might go behind in some nutritional aspects because of the less variety. I will have to supplement them artificially. I am not worried about food. I know I can very well live on whatever meager things I can get. I have learned to live by eating what is needed for me. This has allowed me to keep my weight in check. I have seen people at my workplace consume more than what is needed. They do field work and they feel this is heavy labor. In fact, it is not. If you round up the whole day''s activity, it might just come to an hour-long intense workout session. People don''t realize this and end up with a belly.


    My active lifestyle at my work site has contributed to my physique. There is a small belly. I think I won''t be able to get it off. I don''t work out for it. I might walk for an hour. Nothing more than that. If I get pumped up, I might do some planks and a few basic exercises. That''s it. If needed I can get on a sprint and sustain it for a while. I can lift heavy stuff too.


    Physically I am good to go. I can maybe start working out and be in better shape. I will be killing time too. Two birds with one stone. I am more concerned about my mental and emotional space over this period of time. It has been good till now. No problems whatsoever. The current situation is however very different from anything anyone would have undergone. No books or therapy can equip you with the tools to deal with this.


    I need to keep myself occupied. That is the only solution I can think of now. It is definitely not a long-term one. I will run out of ways to be busy. What will I do then? I hope I can get to the bottom of this before such a situation arises.


    On one of the corners, I see her mandala coloring book. I pick it up. I bought it a long time ago. But I never used it. I never felt like coloring in it. It was lying in my cupboard back in my hometown. I gave it to her when I saw her paint a picture for me when I was away for work. It was simple and sweet. She had a few coloring pens. She used them to color a couple of mandalas. They came out pretty good. She had clicked them and sent them to me last time. She does it when I go away for work to kill time and relax.


    I browse through the pages. I come across a couple of completed ones. They are really beautiful. Then I come across a half-filled one. I remember her showing me this. It was one of the first mandalas to be colored in. She hadn¡¯t finished it though. When she showed it to me I expressed my desire to finish it. That is why she left it. I didn¡¯t put any effort to finish it though.


    I pick up a couple of colors from the lot. She had colored them with shades of red, orange, yellow, and baby pink. I pick up yellow and blue. I don¡¯t want to overdo it. She had done the inner part. I start from where she had left off. I take the blue sketch and fill in the pattern in a clockwise direction.


    I complete it in my own time. I feel oddly relaxed. I decide to put off yellow for some other part of the mandala. I pick the orange sketch pen and proceed to color the next pattern with it.


    I finish the mandala. It looks really good. I hope I did a good job in completing what she had started. I look at the time. It is five minutes to nine. Forty-five minutes had gone by without even realizing it. Forty-five minutes of peace and zen. Yes, I was in a zen state. I know I can get into it if I do something mindful. But I never take an effort toward it. I would rather kill time browsing mindlessly through my social media accounts rather than do something artsy and liberating.


    I haven''t wasted time not thinking of what to do tomorrow or how to come up with an explanation and a solution to this phenomenon. I needed time for myself. This was it. We all need time for ourselves, without which I don''t think we can function properly. I feel much better than I was an hour ago. I guess I have rediscovered a way to remain sane.

 1.48

    I am in a better state of mind. I want it to continue. I don¡¯t know what gets into me but I find myself getting up from the study table and walking away from it with purpose. I reach the charging point and check my phone. It is full. I take it out. I take her phone and charger and plug them in. I take out the torch and switch it on. It is charged and bright. I go to our bedroom, pick up the tee lying on the bed and wear it. I approach the sofa and pick up the trousers that I had worn the entire day. It is not dirty or sweaty. I give it a quick smell check. No malodor. I get into them. I take my phone and the torch from the table and walk towards the door. I take the scooter key from the coffee table and shove it into the pocket along with my phone. I am going for a small night excursion¡ªjust a night walk. I take the scooter key in case I need to use it.


    I get out of the house and lock the door behind me. There is no need for locking it but still. Another force of habit. An essential one that I don''t want to change. It is pitch black. My eyes take time to adjust to it. I can figure out shapes in the darkness soon enough. I have kept the tube light on in the hall. I don''t want my house to look all dark and gloomy when I return from my walk. I won''t be gone for long. Maybe an hour. I want to go through my surroundings in the darkness, and see if I can find out anything of interest from it although the possibility of it is very less. I press the calling bell of the opposite house. It doesn¡¯t ring. The calling bell isn¡¯t connected to the inverter.


    I switch on the torch. Its beam penetrates the darkness sharply. I can see the stairs and the surroundings. I switch it off. I know the stairs. I have been using them for quite some time. I use the handrail as a guide and descend at a steady pace. I don''t want to overdo it. I can switch on the torch and go, but I don''t want to. I realize I need to get used to the darkness if things are to remain the same.


    I exit the stairs and it''s final landing onto solid ground. In total darkness, everything feels a bit weird. The owner has secured the premises with several CCTV cameras. One of them sits right in front of the entrance. It usually has a ring of red led lights with a faint glow which aids in capturing video in darkness. I don''t see it. It seems they don''t have any backup power. I guess it isn¡¯t as effective as it seems.


    I switch on my torch towards the gate. The light reflects off two round things, with a slight color change from the top of the wall. A cat sits on top of it. It jumps off towards the other side of the wall when the light gets switched off. It lands with a soft thud following which silence prevails.


    I walk towards the gate. Up in the sky, the stars are in plenty. They are one of the things that I have come to appreciate in the darkness. Their faint glow and numbers are truly a spectacle to behold. In my workplace, I go out into a secluded dark corner during my night shifts and stare out into the sky. Orion is the easiest constellation seen in the night sky. The three stars forming the belt of the hunter are brighter than anything in the vicinity. During sunsets I see Venus or Mars - I can''t say for sure which is which. I see it lit up brightly on the western horizon as the sun sets.


    The eerie silence has taken a different form after sunset. There is the constant chirping of crickets at regular intervals. Then there is a slight ruffling of the grass nearby. It must be the cat. All the nocturnal beings have come alive. They are surely gonna revel in this long-lost darkness. They might take time to get used to it which shouldn¡¯t be much, as they were made to live in such circumstances.


    I exit the gate. Before I turn left and leave towards the main road of our street, I turn to my right and switch on my torch. It lights up the huge mango tree and a couple of coconut trees on the property after the downhill portion of the road. I shine the light on the nearby houses. I get no response from any one of them. They remain dark and empty.


    I start walking towards the road. I still have my torch lit. I shine it on the road ahead just to get a view of it. I know it by heart but still. Something moves in the small grass cover right next to the road. I shine my light on it. The grass lits up with a bluish hue. The movement has stopped. It must have been a rat. I shine the light along the length of the road, throwing light on the grass cover that has grown on its fringes. It seems to have grown up. I have never paid any attention to it. I feel as if it has grown more than it had previously. It can also be that my mind is playing a trick on me. It is dark and I am alone which is the perfect condition for fear to set in. I shrug it off and switch off the light. I continue my walk.


    There is a small intersection along this section of our by-lane. Another lane starts off perpendicular to this one. There are few houses along that lane. I have never taken it. I take the right turn to it. I switch on my light now. This lane is not familiar and so I need some assistance. I can see that the lane doesn¡¯t extend too much. The lane disappears into a turn. I wonder how far it goes. I shine the light on the houses on either side of the lane. They are all well-built. Judging by their sizes and construction they belong to upper-middle-class families. At the start of the lane, the house numbers are written on the wall of the first house along it. I have seen it as I drive past it. I think there are less than ten homes. I am not sure. I turn back and shine the light on the end of the wall. I see the range written on it. There are eight homes.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I hear dogs howling in the distance as I walk through this new lane. It is completely dark, silent, and still, a state that isn¡¯t conducive to exploring a new area. As I approach the turning, the house in front of the bend has a small light blinking on its entrance. I move closer to the gate and shine my light on it to get a better view of it. In shades of orange and red, the small light burns in front of a framed painting of Jesus praying on top of the garden of Gethsemane. In the darkness, the flickering light creates an atmosphere of reverence and hope. I join my hands and pray for his guidance and deliverance from this test.


    It reminds me of how my mother used to always pray for me before I left for writing an exam or sit for an interview. She would hold me close, face the picture of Jesus hanging on the wall and pray for the best outcome. Initially, when I was small I interpreted the prayer as getting a positive result in whatever I was attending. Later on, I realized that it wasn¡¯t praying for a positive result, but rather a result that would be best for me. This meant even if I got an unfavorable result, it was the best that had to happen. Mother believed if one didn¡¯t happen, another would. What we think we want in life may not be what we actually need in life. And there is a big difference between them. I have realized this and appreciate it. In a way, you are coming to terms with your fate and accepting it for what it is all the while believing all that happens, happens for a reason. You are obviously washing away your hands from taking responsibility for your life. I guess this is allowed from time to time. The balance lies in knowing the cards dealt to you aren¡¯t in your hands but to make the most of it is surely yours.


    I continue through the turn. The road ends in a few meters. A house sits at the end of it. It has a good amount of frontage which has been widely used to make a garden. I shine my torch on it. From what I see, it has been maintained meticulously. A lot of effort has gone into it. A costly car sits in the parking bay. I switch off my torch. Darkness reigns over me instantly. There is no trace of movement in it or anywhere in this lane. I turn around and go back the way I came. Enough exploration for a night. I am going to stick on the road I know.


    I exit our by-lane and enter the street. The streetlights are all out. I can make out the broad road in front of me without much difficulty. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. vehicles that are parked on the right side of the road close to the wall. One of them is a small goods carrier. I don''t know if it belongs to the people who stay at the property having the wall. It is no ordinary wall. It is huge and high. I have seen the house from the gate. It is huge. The gate is motorized. I had seen it open once. Some millionaire for sure. Their outhouse lies close to the wall, bordering on the edge that ends in our lane.


    Adjacent to them is another huge house. I think it has two or three floors. Once when I was walking with Anna on a fine evening, I happened to look at the house. My gaze had fallen on the topmost level of it. It has an open roof. Through it, I could see the night sky. It felt eerie because of the absence of any kind of lighting. I pointed it to her. She too felt the same eeriness. Today the effect seems to have compounded. It looks like a haunted mansion.


    I see some movement up ahead. I light my torch. A couple of dogs look back at me. I see their eyes sparkle in the light. One of them starts with a low bark. The other follows it. I stop in my tracks. I stay still and switch off my light. The barking ends in a small growl. I wait for a few more seconds. In the darkness I see their silhouette cross the road and enter another lane. I flash my torch in that direction. They have gone in. I switch it off and walk ahead.


    When I am away at work, if she has a night shift or feels like she will be late to come back home, she would take the car. One of the reasons is these dogs. Once when I was coming back with her in our scooter following some shopping that got delayed, these dogs barked at her and gave a small chase halfway along this street. I don''t know if the dogs would have chased us all the way. It was well past nine. From then on it was decided to avoid scooters after dark. In regards to safety, I don''t think there is much of an issue. But our house is nearly one and a half kilometers inside from the main road. Although it is an old and reputed colony and populated by the well-off strata of the society, one can¡¯t say for sure.


    I want to believe the people living here are good. There will be security for everyone alike. But the times aren¡¯t as such. One has to be ever vigilant and be completely responsible for their safety and security. I wish society hadn¡¯t come to such a situation. Without trust in it, how can it function properly? The last two decades have seen us be more social in a virtual space. In the physical realm, we hardly know even our neighbors. Therefore there is no surprise for the lack of trust. It is something that is earned through physical interactions. People have to meet and greet for it to grow and flourish. They have to come together to help one another in times of need. For that, we have to open up and open our doors to our neighbors. If the phenomenon can be reversed with some change in it, I want something of this sort to happen. I want the world to be done with all the hatred, jealousy, and selfishness and to be more cooperative, respectful, and mindful of our fellow humans. We need to come together as a unit to reach our true potential.

 1.49

    One thing I have noticed now is I am not in the gloomy state I was heading to before I got out of the house. I am alert and feeling energetic. I am focused on what lies ahead and in a state of anticipation. The darkness and the haunting silence demand this. I need to provide it too, otherwise, I should have just stayed back at home, brooding over what I can do and what I cant do. Currently, there isn¡¯t much I can do. Whatever has to be done will be taken care of in the morning. The twelve hours of daylight is all I have to explore and find out more about this phenomenon.


    There are a lot of sounds in the air as compared to the morning. The nocturnal creatures have become active and going about their business. Their sounds populate the surroundings. It somehow has an alternating eeriness to it.


    Sometimes the eeriness goes up when there are no sounds. Compounded by the lack of light in any form in the surroundings, the stillness feels more daunting. It feels as if the stillness is a huge, dark monster that has its powerful hands on your throat. It is slowly delicately squeezing it. You can feel the pressure increasing bit by bit. There is nothing you can do about it cause there is nothing around you when you look. I think it can be best represented in the form of an anime - a dark figure shrouded in the darkest fabric that is constantly in a wave-like motion towering behind with its hands outstretched from the shroud. The hands are dark and bony yet strong and firm with long fingers and pointed nails. Not cold though. Two wispy piercing red eyes glow from the shroud. I will never see them but I can feel them. They stare at me and wait for me to succumb. It is enjoying the slow process of choking me in my own fear. It feeds on it. Today I am its prey.


    When there are sounds - bats, owls, cats, dogs, crickets, the wind blowing on the trees and swaying them in their sleep - it feels more like a regular night. The lack of light somehow enhances the creepiness of the sounds. Still, it feels nothing like the previous case. I would prefer this over the other one.


    I reach the intersection where the by-lane the dogs took begins. I light my torch into it. At the very end of the lane, two sets of eyes sparkle at the light. They stay still for a while after which they get into a low growl. I stomp my feet into the ground in a way of frightening them. They stop their low growl. I bend down to pick up a stone. Sensing my motion, they scamper away from the road. I shine the torch in that direction. A grassy outcrop covers the slope. They disappear into it. I turn off the torch and resume my walk.


    Having adjusted to the lack of light, I am able to make out the road and its immediate surroundings. This is partly because of the open space in between the houses and the road. It allows some of the light to bleed in. It would have been much darker if there was a good green cover, like the plantation roads in my hometown. Or the Munnar tent stay we did two years ago.


    The group I am talking about was formed at a small event in Trivandrum a few months prior to the trip. I can''t explain how we came together. It just happened. We formed our WhatsApp group and started having discussions and the usual shenanigans of a social media group. All of us were feeling bored and wanted to escape the monotonous everyday life. A plan was hatched to have a small getaway before the monsoons hit us. This was happening the year before Covid. Things were simpler back then. We got together and planned for an offbeat trip to a camping place in Munnar. It required us to trek the hills for nearly an hour to reach the property. I was excited about the prospect of it. I was itching to do some hiking. They would provide only the basic necessities -a tented stay and simple meals thrice a day. There would be no electricity. Network range was only available with one particular network. Luckily we all had the same network. But we didn¡¯t mind if there weren¡¯t any. We wanted to just get lost for the two days we would be spending there.


    We drove down from Kottayam and reached Munnar around two. We had our lunch and stocked up on snacks and savories. It was conveyed to us that once we reach the property it would be difficult to go and get any kind of supplies on an emergency basis. It was atop a hill and very much secluded. We hoped to last the two nights with the two bottles of alcohol we were carrying.


    As said, it took us an hour to reach the property. We were hiking through cardamon plantations and thick hilly vegetation. We were surrounded by trees all around us. It felt very much like a forest. Our guide took us through it with ease, stopping in between at a small stream to freshen ourselves. The cold water shook away the weariness in some of us. While we were driving towards Munnar, one of our friends told us his two school friends were also traveling to Munnar. They had booked a place near the town. If they didn¡¯t like it they wanted to join us. We were okay with it. It all depended on the availability of the property. We called them and asked if there was room for two more people, in case of an emergency. They agreed to arrange another tent for them. We conveyed the matter to his friends. They went ahead of us to check on their property. It turned out to be nothing as advertised on the website. They let it go and decided to join us. I was concerned about how our booze will be split now. My friend gave me the good news that they were carrying a bottle with them. We should be well off. I was relieved. I wanted to have at least one good glass of alcohol in the night in such a setting. Also, it was expected to become colder as the night progressed¡ªnothing better to keep us warm than a good serving of whisky, neat.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The property was along the slope of the hill. It had a small house, which was the last one on the hill. The house was very basic. Our tents were behind the house, in a small clearing. We were completely engulfed in the lap of nature. Tall trees surrounded us in all directions. We settled ourselves in our tents following which we were given hot black tea. It refreshed our weary souls. The trek was a bit difficult for one of our friends, but he managed to pull it off in the end. We didn¡¯t know it would be so long and would have to climb uphill all the way. We took a rest and got to know the people inhabiting the house.


    The property was bought by a young chap of our age. He had had enough of city life and wanted to stay in the countryside. Somehow the idea came up for having his own property away from the hustle and bustle of the main town. He found this property and bought it with all his savings. It belonged to an elderly couple who had come here as immigrants from the neighboring state to work in the plantations and hills. Their children were educated and left them to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Their initial plan was to sell off the property and leave to live with one of their children. But it didn¡¯t materialize for some reason. The guy who bought the property was more than happy to have them stay back at the house. The couple in turn helped in the cooking and feeding aspect of the stay.


    I was envious of the fact that the huge property was owned by this chap. I too have dreams of buying a home in the hills. It became compounded having witnessed this. There was no electricity. The limited charging was done with the power generated by a couple of solar panels. Water was flowing down from the hills. They collected it and used it for all their purposes, even for drinking. It tasted very much like the water we get at home. The couple had lived on it for their entire lifetime. They said they never ran out of it even in the harshest of all summers. The guide, another guy of our age, told us he would show us the source of it when he takes us there the next day. Today he would take us to a nearby viewpoint to watch the sunset.


    He led us through some thick undergrowth, climbing up the hill once again before we reached a rocky outcrop. Climbing up onto one of these rocks, we could see the valley below us. We could not see the sunset as it was cloudy. We relaxed here for a while and enjoyed the cool breeze that was blowing constantly at us. It was really peaceful. We were in good company, enjoying the new friendship we had formed as we got to know each other all the while pulling each other''s leg. The sky was getting darker as time passed by. Streaks of cerulean and purple could be seen between the clearing in the clouds. Our guide told us it was time to leave as the darkness would descend rapidly following which it would be difficult to traverse the terrain. We left our peaceful station.


    Within a few minutes of getting back, darkness descended upon us. A couple of lights powered by batteries were lit. It was getting colder as the night advanced. We huddled around on the porch of the house and played with their dog. He was a young Rottweiler. He hadn¡¯t completely developed his aggressive nature and was friendly to us. He would come and sit beside us and let us pat him. I was surprised to know they were amicable when they were young. They called him Alaska. I loved the name.


    We killed an hour chatting and sharing traveling experiences amongst ourselves and with our host. They were eager to hear our stories and vice-versa. When we started to run out of stories, it was decided to open the bottle of booze and allow it to make us warm and cozy so as to churn out the remaining stories buried deep inside us. What followed was a really merry night. The host made us a small bonfire. The fire was welcomed with open arms. It dispelled the cold and kept it at bay. Along with the whisky going down our throats, we were feeling warm inside and outside.


    The washroom was a makeshift one made a short distance from the front yard. I had the urge to pee after having gotten down two glasses of whisky plus some cold beers offered to us by the host. We appreciated him for his generosity and offered him our whisky in return. The cold beer felt amazing. I wish I had more of it. Anyways, when I got to the washroom with the help of my mobile flashlight, after I was done with my job and getting out, my flashlight went off. It was pitch black, the scary kind. The bonfire was not visible as the shed adjacent to the house was covering it entirely. In that instance, the wind blew through the air. It was a strong gust. I stood still and let it pass. As it blew, the sound it conjured was like a cloud bursting in the sky with the water rushing in the form of a huge wave toward us. It was really frightening. I went back to my group and asked if they had heard the wind. They concurred and expressed how it made them feel. Each had its own version of it. But they all had a common theme, of a disaster.


    Compared to that Munnar night, tonight feels tame. Also, I have a powerful torch with me. I am having access to resources. I may be alone but I am not isolated. I am in a city. That itself is enough to make me feel safe. I know I have a chance to survive in case of an emergency. I want to live and see this through. I want to live so that I can solve this mystery and be done with it. I don''t intend to give up. If it is a fight they want from me, they will get one.

 1.50

    Throughout the day, I have been going through periodic waves of emotions and feelings. At times I am active and thinking rationally and practically, looking forward to the challenge that has been presented to me. I am a guy who loves challenges. I want to be tested day in and day out. I don''t want to go through the same old monotonous shit every day. It just makes me hate whatever I am doing. Until there is some sort of excitement, I don¡¯t have to worry about time passing by. I want to be in a fluidic state, embracing zen whenever I am immersed in something. To have such a state daily is not impossible. You need to be doing that which evokes and engages. It will push you into the zen state, where time flies by. Here you will get the feeling of being one with time.


    The zen I am talking about has come to me whenever I do something creative. I have had deep sessions whenever I sketch. Recently whenever I try to sit and try to learn the fundamentals of music and how it is made, I see myself drifting into that space. Writing does the same too. It is a totally different zen because I do write on a daily basis. The other ones would happen once in a blue moon and so retains their novelty. It appears to be fresh and vibrant every time I get into it. When it comes to writing, I know I am getting the flow. This happens when my words are typed out as they sound in my head. I would be saying the words loudly in my head and getting them down at that instant. Some paragraphs flow with such ease I forget to end them. They just keep on coming. Later when I sit and read it will I realize the need for a break in it.


    Everyday zen is different from occasional zen. Although the latter seems exciting and leaves you in a profoundly blissful state, I am happy to have the former lesser one. It doesn¡¯t make me go all gaga and pumped up. I have gotten used to it so much that it seems like an everyday thing. But it does not fall into the monotonous category because there are days when I struggle. Everyday zen is also hard to find. It might sound as I if I get it effortlessly, but that¡¯s not the case. Somedays the words don''t form inside my head. I sit and try to put out whatever comes up. Sometimes this triggers the flow and they rush out, like a clogged drain getting free. Sometimes they don''t. They remain clogged. I need to squeeze out whatever I have and make something to work with. If I give up, it will only pile up. I need to make sure I never get into a space where it becomes difficult to catch up. Piled-up plates in a clogged drain are a disaster. Clear them up as and when they come cause sometimes they can be the reason for the block.


    So I don''t seek it. I do what is necessary on my part to make sure I get down on whatever I can daily. The blank page does scare me at times. Yet, I get to do my work, one step at a time. That is how I go about my writing. It will be put on a hiatus for now, but that''s okay. I can always write something or the other, like filling up the journal with a summary of the day. Or random thoughts. I really don''t know if I will get the time for it. It requires a certain state of mind which is quite difficult to achieve under these circumstances.


    I keep up my walk as these thoughts come into my head. I see another by-lane on the left. I haven''t explored it. I have explored a couple of them with her on our evening walks. This lane had few houses in it, so the lane would finish off soon. We took the ones that stretched for some distance. One of them went all around to join another lane. Exploring that one felt fruitful. I light up the lane with my torch. It remains silent and motionless. I turn it off and walk ahead.


    I pick up a stone from the edge of the road and throw it as far as I can toward the road ahead. It hits it with a familiar sound and bounces off, followed by the diminishing sound of coming to rest. The thrill with which I had gotten out seems to be waning. I really don''t know what to expect from this encounter in this dark outing. I am surely not going to come across a fire-breathing monster flying through the air that is hell-bent on making me his dinner. Nor am I going to be haunted by evil spirits lurking in the darkness, waiting to feed on my thoughts and drain me of them. I got out of the house on a whim. I was feeling bored. Now, being able to make out the familiar stretch in front of me, I feel there isn¡¯t anything else to be done here. There is no light anywhere. Nor is any motion to be detected. I wonder where the other dogs went to. They should have been lurking around somewhere here. I continue walking.


    There is a small shop on the left side of the road in front of me. It is a very tiny shop. It is made up of makeshift materials. I have seen an old man sitting here. He has very few things to sell. I have seen people smoking cigarettes and bidis near its vicinity. Some ropes are tied onto the front. I suppose they are up for sale. Usually, shops like this in the countryside sell lemon juice or some kind of a drink to freshen up weary passers-by. I haven¡¯t seen anyone drinking anything from here. I reach its front. It is closed. I light my torch on it. The shopkeeper has used wooden planks to seal it shut. That was the only way possible since it is not a concrete structure. I wonder what business he gets through his shop. More than that, I wonder why he is still running it. Has he never been able to make enough to upgrade it and grow along?


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I have come across people from my grandfathers'' generation who have never changed with time. They are mostly businessmen who still go about their establishment as it was before. There are hardly any changes to it. They have made enough money to upgrade themselves and grow into a bigger and better establishment. Yet they refrain from it. They have educated their children and sent them abroad for studies. They aren¡¯t coming back nor can they convince them to upgrade it or change it to match their status in society.


    I feel they do it not for the sake of business or making more money. They do it because that is what they have been doing for the past thirty-odd years. They have found peace in it, a kind of everlasting zen that they are not willing to trade at any cost. They are happy and contended with what they have. They have stopped running the rat race. They were a part of it at one point in time when they started their business. Along the way, they found their rhythm and company. Soon race didn¡¯t matter to them. What mattered was the company and the joy it brought daily. Arent we all looking for the same thing? A sense of belonging amidst the good company of near and dear ones? Once we get it, can we be content?


    It shouldn¡¯t be equated to a lack of ambition. Everyone should be ambitious. One should strive to achieve his maximum potential, push boundaries and explore new frontiers. Being content is when you realize that the ultimate destination of your ambition was to attain a life where you are happy and at peace daily. Contentment is when you can look back at your life and have no regrets. You are happy with the decisions you took. They have contributed to making the big picture that is in front of you now. In retrospect, everything was happening for a reason which you couldn¡¯t fathom at that moment. It is like looking at the valley below from a cliff. You won''t be able to appreciate its beauty from the ground level.


    I feel like going for a run. I feel like running as fast as I can, away from this problem. I want to run away to Anna at a speed that will take me to wherever she is. I want to run away to my hometown to check on my parents and run away to all the possible places on this planet to see if the people that matter to me are alive. I want to run back in time, like Flash, to a time when things were normal and keep on running back and back until I have lived my life to the full with all the people that matter to me.


    Sadly I can''t. I am no Flash or Superman or Doctor Who. I can''t go back in time. I can''t relive my life. I can''t reverse it. I can''t do anything about it. I can only live it as it comes, minute by minute.


    Feeling bored, I light my torch on the houses lined up on my left side. Suddenly something shines on the first floor of the house up ahead. I dash towards it with my torch pointing at it. As I approach it the shining becomes smaller but increases in number. When I reach the front gate, I get a clear picture of the object. They are the shiny decoration on a Christmas tree. A small smile appears on my face.


    Christmas is one festival that is all about enjoying and making merry. It is celebrated widely in the state with much pomp and passion. Everyone joins in to cut cakes, drink wines, and have a sumptuous feast. For the kids, this one week leading up to the new year marks their seasonal holidays. It is a time without any worries, a time for get-togethers of all sorts.


    My Christmas is mostly in my hometown, with my uncles, aunts, and cousins. Dad takes the initiative almost all the time. He also manages to stock up on some good booze that comes out only on Christmas Day. He makes it a point to get a bottle of wine for the ladies. His sister loves wine. A small glass is more than enough to make her tipsy. Mom stays strong, although she never exceeds a glass. Recently I have started stocking up on cold beers for my cousins. The eldest girl, who is of my brother''s age, also joins us to have a glassful. She stays strong. We never give her more than one though. It is always better to be safe than sorry.


    At the dinner table, we gather together to say cheers and feast on the food in front of us. At least two meat dishes will be there. Fried rice has been the staple main course for years now. It isn¡¯t about the food. It is more about coming together and enjoying the good times. After the meal the ones who stay next to our home, leave. Others stay on for a while. They take a nap and wait for the effect of the booze to fade away before they can drive safely back to their homes. If they manage to stay for the night, another round of the booze will pass around. My mom is fine with it. She knows this happens only once a year.


    As for us cousins, when we were young, we would go around talking and playing throughout the day. Some of us would be seeing each other after a long time. We would catch up on all that is happening in our lives. As we grew up we lost our young innocence. We became busy with our lives. We weren¡¯t attentive when we talked. We always had our eyes on our mobile phones, waiting for a call or a text from someone else. It was one time of the year when I wished we were devoid of it. I wanted to relive the old days. They were much deeper and more meaningful because of which they remain etched in my memory more than anything else.


    When I see my young cousins, I always tell them to live out their childhood to the max. They will not know its importance now. I wish there was someone amongst us to tell me this when I was young. I would have tried my best to maximize my experience and make even more memories. Not that I have any complaints with what I have, I just wish I knew its importance back then.

 1.51

    For the past few minutes, I have been wondering about all the stray dogs that used to inhabit these roads after dusk. Apart from the two I saw, I haven¡¯t come across any. I think my thoughts have been answered. I hear barks coming from up ahead. They are growing in numbers. I switch on my torch and light up the road ahead. Cutting in from a lane on the right side a bunch of dogs enters the main road. I guess there are six or seven of them. They dash into the road and stand staring at me. One of them is black in color. They start barking madly at me.


    I stand my ground. I don¡¯t move. I keep my torch fixed on them. They are not moving. They are staying their ground. I mean no harm to them and I guess they want no harm from me. This must be their territory. The other two dogs aren¡¯t a part of this group. I quickly turn my torch to the road behind me. I was expecting the other two dogs to be right behind me, like an ambush. But the road is empty. I quickly bring it back on the dogs in front.


    They haven¡¯t moved at all. The barking has come down a bit. They are sensing that I mean no trouble. Maybe I should just get back home. I look at my watch. It is nine thirty-three pm. It is not late. Besides, I don''t know what I want to do after getting back home. Since I can''t decide, I switch off my light and stay still. The dogs respond to this with a sudden cacophony of barks. I stand still and try to make out their outline in the darkness. A couple of them took a few steps forward. I quickly take up a punching stance with my legs apart. I thump the ground while I take the position so as to scare them. The advancing dogs stop in their tracks. We stand still in our respective positions. This must have lasted for a whole minute. After a long minute, I hear the footsteps of a dog. I can''t make out if any one of them is advancing or not. The black dog is one with darkness. I can''t make him out. The advanced dogs are still in their position. They turn back slowly and walk away. I point my torch to the ground and switch it on. I tilt it in the forward direction so the light starts falling on the road ahead. I see them walking away, all of them. I watch where they are going. They seem to stick to the main road.


    I ask myself if I want to continue with my walk or call it a night. I don''t think the dogs would do anything. Barking dogs seldom bite, that is the proverb. But I can¡¯t take the risk. I wait for a while to see if the dogs change their mind and come back at me. They don''t. They seem to have their own agenda for the night. Maybe they are looking out for food. Maybe they are hungry. I would rather avoid them in that case. One day''s hunger will not bring out the wildness in them but a prolonged one can. I must stick to using my car hereafter. It is safer than a scooter. There will be instances where it will be difficult to navigate out from an accident blocking the road or something of that sort. But that¡¯s okay. I have all the time in the world to find a way through them.


    I turn and walk back to my home. I haven''t spent much time out. The more I am outdoors and doing something, the less I am reminded of our home and what it means to me.


    When we are at home for a long time, we want to get out and go somewhere -maybe on a vacation to the hills or to the beach. It was what I was doing for a major part of my life before I got married. I hardly stayed in my house. I explored places in my free time. After my marriage, I really don''t want to leave home. It is the same feeling with her. She doesn¡¯t want to leave our cozy space. It has become so cozy and intimate, every other place makes us yearn for our little space after a while. Initially, they appeal to us. The freshness and the possibilities of exploring the place await us. Soon we find it has lost its charm. We have enjoyed all it had to offer and now there is nothing new in it. We can¡¯t make a mini makeshift version of what we have back home. That is not possible.


    So the first day is fine. The second day gets to us. If we are to go to a new place from here, the prospect excites us a bit. Still, nothing can beat our home. We do complain about how hot it can get in there, how it accumulates dust over the weeks, and how it can be a pain in the ass to keep it neat and clean. Yet, it is our home. This is where we started our lives. This is where we have spent days and nights huddled together, trying to figure out our lives, how they have intertwined within a short period of time, and how they are going on from here. This is where we have shared our deepest secrets. This is where we have had long quarrels and made up for it. This is where we have entertained our guests and made them feel at ease. This is where we have cried our hearts out. This is where our emotions reside, where they are safe to come out and co-exist.


    This is why our home will always be a difficult place for me to stay without her. Yesterday, even though I never express it, I was going through the same feelings. I was missing her and wanted to be with her. I was waiting for the night to get over. It was not a long night - like the first ones I had when I moved here. But every night without her is a night I want to trade in for being with her.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I start walking back to our home. I light up the road ahead just to check on the dogs. They are not here. The light falls on the nearby house and its garden. The mango tree stands bare. Soon it will be the mango season. I love mangoes. They are a kickass fruit. I remember last year when we had come walking on this road just before the monsoon began, the mango trees along the road were in full bloom. This tree and the ones adjacent and opposite to it had mangoes that were drooping down from the branches. I could easily pluck them. I actually wanted to. But it wasn¡¯t appropriate. So I admired them as they lay on the tree, inviting me. It took me back in time to my childhood days.


    There was a huge mango tree in the apartment complex we stayed when I was in my early teens. I had a lot of friends. One of them was a fearless dude. He would climb this tree to the topmost branches and pluck the biggest mangoes. They were of the raw kind. If my memory is correct they hardly lasted till they ripened. It was a competition between us and the bats as to who would salvage the lot. The bats loved the ripe ones more, so we would pluck them off when they were raw.


    Raw mangoes are a treat in themselves. One of us would rush to our home and bring a plate filled with salt and chili powder. We would dip these raw mangoes in them and enjoy the rush of flavors. That is one time I never wanted the fruit to be sweet. If it was sweet the whole fun would be lost. I think this is the best way to eat raw mango. It is tasty in itself but the added zest of the salt and chili powder just takes it to another level.


    I used to bring some of the leftover mangoes back to my home. Mom would cut them into thin slices and serve them in the same way. My brother loved it. He has always been a spicy person. Given a choice he would most certainly go for the things that aren¡¯t sweet. He only eats them if he sees me eating something sweet. He needs company for it. I am quite the opposite. I would always opt for the dessert section in a buffet. My eyes always go to them. I scan them thoroughly and look for the dessert that is unique. Then I make it a point to focus on it if it turns out to be good. I skip the ice cream, fruit salad, and the usual stuff. You can get them anywhere. I believe in a buffet one should always try out the things that are unique. After you have tried them, you can stick to whatever you have liked the most. Also, make it a point to try out every dish being offered. Even the salads. A spoonful would do. But do try. They can surprise you.


    On my way back I take out my phone. I know there is no network. Yet I check it once again. It shows me what it has been showing me for the whole day, a dead network. I know I must register the fact the networks are not going to come up anymore. But I don¡¯t. There is no way I can single-handedly figure out what to do to get it back online. As I have previously said, I find myself pushed back in time along with the disappearance.


    I know I have been someone who has always yearned for such a day to come. If my Instagram can speak for itself right now it would express its surprise at not finding me spending at least five minutes in it today. This is something new for it. On a normal day the only time, I would be away from it would be when the network is down, or I have run out of my data pack. As soon as I am back online, you will find me doom scrolling through it, trying to catch up to the things I missed out in that small instance.


    The latest thing that has grabbed my attention is Reddit. I am not proficient at it but I know it is a really powerful thing. I have been into some of the communities in it. I think it can turn out to be the next big thing in the coming years. One of my best friends is a huge fan of it. He has even sent me a text in capitals exclaiming Reddit is the thing of the future. It came out all of a sudden one evening. I had to call him up and ask him what it was all about. He sounded excited. He couldn¡¯t explain it to me properly but the gist was that Reddit was evolving at such a pace that made him feel it held the future of the internet with it.


    I am someone who enters and exits it whenever I come across some interesting articles. I like to read the comments that follow below it. It reminds me of the comments under youtube videos. They are a gem. I sometimes stop the video midway and read the comments to get a feel of it. In there you will find some of the best puns, life stories and experiences, curses and gang wars, and whatnot. I have introduced it to my wife. She did have a bit of fun reading all the comments in one of the comedy videos. But she hasn¡¯t stuck to it. She is more into consuming them whenever she is doing some work. These videos act like an engaging agent for her. She actively listens to it while she is going about her primary task. She is a good multitasker in that regard. I can¡¯t do it. I need to focus my attention on one thing before I can think of jumping into another no matter how trivial it is. If I wake up to the sound of a YouTube video in the morning, it means she is busy cooking breakfast.


    Instagram, Reddit, and YouTube sit in front of my home screen as I unlock it. I click on the Reddit icon to see the ¡®Not connected to the Internet'' message pop out. I exit it. The only apps that will be of any use to me are the alarm clock, camera, calendar, gallery, notes, and music player. I open the music player, search for my favorite Malayalam rock band and play their album. The groovy tunes of Nada Nada play out from the phone. I max out the volume, stash my phone back into my pocket and continue on my way back home.

 1.52

    I feel light in my feet. It is because of the music coming out from my phone. I love music. It has an important place in my life. It has been a refuge for me in dire times as well as a medium for sharing my happiness during the good times.


    I used to listen to quite several bands and artists during my school days. It was the time of audio CDs. They were costly. Also, they contained only an album full of songs which would amount to some ten-fifteen songs. Some of them would stretch this limit by one or two but that was it. Then came the era of MP3. I was glad it happened. A blank CD cost fifteen to twenty rupees. A CD can hold nearly 150 songs. That was a tenfold increase in the number of songs that can be squeezed into a single disc. I did ask one of my computer geek friends how this was possible. As far as I knew the size of the discs being used for the audio CDs and these MP3s were the same. The difference was in the quality of the music that was being stored on these discs. I took the information in but it had little importance. I wanted to have as many songs as possible in a single disc. I didn¡¯t find any difference in the quality of the music coming out from the two formats. I went back to writing CDs in MP3 format.


    At fourteen my music tastes were limited to boy bands and pop hits. My primary influence was MTV and V channel in the telly. I didn¡¯t have much taste in English music back then. I was more into burning Malayalam and Hindi songs. I didn¡¯t have a CD writer back then. So I used my friends to burn the songs that I loved to hear.


    Two years later Dad gifted me a small MP3 player. It had 512 MB of space in it. It was tiny and used AAA batteries to run. He knew the problem of running out of batteries. To counter that he also bought me a pair of rechargeable batteries and their charger. I was sorted with my music. I used to copy all the songs that I loved into it from my computer and listen to them on the go. It became one of my trusted companions when I traveled for my coaching classes after school and on holidays.


    My tastes in music were refined as the weeks passed because the boys in our class would come together and talk about the new songs they had discovered and were listening to. By new songs, I am not referring to the new releases. It simply means a new discovery. Like the songs by Akon and All Rise by the band Blue. This song was being sung out loudly during recess times. It became so popular among us, we decided to sing it out in a group for the farewell of our seniors. Needless to say, it was a disaster. I mean we thought it went well. But later on, when we came to know about it, we realized it was horrendous. Since we had performed it as a group, the shame got divided among us and became meager. Put this topic up for any discussion with any of my school friends and it would result in a contagious laughter session. I still don''t know why we did that.


    Fast forward to my college days. Whatever tastes I have in music are all because of my exploration over these four years. In the first year, the seniors in my hostel would play out some of the upcoming Bollywood movie songs on repeat for hours and hours. These became ingrained in me to a good extent. I still remember those songs and their lyrics. In the second year, I graduated from having a basic phone to one with a memory card and extra features - essentially a music and video player. It was a time when micro SD cards were catching up to the needs of all who needed extra space in their mobile phones. I had mine filled with music I had been listening to in my school days. That year itself half of it was replaced by rock songs. I was introduced to the world of rock music. I took my baby steps by listening to Metallica, Linkin Park, and the like. Their songs held a prominent place in the phone.


    I don''t know how it came but the music that followed this phase was Death Metal. Lamb of God, Children of Bodom, and similar bands started to impress me. The growling vocals were something that fascinated and gripped me. I would growl from time to time in my bathroom at my home. It was sort of letting go of all that was happening to me. I was growing up through adolescence. My hormones were raging. There wasn¡¯t any way to vent them out except this. I felt as if music understood me. For college fests, most of the bands that came to play took to this genre and rocked the crowd with their beats. I fondly remember how Purple Blood (a band from a prominent college in the city) was an act we all looked forward to listening to. Their anger and frustration were ours. Their head banging and screaming were ours. Their rhythm and thumps were ours. It brought in a feeling of being in a collective, which was what we wanted at that age.


    As I started consuming more and more music, I came across Avial. It has struck with me ever since. I remember how I was mesmerized by a rock band making such beautiful songs in Malayalam lyrics. The songs felt like folk songs adapted for the modern generation. The eight songs in their first and only album have been with me ever since. They bring in me an energy I can''t describe in words. No matter how low or high I might be, their songs ground me. They make me sing to their lyrics and transport me to a world that is simple and peaceful.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Along with Avial came Motherjane. This band impressed me the most when they came to perform for our cultural fest. They blew the show. It was one of the best stage performances I have ever witnessed in my life by a band. The lighting and the mood followed by the near-perfect rendition of the songs live made the whole event something that I treasure to date. Actually, I started listening to them after this performance. Just like Avial, this band has also stuck with me ever since. These are the two bands that I go back to from time to time whenever I want to feel connected to my roots. They have that charm in them. I can''t explain why. It is there and I am forever grateful for it.


    Nada nada has come to a finish. I know what the next song is going to be. And the next one.


    I have reached the old house that Anna likes and wants to buy. In the darkness, it sits majestically in its triangular plot. It seems like a perfect fit for the song that comes up next.


    Towards the end of my college days, I progressed to old-school rock and the ones from the golden era. Jefferson Airplane, Led Zeppelin, Beatles, and Queen all made it into my playlist. They would go on in repeat for hours and hours. Among them, Pink Floyd became my favorite band. Their songs had a sweet feel to them. They can''t be called a band. They are avant-garde musicians. Over the years I have come across many articles and essays that describe the kind of experimental work they were doing with synthesizers and instruments. They were happy to deviate from the textbook definition of a rock band only to mesmerize their audience with elements that could be found in other genres of music. The dark side of the moon is the best among their studio albums and easily my favorite. If I had a time machine, I would have used it to go back in time and watch them perform live. It is an experience I have missed out on. I envy all those who have been able to attend their live performance. They have witnessed a great act of art.


    Next, I started to listen to all kinds of music. I didn¡¯t restrict myself to a genre. Was it the atmosphere during the final year of college or not, I can''t say. But it surely expanded my music tastes. I was listening to World music, Carnatic music, Psychedelic music, etc. I would be exposed to different kinds of music throughout the day and they all existed in me in a peaceful space.


    I am still a die-hard rock fan. With the advent of the internet and technology, it has become much easier to listen to music. A streaming service and good internet are all you need to listen to songs from near and far. I didn¡¯t have this privilege when I set out. I would download the music I wanted from third-party websites and store them on my phone. Smartphones had conveniently replaced music players. They are great in that regard.


    Recently I have been very much into techno music. My bestie introduced it and I have slowly fallen in love with it. I like the groove and rhythm to which the music plays. I had been listening to many other EDM artists before that. They were loud and full of energy, the kind you hear at parties and in pubs. I loved minimal techno and what it brought to the table. I could distinguish the beats and get the repeating patterns incorporated into the music. Techno seems easy and fun. But I am pretty sure they do take a lot of effort. In a time when people have the more the merrier mentality, to keep something minimal takes more effort.


    I am pulled out of the blissful state I was because of some movement I hear behind me. I turn around. The two dogs that had gone into the lane previously have come back out. They look at me for a while and trod ahead on the road. I am thinking about whether I should turn off the music or not. Or reduce its volume. I need to be on the lookout for these dogs. I am at the entrance to the lane that leads to our apartment. I lower the volume and let the music continue.


    In the absence of the internet, I can enjoy my music. Nothing can stop me from doing that. Back in my college days when collecting music was a thing, I have a hard disk that has somewhere close to 100GB of music. There are discographies of my favorite bands followed by some of the greatest collections of the different eras. I have been like this since then. I have always made it a point to carry my music with me. One of the things that I now look forward to while buying a mobile phone or a tab would be the amount of space it has to offer. This is common now but my reason is for stocking up on music. I will gladly weed out all of the redundant photographs or documents or any other thing if I am running out of space. My songs would be the last ones to be touched.


    I enter our lane and walk towards our gate. The third song started playing from the phone. Its loudness melts into the surroundings. For once I have a way to pierce the eerie silence that engulfs me. I can now put on my earphones and play some music as I go about my day. I will be distracted by it and kept at bay from the circumstances. But I can never hold it for a long time. Even on a three-hour long flight, I cannot sit listening to songs for the entire journey. I might doze off or I might simply be silent. Music is therapeutic to me but in a certain quantity. I know this and I respect it.


    As I enter our apartment complex, I take one more look out into the starting of the lane. I see no movement in the darkness. I light up my torch and flood the area with its brightness. There are no dogs. They might not come now. I cannot be sure. I close the gate and latch it from the top. Knowing that I am alone I can latch the bottom one also. But I leave it open because if I latch the bottom one it becomes difficult to open the gate from outside. That is me hoping someone will enter after things revert back to normal during my sleep. I let out a deep sigh and walk away from the gate.

 1.53

    Whenever we went out for second shows or dinners followed by a night drive or a small quick visit to the beach, we would have phoned the caretaker to leave the gate unlocked. Sometimes he does it, sometimes he doesn¡¯t. He would latch it from the bottom. This is a problem. I would have to jump the gate and unlock it. She would urge me to call him and ask him to come and open it. I don¡¯t like to do that. He would be sleeping and I don''t want to disturb him. I wouldn¡¯t be doing a crime by waking him up because I had already told him about this. Maybe he forgot or didn¡¯t pay attention when he was locking the gate. I feel it is not nice to wake someone up unnecessarily.


    Tonight it kind of feels like that situation, even though there are differences. This can be attributed to the fact that the lights are not on in the vicinity. Normally the few lamps that light the entrance to our apartment stay lit till the time the caretaker closes the gate. They are all off today. There is a small street lamp a few meters away from the entrance to our apartment. It is also off. The house that borders the wall mostly always has lights till midnight. They even leave their kitchen door open from time to time, flooding the surroundings with the light from the tube light inside. Some lights will be up on the owner''s house, even though it lies below the level where our apartment complex starts. In short, there was always some sort of a light coming in from here and there. There might have been very few occasions when I would have come across a situation other than this.


    Once when we were returning from our hometown, we started late at night to avoid the traffic on the road. We reached at one past midnight. The gate wasn¡¯t locked but the lights were out. The street light was also out. It was really dark that night. On reaching home and settling in, we realized the power was out. The absence of the street light should have made it obvious. It was when we tried to charge our phones we realized the lack of electricity.


    I have walked half the distance to the entrance to our apartment block. Here to my right is the house I was talking about, the one where the kitchen door stays open most of the time. On my left is where I parked my car. If I look into the distance in the same direction I can see the topography of the land as it climbs. The area has been populated by houses. All these homes would have had some kind of light emanating from them. It can be a small porch light, or a powerful lamp lighting the garden and the surroundings. Some rooms would be lit and so would be some floors. Today as I look out into the distance I see very few lights. I see one here and another there. And another small one twinkling away among the trees. Then there is another one quite far away. That¡¯s it. Four lights. I counted them. That''s all there is tonight. They should be powered by inverters. Soon they will run out. But I am thankful to have them today. I should thank their owners. No one gives an emergency power supply from their inverters to their outdoor lighting. It is a waste. The same power can be used inside. Yet, these homes do have them. It sounds very weird but still, it has proved to be of use to me. It surely is comforting me in these dark times. Maybe they are not outdoor lights. Maybe they are some kind of indoor lights. I don''t know. And I really don''t care. They are here for me tonight and that is all that matters to me.


    The current situation is making me undergo a kind of a walk down memory lane but in a very different sense. I say this because I am not sure if I would have ever recollected all these memories, feelings, thoughts, and actions I have had or done in my past. They are mostly trivial ones. If I had to remember anything from my past I would have always taken time to first think of something that was interesting. I would never have thought of thinking of something that was brooding or something that didn¡¯t have much importance. A reason for it could be that I am thinking solely from the perspective of presenting it to someone else. This is a perspective that wants you to be at your best and put your finest up so that the judgment you receive is welcoming and good. Well, this judgment actually doesn¡¯t matter at all. It is something you create to satisfy your need to be validated or approved. Because of this, you have worked out everything leading to a favorable result.


    In its truest sense, you must be able to think of something or the other without much thought and present it the way it is. This is seldom done. Again the reason for it being it might not be presentable and you want it to be. So you add in elements that actually distort the rawness of it. You are bending it and reinventing it to suit someone else''s need - even though if there is such a person they have never demanded of this need, it is all your creation - and thereby in a way corrupting what was solely yours.


    How many of us can recollect memories that are raw to the core? Do we even have such memories with us? We have. The kind that I am experiencing now. The ones that have never been touched because they didn¡¯t have any taste to them to be presented and get approval. They are the only raw ones remaining. Everything else has been tampered with and changed. Especially the ones that keep on going the rounds in parties or gatherings. They have been skillfully changed and evolved over the different circumstances in which they have been presented. Yes, a memory is made to put different makeup - one on top of the other - according to the situation.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    I want to preserve this day, the memory of this day as it is. I don''t want to tamper with it under any circumstances. I want to remain staunch and bold and take the firm stand of not changing the teeniest bit of it if I ever have to present it to someone. I want them to feel what I have felt today, in its truest form. I don''t want their judgment or their remark. I need to be doing it because I want to do it, not for anybody¡¯s sake. This memory is mine and I want it to be as raw as possible. Somewhere down the line I also hope I won''t have to share it with anyone else. I know myself and somewhere down the line, I would want to alter some facts here and there. No matter how much I try I don''t think I can ever present something in its truest form to someone. Because I am concerned about their judgment.


    I say I don''t care about it or it doesn¡¯t matter to me and all that. But honestly, it does. It has always done and has been a part of my life forever. It is something I surely cannot change in a short span of time. I really don''t know if it could change over a longer time period. It is for this one reason that I want my memory to remain with me and no one else. No one will remember my memory or what I said after I left. Except for my Anna. But yeah. No one else will. For them, it will always be a story I narrated. Most stories have a short lifetime. Some do stay for a while. But they get eventually pushed to the fringes of the memory. If they have to recollect it on some occasion, there is a high chance that it would be different from what they had heard. Very much like the game Chinese whisper.


    I reach the entrance to the building and see the flight of stairs. There is a camera pointing straight at me from a wall and there is another one perched under the ceiling at the entrance. The familiar faint red light that glows like a ring outside the lens is absent in the camera in front of me. I turn back and look at the other one. It is blankly staring at me. I am not being captured today. I am not being recorded right now. If I am correct there should be footage for the past two or three days as a backup. The CCTVs are routed right next to the console near the entrance. The receiver is a small DVD player-like thing. It sits somewhere inside one of the cupboards here. I open them one at a time and find them lying on the bottommost one. It is dead, which was expected. I wonder why the house owner never gave any backup supply to the CCTV system. That is very strange. From how much I have talked to him, he is smart. I remember him telling me how the locality had been a hotspot for thieves once.


    I remember one of the stories he had told me. I remember it because the story happens during the FIFA World Cup. I forgot the year though. I think it must have been 2014. Our house owner was sitting in his house and watching the football match late at night, somewhere around two in the morning. Oh wait, then it must be the year 2010 cause the 2014 World Cup was held in Brazil and the timings were really awkward. 2010 was held in Germany. Yes. 2010. He was watching a game all by himself when he heard some sirens outside. It faded away soon enough, but he saw the distinct red and blue light flashing outside through his curtained window. He got out of his room and went over to the balcony to see what was happening. He saw a police jeep passing through the lane. It went ahead and stopped a few meters away at the turn of the street. He looked at the nearby houses to see if anyone had woken up upon hearing the sirens. So far no one was awake. Since the police had shut the siren and the lights, he felt it was not that serious of a matter (like murder or so) and maybe a routine check. He waited for a while to see what was going on. Since the jeeps were parked at the turning he couldn¡¯t make out much. He waited for a while and went back inside. He decided to go to bed as the match was over by then.


    The next morning when he woke up he was given the news his wife had caught in the morning. A set of robbers had robbed four houses in the vicinity at the same time yesterday night. Three of the houses didn¡¯t have anyone staying in them while the fourth one had an elderly couple and their daughter living with them. The couple was gagged and bound by the robber while their daughter somehow managed to escape his clutches and lock herself up in her room and call the police. The thief managed to escape with some of the valuables he had taken by then. The remaining incidents were only known in the morning when the neighbors noticed a door open or a window broken and mangled. He got the reason for the arrival of the police. Ten minutes later he heard multiple sirens getting louder. It was going to be a busy morning. The news did make it to the next day''s newspaper. The robbers were never caught. From that day onwards people became alert and safe when it came to the protection of their houses and valuables. CCTVs were being installed in some of the houses as the weeks passed by. After this incident, there wasn¡¯t any robbery. But everyone was alert. All knew the locality did have families that were well off and could be a hot spot for robbers in the future.


    If there was power in it I would have liked to go back and see any clip having my Anna in it. I can''t though. Instead, I take my mobile and open my gallery. There is the photo I had clicked of her when we had gone out for our anniversary dinner. I click on it. The picture engulfs my screen. She looks at me with a coy smile. I smile back at her. I stay in this state for some time. Once again I clench my teeth to stop my emotions from getting the better of me.

 1.54

    I can''t sum up the day in a choice few words. I really can''t do that. I want to but I can''t. This has to be the strangest day I have ever had in my life. There is nothing else that can beat this as it is something out of the syllabus for the subject called human life. Something so distant from it that this test is the most difficult one ever. Honestly, I don''t want anyone else to go through this. It is not nice. I know it can make or break people. Maybe someone might do better than what I am doing. But still, this is a test I wouldn¡¯t let anyone else take. But then I can only say. It is ultimately their choice.


    It is time to call it a day and see what is in store for me tomorrow. I have been assuring myself throughout the day that this is a very bad dream I am living through. It will finish when I go to bed tonight. I am looking forward to going to bed and falling asleep. I don''t want to wake up in the middle of the night during the process of finishing the dream and stop it midway or tamper its flow and stop it from restoring my ordinary life. I am a sound sleeper but still, I have this fear in me cause I know I can be a bit anxious and not get a proper sleep when things are going in my head.


    I don''t sleep properly when I am in a new bed or a new place until I am dead tired and absolutely need to fall asleep. My sleep would always be not good. I would be waking up at odd hours and fiddling with myself. I would be going back to sleep immediately. Taking it cumulatively, it is never going to be a good sleep.


    Whenever I am traveling overnight to a new place, my sleep won¡¯t be deep. I would always be on the lookout and alert to not miss my destination, especially when it is along the way. If it is the final destination there is a huge relief and peace of mind. I can sleep much better. Otherwise, I would be waking up from time to time and checking where I have reached on Google maps and the time. There have been a couple of instances where I have overslept and missed my de-boarding station. I guess those experiences are the ones contributing to this subconscious behavior.


    Another issue is having not removed the plastic cover in which the mattress comes wrapped. In some places, they put bedsheets on top of it and leave the plastic cover intact. When I am on the bed and start moving around, the plastic crumbles with my movement and makes these very irritating noises. I hate them. I would want to rip apart the plastic cover and throw them away. But I can''t. So I try going back to sleep knowing my sleep won¡¯t be deep enough.


    In my workplace, I have my bunk to sleep in. It has been there for me from the time I have been there. We remain in a worksite for quite a long time. When we do move from one project to the other, we also take our most essential bunks with us. These include our living bunks as well as a couple of offices and a tool room. The rest of them are supplied according to the scope of the project.


    I climb the stairs and reach the landing of my apartment. Instead of proceeding to the door, I continue with the flight of stairs. I find myself standing on the landing leading to the terrace. I open the door and enter the terrace right above our apartment. I come here to hang our washed clothes. If I hang them up in the morning I get them all dried and warm by the afternoon. During the monsoons, I don''t put our clothes here. We hang them up in our rooms using all the hangers we have. They take a longer way to dry but at least they don''t get wet if a sudden downpour happens. I put them out on some days. Those days would pass by with me paying close attention to the sound of rain. Sometimes I catch its sound and rush out to pick them up before they get drenched. Sometimes I miss it. Now I have made it a point to go and collect them in the afternoon itself and not let them stay on the terrace till the evening.


    The terrace is empty except for some coconuts lying in one corner. They have been here for quite some time. I duck beneath the clothesline and walk toward the other end. I am now above our balcony area. From here I have a better view than our balcony.


    There aren¡¯t any lights in the distance. We are not living in the heart of the city. Yet this is an integral part of it, the part that developed due to the medical college. I can see one of the blocks of the medical college from up here. It is a big greenish building. I can''t make out the color in the darkness. But I know it. It must be the multi-specialty building. It normally has lights strewn across its multiple floors. Today it is dark. So are all the other buildings in its vicinity along with every house and street that I can lay my eyes on from up here. There are very few lights to be seen, the ones that I probably saw from down below. The ones that are on inverter power will soon run out. The solar-powered ones will last for some more time. Maybe they might last for a long time, given their battery load and charging capabilities.


    I need to get my hands on some solar-powered stuff. I make a mental note to myself. I had met someone who had a solar-powered power bank with him. He had brought it from the US the previous year. He was telling us how it had been a lifesaver for him and his friends when they were stuck on a forest trail on their outing just before returning home. The one who had the trail loaded in his phone developed some battery issues and was discharging faster than ever. They were then dependent on their power banks which ran out on the first day itself. It was the solar-powered one that got them going throughout the whole trip.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Up here on the terrace, a cool breeze blows by. It is January. There is a chillness in the air. I wonder if it will become slightly colder than the previous days. I take up this thought because as far as the day was concerned there was no human activity in any form. The roads were empty except for my scooter. The buildings are all empty and the power consumption was the least to date until the power went out. Pollution was drastically low today, even lower than the time when everything was shut during the first lockdown. Pollution from vehicles is a major contributor to the rising heat in the cities. We have gotten so used to it that we forget it. I have heard some climate change activists saying out loud, that we have become so used to the things around us that we forget to see how they are contributing in a negative way to the society and the planet.


    Haven¡¯t we always been like this? We have always taken the good and shrugged off the bad. We have become so used to the convenience created we forget to look at what expense it is being created. Consider plastics. We created them. They brought a revolution in the day-to-day life of a human beings. Since then they have grown and become an integral part of our lives. They have made our lives much easier than it ever was.


    But in the process, it has started to become a mounting burden to us when it comes to its disposal. They are not degradable. They will remain as it is even after our species passes away. They pose a threat to the entire earth, affecting ecosystems and creatures that live in it. We still haven¡¯t found a cure for this problem. Also, the accumulated plastic waste has reached epic proportions. They are beyond our current capabilities to reuse or recycle.


    I have always felt whenever we pursue something new and novel, we should also take into account the problems or side effects it might have over time. Some of them are truly essential but might have some side effects that need to be addressed. One should go about manufacturing this kind of product only after making sure that the side effect has been taken care of. Maybe it might result in a premium being extracted from the user. It might not adhere to the cost-effectiveness that was what had made the product feasible for manufacturing on a massive scale. But we need to do this because of the impact it will have later on. We forget this in our pursuit of cost-effectiveness and utility. We are solving a problem now and creating another problem for future generations. It is the wrong thing to do in my opinion.


    We haven¡¯t had any problems from our previous generations. In fact, they didn¡¯t burden us with any long-term problems affecting ourselves and our planet. But we as a generation seem to be doing that. I really can¡¯t understand if we are deliberately ignoring it or do we genuinely believe we aren¡¯t doing any harm at all.


    I have felt the changes the climate has undergone for the past two decades. At the start of the twenty-first century, the climate was very predictable. The seasons were in order and very much as expected. Here in Kerala, the monsoons would arrive towards the mid of May. Our schools would be closed for summer vacations. By the time it was time to reopen and enter the higher class, we would be going to school in raincoats or umbrellas. The entry to our new classes would always be a wet one. During our college days, we used to enjoy the rain by playing football in it. The rains were fun. Even though they made our days mushy and moody, we enjoyed them. We enjoyed the whole feeling of it.


    Now the monsoons have lost track of time. When they arrive they come in such fury they have caused a couple of floods in the state in recent years. Or they would show promise but fail to deliver. Either way, they are not consistent. Also, I don''t enjoy them the way I used to. I don''t know why but it doesn¡¯t excite me as much as it used to. I love them and the rains would always entice me. But I think I missed being jubilant about it as I grew up. Maybe it is my work nature. Being out in the field, we really hate the rain. They are a big turn-off to our job. We dread them. They spoil our moods and turn our site into a mucky place. Maybe it is this that has caused me to not like them. I know I do enjoy them when I am at home. In my hometown, I sit with my parents and drink a hot cup of tea or coffee. Even here last year, we used to make ourselves a hot cup of filter coffee and savor the rain from the balcony or from our beds with the windows open and letting in the cool breeze that sometimes accompanies these rains.


    I look around the darkness that shrouds me one more time. It is black and lonely. I find myself all alone in this city. Suddenly the city feels huge. It can easily engulf me. I might want to be engulfed. Has the city done just that to every human that inhibited it and called it their city? If so, why did it leave me alone? Why couldn¡¯t it include me? Surely I am of no consequence to it. Neither is there any specialty in me. I am a normal human being. That is all I am and want to be.


    I hope the city hears me. I hope it hears my pleas and cries and decides to dissolve this situation and restore it to how things were yesterday. The city must be missing all of the cacophony and camaraderie that was brought in by our species.


    I decide to go back to my home and call it a day. That is what remains, to call it a day, sleep off with the firm belief of waking up to the normal world.

 1.55

    I take the stairs back to my home. I take out the key to the house. I could have left it open but the force of habit made me close it. It also made me keep it in the pocket safe and secure so as not to allow it to jump out under any circumstances. I lost one of my mobile phones because of my carelessness. I had kept it in my pocket and was going to buy some groceries when it fell out of my pocket. I came to know about it after traveling for quite a distance. By the time I realized it and traced my path back to my home, the phone was nowhere to be found. It had become switched off too. It was my secondary phone, so I didn¡¯t make a fuss about it. My bank accounts and everything else was safe with me, so I didn¡¯t have to worry much.


    After this incident, I am extra careful when it comes to keeping stuff in my pockets. I also check them out from time to time to see if they are there or not. She has also become careful when it comes to giving me anything to put in my pockets. She doesn''t have to worry much as she stashes away her stuff into her purse or her sling bag. There is no chance of anything slipping away from it.


    I open the door and switch on the light. I didn¡¯t want to linger in the darkness any longer. The hall is as it was. Was I expecting some kind of magic to happen here? I don''t know. Maybe I was. I wish for anything magical to happen at every turn of place, or event, cause honestly the day has got to my nerves and I want it to end somehow.


    I close the door behind me and lock it with the key. I go to the bathroom in the nearest bedroom and take a small loo break. The pee is yellowish in color. I am not drinking enough water. As far as the day is concerned I haven''t drank much water at all. I get done with my business here and walk back to the dining table. The water jug is full. I take a glass and fill it to the brim. I finish it in one go. I feel like drinking one more glass of water, but it would be like compensation. I take the jug and take a small swig from it. I will drink one more glass before I hit the bed.


    The time is ten pm. It is almost time for me to crash. She was supposed to be here with me. She would have been studying or we would have been doing something. I can''t dwell on those thoughts for now. I try telling myself she is not here because she is on her night duty, just like yesterday. It is hard to convince myself. I don''t think there is any other way in which I can justify her absence. She has to be out on her duty. She has to. But she did take her duty yesterday. Consecutive duties are never done. I don''t think of that. I will somehow have to sleep by myself tonight.


    I grab the filled bottle of water and walk to our bedroom. I switch on the light. On the bed, her t-shirt lies in a corner. Her pajamas are right next to it. Sadness takes over me all of a sudden. The room feels empty and meaningless. I decide I won¡¯t be sleeping here tonight. I will go to the other room, the guest room, and sleep there. I used to sleep in that room when she had a duty. It is my way of spending the night without her. Yesterday I slept in the room that has the TV.


    This can get confusing. We usually sleep in one of the two bedrooms that we have taken up for ourselves. One is our master bedroom - the room I am in. It has a balcony attached to it. So it had to become the master bedroom. Our clothes and all our stuff are kept here.


    Then there is the other room which has a TV fixed on one of its walls. We sleep here and chill here whenever we have something to watch. I have kept some of my clothes here and my other stuff. This room is the airiest of the lot. The outermost wall has two windows along its length. They provide much-needed sunlight and wind throughout the day. It does get hot on some scorching summer days. But it does become cool and cozy during the rains or after an impromptu rain. I love this room. Sometimes I love it more than our bedroom. I like a room that is airy and lets in light. Our bedroom has two windows. But one of them is right behind our bed. We don''t open it often. The other is a small one. I keep it open and let the air circulate whenever I can. I also open our balcony door and let in some fresh morning wind and light. She doesn¡¯t like me opening the door and leaving it as such. She insists that I either stay next to the door or close it when I leave it. It is due to her security concerns.


    She is the one who stays here all by herself whenever I leave for work. Sometimes our parents do come and stay with her for a while. But that is only for a very brief period. Most of the time she is alone. So she is concerned about her security and privacy. If she feels insecure, the first thing she does is close the windows. It makes her feel safe. I have tried to explain to her there is no need to be afraid of anything. There is a caretaker and there are CCTVs installed on all the major points. Then there are people nearby, including the house owner. Help can always be found. She agrees to all of this but she can''t get rid of her small fear. I can never understand it because I will never be in that situation in which she has been or will be. So I let her be. She has become much better though. She doesn¡¯t close the windows when I am with her even though there is that teeny tiny bit of insecurity in her. Rather she hugs me tight and cuddles me. I take her in my arms and squeeze her. I make her feel safe and protected. She finds her safe haven in my chest and I experience an unexplainable warmth and comfort while she rests on it. I too feel safe and sound. I feel at peace.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    It is that kind of blissful state that melts away all your fears and brings in a kind of serenity that can never be put into words. For me, that is all I need. In those moments I have felt this is the kind of peace everyone is looking for in their lives. Have we confused it for happiness, I don''t know. I feel peace of mind is more important than happiness. Happiness comes and goes. You will find it sooner or later. But the peace of mind, now that is something without which you can never enjoy any kind of happiness that comes your way.


    I normally take a bath late at night. I do this because I can go to bed feeling a bit fresh. It never takes away the sleepiness I would be having. I just have to lie down in my bed for it takes hold of me and makes me fall asleep. It has to do with the hot and humid climate. The only other time when I feel like taking a bath is after returning from having played a sport. Even a good walking session is enough to bring out the sweat. Once I become sweaty, I need to take a bath. I really don''t like the sticking feeling associated with it. Also, I stink when I sweat. I prefer to take a bath as soon as possible after returning from playing.


    I take out my mobile from my pocket and check the battery. It is almost full. I walk out into the hall and pick up the walkie-talkie from its charging stand. I cycle through all the channels it offers. Everywhere I hear the initial static sound that comes on switching the channels. Apart from that there is silence. I keep it back where it belonged. Then I take it out. I will keep it beside my bed. I drink some water from the jug. I think I have drunk enough water for the night.


    With the walkie talking in one hand and the bottle of water in the other, I walk into the guest room. The light from the hall is more than enough to throw in a faint light that guides me to the bed. I walk beside it to the bedtable and keep the stuff there. I take out the mobile and toss it into the bed. Then I walk out of the room, switching the light in the process. I walk all the way to the front door and ensure the door is locked. Then I switch off the tube light. Darkness instantly rushes into the room. But it is kept at bay from the light coming out from the bedroom. As I walk back to it, I open the cabinet door below the sink and check the inverter. It is discharging. There is no power. There is no indication of how much more power is left in the battery. It should last me the whole night and maybe the next day. I have been using electricity judiciously.


    I walk to the bedroom with the TV in it and check if all the switches are off - mainly the ones for the bathroom. They are. Next, I check the kitchen. Only the switch of the fridge is on but to no avail. I hope the cooling remains for some more time. Things will start getting spoilt once the cooling goes away. I will have to discard such stuff before they start smelling foul.


    Next, I take a look at our bedroom. All is good here. Having ensured all the switches are powered off, I take a final look at the house. There is an untold weariness hanging in the air. I can feel it. I think I power it. It is my weariness that is being projected back onto me. I acknowledge its presence and turn to go into the room. I need to sleep somehow. That is my primary aim now.


    I close the bedroom door behind me and switch on the fan. It starts running at the highest speed. The regulator is on the adjacent wall near the bed panel although the bed is not aligned with it. I go and decrease the speed by two steps. The panel is near the window. I take a look at it.


    It is through this window I watch her leave for her duty in the mornings. On days when she takes the scooter and leaves, I go and watch her drive out through this window. I follow her until she is out of sight. Then I go about my day. I have been doing this since the time I have come here. If I want to I can imagine her going out on the scooter right now. But I refrain from doing it. It will surely put me through mental anguish.


    I pull out the curtain away from the open window to let in any breeze that makes its way in the night. I switch off the light from the bed panel and sit on the bed. I take a deep breath. There is a hint of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion in that breath. Before I lie down on the bed, I close my eyes, fold my hands and say a small prayer.


    Dear Lord. I thank you for all the things you have given us. Please take care of my Anna wherever she is tonight. Tomorrow when I wake up I pray that things go back to normal and I am reunited with her. I miss her badly. Having her with me would have made this ordeal much easier for me. I pray to you to at least bring back my Anna if this situation has to continue. Thanking you once again for all that I have in my life.


    Amen.

 1.56

    I love to dream. I am an active dreamer. I have had dreams that felt like a fantasy book. Occasionally there were the horror ones too. There is no fixed pattern as to which dream I would be having. Sometimes some of the elements I have come across the day do seep into my dreams. I see them here and there. Or they play an important part in it. Either way, I remember them the next day when I see them again or their memory comes to me.


    For quite some time I have had really deep dreams when I am at my worksite. I don¡¯t know why but I think the atmosphere there is conducive to it. You work for the whole day averaging near about twelve hours before calling it a day. The whole tiring day makes you instantly fall asleep. I don''t need any kind of additive to make me go to bed and get a good night''s sleep. Most days I have slept soundly and seen all kinds of dreams. Some of them I am able to recollect the next day. Others I can''t, but I do know I have seen one. That feeling lingers in me.


    When I sleep with her, I do wake up from time to time whenever she moves. I might not be in a state of deep sleep when this occurs. If I am then I won''t even know if the world comes crashing down. Although I might wake up, my dream doesn¡¯t lose its continuity if I can go back to sleep soon. I might be hardly awake for a few seconds before I go back to sleep and resume my dreams. This happens only in this kind of situation. If I have woken up and taken some time to go back to sleep, then resuming the dream is a very hard thing. I have tried it many times. The success rate is very less.


    Sometimes I wake up and the dream hasn''t ended. I know there is more to it and I desperately want to see it through. If it is at my workplace, I can''t afford to go back to sleep again. Besides my multiple alarms will make sure that I don''t fall asleep as soundly as I would like to. I usually do this when I am at my home. Here I have the luxury of sleeping in for an hour or more. But as I said, it hardly ever works. I fidget around in bed for most of that time, trying to recall the exact parameters at the point where the dream stopped. I never can get them. It seems that a part of the dream has been lost upon waking up. No matter how hard I try, I will be losing out on some parameter or the other. On very few occasions have those come back to me later during the day. But by then they are useless. The dream is done and dusted.


    I wish I could share my dreams with her. Like how you see in the movie Inception. I want to be with her in a shared dream. Maybe mine or maybe hers, I don''t care. I want to see how it feels to wake up knowing that you were sharing a dream and were a part of it.


    But there is a catch to it. What if the dream we are sharing is very private, a secret thing or thought that only we are aware of and never want to share with anyone? We all have gone through a lot of stuff in our lives which has inadvertently left all these marks and scars we might not be comfortable sharing. When we are in a relationship we do share a lot of them. But a few can remain untold. The deepest darkest secrets of them all. Would anyone want to encounter them in their sleep and let their partner know? I think it is the way it is being presented that can be a problem.


    When you take the courage to sit down and share the deepest secret in your life, you have taken an initiative. This does get you some brownie points. Also, you are controlling the narrative, your conscious mind. You get to choose the words you want to use to describe it. You can once again omit stuff or modify them to suit your needs. You can completely overturn the events and create a new one that might resemble what the truth is and present it. The other person will have to take it anyways.


    But in a dream, you have lost control of the reins. In fact, there are no reins. You are new here, just like your partner. The story is being dictated by your subconscious, which as we all know is something we have no control over. It can be manipulated in ways we can never imagine. It can give textures and flavors that are far from reality. They seep as they are the experiences and emotions we had to go through in our lives. Here too the story might be very different. But here you are not telling the story. Your partner is left to decide what it all means, which could be a problem.


    Still, I want to do it with her. I have my secrets and maybe they might be projected out in a way I don¡¯t like to. But I think she will see it in the way it has to be seen and nothing more than that. I can only wish that she sees through it and gets it. The best thing that can happen from this is if she figures out what it means and why I wasn¡¯t able to share it with her.


    I can¡¯t fall asleep. I tilt my left wrist to get a look at my fitness band. It doesn¡¯t light up. I tap on it. It''s been ten minutes since I hit the bed. Sleep seems far off. I look out through the open window. Silence and darkness have engulfed the whole city in its snare. Even a power cut couldn¡¯t do this. At least there would have been some sort of sound coming from somewhere. The birds in the owner''s house have stopped chirping. The dogs seem to have called it a day. The wind too seems distant.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    It is in times like these I go into a train of thoughts ranging from the obscurest to the deepest. If something has happened on the day and it has affected me somehow, it will be played back in repeat a hundred times in different settings. Most of them would be in which I come out victorious. That is how I process these thoughts. I modify the situation to suit my validation. Maybe this is how I cope with it. I don¡¯t know if it is a healthy thing. I have been doing this for ages. It only lasts for that day in my head. I don''t react to it. I play them in my head and that is it. I think I feel better knowing what I would have done in which manner. I can apply it if a similar situation arises in the future. I find my peace there.


    One of the lingering thoughts that come and go is on the topic of life decisions. In it, I put myself in situations where I have a choice to make. I reject the ones I have made in real life and play out a fantasy of how life would have been otherwise. I don''t think it can be called overthinking. I mean I do think about it when I am at my workplace. There when I find some free time and get to be all mind fucked I do think about it. I do entertain them and leave them there. I have never let them influence my current life. I know I will always think of how things would have been otherwise.


    It comes into question presently right here right now. What if I had to take a decision that wouldn¡¯t have resulted in my present situation, in this lonely state devoid of all human beings? Would I have made it?


    Well, the thing is I am actually at peace with the life I have had. It has been a great life and if required, I can live it again without any changes in it. That is what Nietzsche was talking about in his eternal recurrence. I think I am for it because the life I have lived has been a beautiful one. It has seen its fair share of happiness and sadness, it has made me go through a lot of emotions and experiences that have made me what I am now. I feel the moment I decide to embark on a different story of myself, I cease to be what I am now. I don''t think I need to explain that. You are an accumulation of all the experiences that you have had. Considering that, a different story means different experiences and thus, a different you.


    Do I want to be a different me? Well, if I have to change, it should be for myself. I will change if there is a need for me to change. I will be doing it just for myself, not for anyone else. It will be my sole decision, one I will be taking wholeheartedly.


    I can change now. But do I want to be a different me in a different story? I guess it is a no. I am happy being me. There is so much more to see ahead in my life. The day itself has taught me a lot of things. Maybe today is an important day in my life. Maybe when the day ends, when this whole situation is over and I go back to living a normal life, I will look back and draw out all the positives from it. I will also go through the negatives in it and work on them.


    With so much life left ahead of me, I really want to be in the present. But this thing about living another life is being asked when you are done with this life. What if you are given a chance to live your life in any way after you die? Would you choose the same life? That is the question.


    Having lived this life and having the full realization of it, I would want to live another life. Yes! I am pretty sure of it. I know what this life has been to me, what it means to me, and how it has made me. Knowing that I don''t think I will be able to live the other life the way it is meant to be. There will always be comparisons that will take out the essence of living a life.


    If my memory was wiped clean and I was given a chance then maybe I would be happy to live any life. I don''t know what I have had. Anything given to me would be a fresh one. In that circumstance, I would be happy with anything. After all, I would be getting a second shot at life. I shouldn¡¯t be complaining or demanding in any form.


    She disagrees with this. She has her reasons for it. I know them and so I can''t disagree with her. It is after all her choice and only hers.


    She says I spend a lot of time in my past, that I still look back at the decisions I had not made and sulk about it. This is true. I sometimes do wish things had gone a certain way. What if I got admission to the college I had applied for four years back? What if I had been serious about my ability to draw and stuck with it when I was excited to take it back ten years ago?


    There are a lot of what if¡¯s in my life. Everyone has them. I just need to accept them for what they are - a new chapter in the book of life. I am here because of the choices I have made. They are done now. I cannot change them. I can only be conscious of the choices that lie ahead. Every moment in my life, I will have to choose. It means discarding away all the remaining ones and embracing this one decision that you take. That is life. The choices you have and the ones you take.


    It is said that your destiny has already been written. You are just playing it out now. If everything is preordained, I would want to play it to the best of my abilities. I think I have the freedom to do that.


    Shakespeare was bloody right!

 1.57

    I think I slept off for some time while I was thinking about life. It happens. Sleep comes all of a sudden like a thief and before you know it, you are asleep. I would have loved to continue with it but it seems I have been woken up by a stupid mosquito. It was buzzing near my ears when I woke up. I tried to kill it with a sweep of my hands. But I think it didn¡¯t do the trick. I can''t feel anything in my palms.


    Oh, it is not dead. It is back again. I can hear the hum slowly getting louder and louder. It is right above me. I try to peel open my eyes fully. They seem to be hesitant. They want to go back to being shut. That''s what even I want. But this mosquito can be a problem. It will make my night a horrible one.


    I say this as there are certain things to be considered. Firstly, I don''t run the fan at full speed. It runs at a speed just above the lowest level. This is true even for the hottest of all nights. I don''t know why but I don''t like the fan running at full speed. I guess I feel the wind being thrown from it to be cold. I do feel cold as it hits me throughout the whole night. I can counter this if I pull over my sheet all the way over myself. But I don''t like that. I like to cover myself with a sheet or a blanket only till my neck. That is the second factor. If I could cover it completely I could get a bit of respite from the mosquito. I have tried this earlier. But the sad truth is you still will be able to hear the hum. You are safe from its bite though. But that is not the problem. It is the hum that is the most irritating thing.


    I swing my hand above me in the direction in which I feel it is. the sound dies away. I rub my palms to feel any residue of it. There is nothing in it. It has taken cover. It will be back soon.


    I am still sleepy. I must say I have forgotten for these few minutes what has transpired over the day. I say this because as I think of whether I should stay awake for a while and see if the mosquito comes back to suck out my blood, the day''s proceedings slowly come back to me.


    Firstly it is the absence of her beside me in the bed. It requires only a microsecond to realize that her night duty was the day before yesterday and is over. It is then my recent memory kicks in and summarises the day for me.


    I hear a small hum. I wait for it to grow, but it doesn''t. This is going on like a match. I get up from the bed and switch on the light. I am blinded for the few seconds it takes for my eyes to get adjusted to the light. There is an untold lethargy in my body. It feels weak. Well, it should be. It was resting and trying to get ready for the next day. But here I am, having woken up in the middle of the night with nothing much to do except kill a mosquito.


    One thing I have noticed is these kinds of nights happen only in her absence. Is it the universe telling me not to sleep cause she is not there with me? Or is it because she is busy attending to the sick patients in her department and in a way I am giving her company of sorts? I really don''t know. But yes, without her, I always feel an absence.


    I sometimes ponder on the thought of how a person can be so big a part of our life in such a short span. I met her in a very arranged and formal setting. From there we got to know each other and figured out we could be great together. Our small love story bloomed from that point onwards. It has nothing special in it. A simple story.


    There it is - the mosquito. I have spotted it finally. It doesn¡¯t look to be a fat, filled one. It is nimble. I swoop my hand in its direction and clutch my fist. I haven¡¯t caught it. It has flown away. It is flying to the ceiling and into the empty boxes that are stashed away in the overhead ledge. I will wait for it.


    Meanwhile, I pick up my phone and have a look at it. The networks remain dead. I take the walkie-talkie and crank up the volume. The low hum of the static comes out of it. It has a small similarity to the hum of the mosquito. I lower the volume and cycle through the channels. Nothing new. I press the push-to-talk button and say a couple of hellos. I wish it reaches someone.


    I go back to lying in the bed. I face the ceiling and focus my vision on it. I am looking out for any kind of small motion from the mosquito. I need to kill it to have a proper sleep. I will wait for it.


    Back in my workplace, there were nights in which I had to stay back on the site and look after the work. Some projects required us to stay back and supervise the night''s proceedings. They were mainly for projects that were super costly and had strict deadlines. The only option was to work around the clock. Although the majority of the work would happen in the daytime, a part of it would be kept aside for the night. It would be carefully planned in such a way that the work being done at night was safe under the diminished lighting conditions. Safety is paramount. There cannot be any compromise on the lighting or any other factor that can lead to an accident. Thankfully I haven''t had any kind of misfortune in this regard. I have managed to get the work done while ensuring the safety of the crew and the equipment involved.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Sometimes I do wonder why people do night shifts. I have gone on to think of a world where everyone slept at night. By twelve or one everyone called it a night and hit the beds. I realized this is not possible. There are a lot of essential services running round the clock. They need supervision and all kind of support throughout the day. Just because it is night doesn¡¯t mean they can be kept aside or not given due diligence.


    The electricity we have throughout the day is being monitored and controlled at night by various engineers in all the power plants throughout the world. Then there are the people working in the power grids and the local power stations up to the last point after which it reaches the consumer.


    Similar is the case with a lot of things. Take transportation for instance. Flights, trains, buses, trucks, and lorries that ply at night do that for a reason. A valid reason. Hospitals are another establishment. Likewise, we can come up with a lot of places that have their services going on twenty-four-seven.


    The conclusion is simple and straightforward forward - night shifts are essential. Without them, it would be hard to run this world. How should these night shifts go about is a totally different matter. I genuinely feel it should be debated because in night shifts our bodies don''t function the way they should. We are putting it out of its normal circadian cycle. It not only impacts us in the short term with a loss of sleep and other stuff, but it also leaves a lasting effect on us that creeps up on us during our later years. A whole committee or an expert panel should be set up from around the world comprising people from all kinds of professions to come and bring out guidelines for working night shifts. Maybe it might be taxing for the companies involved. They wouldn¡¯t like it. But if it is good for their employees then why not? Lesser profit for the better holistic health of their workers isn¡¯t too much to ask for.


    The mosquito is nowhere to be seen for the past few minutes. I get out of bed and look all around me from where I stand. I can''t see it. Bloody mosquito. It will come down to haunt me the moment I turn off the light and go to bed. I take a few seconds to get a grip on the situation I am in and try to formulate a solution for it. I got one. This should do the trick.


    I crumple up the bedsheet from the bed and tuck it under my arm. I walk to where I have kept the phone and pick it up along with the walkie-talkie. The water bottle can remain here. I head to the door. As I get out of the room I switch off the light and close the door. That mosquito will not disturb me anymore. Now I just pray that there ain''t another one in the room I am going to.


    I decide to go to the bedroom with the TV. As I pass the hall and into the room, I find myself staring into the emptiness that surrounds the hall. Intermixed with the darkness and silence, the emptiness suddenly sends a shiver down my spine. I stand still in my tracks. I slowly walk towards the room and open the door. There is a slight brightness in the room. The windows are open and the little bit of light that makes the darkness feel less daunting is seeping in from these windows. I walk all the way to the table next to the head of the bed and keep the phone and walkie-talkie on top of it. I throw the bedsheet onto the bed.


    Apart from the two pillows that came with the bed, there are two cushions also. She had bought it when she went shopping in one of the newly opened shops in the mall that solely catered to home decor and stuff like that. It is super soft and really a pleasure to hug. The moment she saw it, she said she hugged it and her face lighted up for a second after which it settled down into a soothing calm state. She had achieved a sort of blissful state, zen. Two of them were added to the cart right away. I came across it when I came back from my work. She was really excited to show it to me when she described it to me over the phone when I was at work. She hadn¡¯t shared the photos though. She wanted to keep it a secret from me. When I came home, it was one of the first things she showed me. She brought it from the room and thrust it into my hands. I hugged it. Yes, it was really soft and squishy.


    But I am not a pillow person. I stopped using a pillow at a very young age. It has stuck with me. I do use it to support my back or while watching something on the TV - the times when I need back support. Other than that, I hug it while I try to fall asleep. These are the primary uses of the pillow in my bed. And because of this I only fall asleep more comfortably in a plain bed. If there is anything under it, I remove it. Even that irritates me.


    I think it is one reason why I can''t fall asleep when I am in her arms or on her chest. I mean I do feel all peaceful and safe and calm and serene. But I do find it difficult to fall asleep. I am not saying I haven''t. I have. But then I shuffle out from it at some point in time. That is true for any way I sleep with her. I shuffle out and probably end up being by myself.


    I am finding comfort in all of these nowadays. I know that I am slowly - one day at a time - adapting myself to this life that comprises us. Thinking of this, I find myself feeling even lonelier, along with these soft cushions in the bed that remind me of her. This whole place reminds me of her. It will wreck me emotionally. But it is here that I will find the strength required to go on. She is my strength, my drive. Without her, life would have been very different. I choose this. And I will stick to it till my last breath.

 1.58

    I don''t know when sleep finally came to me. This time I was thinking about how my life has become our life after her arrival. From being singular, its become plural. I am getting the hang of it in my own time. The journey is beautiful. I am learning a lot of things daily. I am just so happy and grateful to have her in my life.


    I know I did fall asleep because the moment I got up I checked the time. It is three thirty-three in the morning. I don''t know what woke me up at this hour. I was facing the wall when I woke up. After looking at the time, I turn and face the windows. They are in a muted state as compared to the other nights. I don''t feel like peeing too. My bladder is fine. I wonder why I woke up. I stretch out my hand and take my mobile from the desk. I press the lock button. The screen lights up. Running on the topmost portion of the screen is the strip with the message ¡®emergency calls only¡¯. For a moment I feel all sunk, like at the bottom of the sea. I feel this heavy load of expectations that haven''t been met coming down on me. I keep back the mobile on the desk and stare out into the window.


    I think it is time for me to accept the fact that things are not going to change. I need to tell myself that whatever has happened is real - people have vanished from the city and its vicinity and probably from the whole planet. And I am the only one left.


    The tiniest hope that I have been harboring inside me of things getting back to normal after a good night''s sleep should be discarded. There was actually no place for such a kind of hope in the first place. Still, I hope against everything. I hoped it was just a bad nightmare. A nightmare that stretched for twenty-four hours and dissolved once the time was over. A nightmare that was crafted to make me realize the importance of my wife and many other things that I usually take for granted in life. A nightmare to test my patience and my reactions. A nightmare designed to shake me from my core and see how I respond to it.


    It surely has shown me a lot and made me see through a different perspective about myself. She always makes it a point to bring out the best in me. She pushes me towards it. I think I really wanted that. It is one of the ways in which I operate. I need someone out there that pushes me. Only then will I ever take the necessary kind of action required to implement it. She is the one that is pushing me to figure out what I want with my life. She might not be doing it actively, but passively she surely is questioning me about it. I know this. I feel this. And I have to answer it.


    What do I want from life? I want a simple and humble life. I want it to be peaceful in all senses. I want to have a family with my wife that is humble and peaceful. I want to have a minimum financial independence so that I am not dependent on anyone. But most importantly there should be a purpose to live. I think this can be achieved with the kind of work one is doing. In my case, I want to be a writer. I want to write stories. I have a lot of ideas in my head but none of them have come down on paper. I want to be in a state in which I can churn them out and see how it blooms. For that, I need to have a minimum of mental peace concerning my finances. Money should not be given much importance is what everyone says. I agree with that. But then it should be given the importance it deserves. No more than that. Because money is money and it has become an integral part of our lives.


    All of this is now entwined with Anna. She too is a part of my life now. It is our life as I have said a hundred times. Whatever decisions we take should be in coherence with each other. Sometimes one of us has to make way for the other. It is all a part of being in a relationship. You give and take with respect and wholeheartedness. Without that, I don''t think any relationship can go forward. The small compromises you make wholeheartedly on a daily basis are the cement that strengthens your relationship. She makes a lot for me. I do too. We both give and take, for which we are grateful to each other.


    This is what is being said everywhere. Take up any relationship advice book or person and you will find the basic things that are being talked this. I always feel after getting into a relationship we forget the basic stuff and go on to manage the more complex things. Actually, there aren¡¯t any complex things. It is all our making. We make a thing more complex by not addressing it in the simplest of all manners.


    Life is meant to be simple. It is simple. We should really stop making it complex. A simple problem will always have a simple solution. Use that. Don''t try to figure out a complex solution to it. Figuring that out is bound to make the problem complex itself and thus, you now need to find out another complex answer to it, thereby complicating the whole procedure. Just like this sentence.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Think and act simple. That is all that I want to say. When this fails then try taking it to the next level.


    I wonder what would have happened if such a situation had occurred to someone three decades back. Like my father. What would he have done? How would he have reacted? Would he be in the same mental state I am in now? Or would he be experiencing something totally different?


    I think he would have been much better composed than I am. He would have understood the situation much earlier and prepared himself for the future. I know he would be grieving about losing my mother. But he would have concluded that there isn¡¯t anything he can do. Whatever has happened has happened and he has no say in it. He can either take it for what it is and move ahead or sit and sulk. Maybe he might have sat and sulked for a while and then decided to move forward.


    Why can''t I do that? Why can''t I still let go of the fact that what has happened has happened? She is gone. Disappeared. Along with all the people in the city, maybe even further away. I am all that is left of my species in this city. There can be others too. But she is not among them. I have lost her in the strangest of all circumstances. I feel she was snatched away from me forcefully, taken away without my consent. I can''t even blame death for this because if I do then it would imply she is dead. That is something I outrightly discard away. She is not dead. She is somewhere else, maybe in some other dimension, alive and well. She is definitely not dead. Just disappeared from this reality. She can''t be dead. There is no evidence for it. I won''t believe that.


    I want the day to end. I want the day to end and a new beginning to happen. Deep down within myself I do feel I would be happy with a new world that is anything other than how it was today. I have had enough of it. But then the new day can be anything. It can be even shittier than what I experienced. I will be even more depressed if it turns out to be worse.


    Is there anything worse than this? Yes, there is. What if I wake up to a situation in which there is no one and I find myself paralyzed below my chest or waist? I will be confined to the bed and undergo a very depressing state.


    Or I might wake up to find everyone dead. As I go exploring my surroundings, I will be witnessing dead bodies all around me. When I reach her department I will find her lifeless there. That is not something I am ready for. I think I will never be ready for this in the coming near future. We have a whole life ahead of us. Nobody can take her away from me. I will be in shock, not knowing what to do. I will cry out loud, cry out my heart and soul for her. There won''t be anyone to hear my cries. No one will come to console me. They are all dead. The dead will make their presence felt soon. They will start to rot away. A whole city of rotting humans, maybe even the whole world. My family and friends would have succumbed to the same fate. I don''t think I will go and see them. I can''t handle that.


    Considering these horrendous situations I am in a better place. Should I be thankful for it or not, I don''t know. I really don''t understand why this had to happen in the first place. There is no logical explanation for it. Why did everyone just vanish away into thin air? How? And when? What the hell is happening? And why have I been left alone? Why? Questions are all that I have.


    I will fall asleep soon. Sleep is coming back to me, I can feel it. Few more hours to get that good sleep before my alarms start going off one by one. They are kept at the same time as yesterday. I hug the pillow beside me and turn myself to face the wall. I close my eyes shut in an attempt to forcefully bring sleep to me.


    It doesn¡¯t work. I have been at it for a minute now but to no avail. I push away the pillow and turn back to face the window. The openness invites me. I get up from the bed and sit for a while on it facing the window. I can see the silhouette of the landscape in the darkness outside it. For a microsecond, I feel a bit of peace in the unspoken beauty of what I see. I get up and stand next to the window, hold on to the grill and look out into the open night.


    The couple of lights I had seen from down below are to be seen shining forth their light in the otherwise pitch-black night. The absence of the moon makes it even darker.


    Once when I was in the mountains, I experienced a night like this. We were out away in the wilderness. The nearest house was half a kilometer away while the nearest village was a solid three kilometers away. It was a new moon night. The stars were the only source of light we had. But they were not sufficient enough. Initially, when we sat in the darkness and caught up on each other, the darkness did seem eerie and scary. It forced us to make a small fire. Only then did we feel a little bit safe and secure.


    I have been having flashbacks of these experiences I have had in my life for the entire day. They somehow seem to come to me whenever something similar is being witnessed. Is this also a part of what is happening? Am I being made to go through all these experiences once again deliberately? For what purpose? They say your life flashes back in front of you when you are about to die. Am I dying? Is this how it is - a very realistic dream of sorts? Is this the last time I find myself experiencing something? Will I wake up tomorrow morning? I don''t know. All I know is that I am feeling sleepy. I move away from the window and hit the bed.

 2.1

    The six o¡¯clock alarm is the first one to wake me. I promptly switch it off without any second thought and go back to sleep. The night didn¡¯t go well. The sleep wasn¡¯t as good as I wanted it to be. This is what prompted me to switch off the alarm. I just want to lie down in bed and not move. Why did they even make alarms? I would have loved to stay in bed and wake up after I have finished my sleep. The human body should have evolved such that if sound sleep was not achieved then it would not wake up. It should not feel sleepy or lethargic for the day. It isn¡¯t sadly.


    Thirteen minutes later the next alarm goes off. I turn it off swiftly. I know there are more alarms to come and I should be switching them off if I want to have some peace. But I am too lethargic to do it. I roll over to the other side of the bed and stretch out my hand.


    As I stretch, I receive a sudden jolt of reality. My eyes open up (groggily though, not like the sudden wide-open ones you see in the movies) and it stays open for a while. Reality dawns upon me. I prick my ears to the sound of the birds chirping from the owner''s home. Other than that there is no other sound.


    I roll to where the small bed table is kept. I take the mobile and unlock it with my fingerprint. The emergency calls-only ribbon runs on top of the screen. There is no network. My eyes dart past the mobile to the walkie-talkie behind it. I keep the mobile back on the table and pick it up. I crank up the volume and cycle through the channels. Small static crackles whenever I switch the channel. There is nothing else. I dab on the push-to-talk button a couple of times. The small static it generates is all I can hear from it. I keep it back where it belonged and pick up my phone. I roll over on the bed and come to a straight position. I pull up the pillow and tuck it under my head. I unlock the phone once again and open my WhatsApp.


    By now it is quite clear. It is the continuation of what transpired the previous day. What has happened has happened and this is the reality now. It was not a dream. It never was. Nor am I dying. I am fine. Utterly fine. Physically maybe. Mentally I don¡¯t know. Sleep has had some good effects on it. I am still in a zone in which I am yet to comprehend the situation completely. Whenever this happens, I find myself being depressed and dejected knowing I no longer have my Anna with me. I know the human population in this city and its nearby surroundings have disappeared. I still can''t be completely sure of this as I haven''t explored the city thoroughly. From whatever I had gone through yesterday, I haven''t encountered anyone in the city. The chances look bleak. Without any mode of communication except the police radio, it is very difficult to come in contact with anyone. The city is huge, the chances minuscule. I would have been well off if she was with me. The ordeal would have been much lighter to deal with.


    The messages that were sent yesterday remain as it is in WhatsApp. They have not been delivered. There is no sign of it ever being delivered. Networks, servers, and all forms of cloud must have shut down with the power outage. It is almost certain power will not come back. Without humans to monitor and control the vastly complicated systems that go into making power, regulating, and transmitting it to our households, they are bound to shut down and remain shut. The city has already witnessed this. If a city like Trivandrum felt it within 24 hours of the disappearance, the power must have gone out in every possible city and town. Even if you have someone alive in the power plant, he is not enough. As I said earlier, the system is hugely complicated and requires multitudes of people doing their specific jobs to make it run smoothly.


    My bladder makes it clear I need to go to the loo and release the pressure. I get up from the bed and go to the washroom. I get my job done in a matter of minutes and come out. The empty bed does seem inviting, but I fight the urge to jump onto it for a while. If I do that, I will be once again cussing the alarm for waking me up from the quick nap I would have snugged in.


    I walk out into the hall. Daylight filters in through the curtains on the windows. I go and pull them back. Ahhh! More sunlight. More brightness. It takes away the remaining gloominess from the room. It feels much livelier than it was yesterday night.


    On the dining table, I see the other phone. I pick it up and unlock it. It has nothing new to say. I keep it back. I walk towards the wash basin and decide to freshen myself up. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Any remaining sleep needs to be dispelled before I start the day. It is going to be harder on me than it was previously.


    As I finish wiping my face, I look at myself in the mirror. I am as I remember myself to be me. People have told me I have lost weight over time. I don''t think I have. I have been in the same weight range for the past ten years. I have been able to maintain it successfully. There is no trick or hack I employ to achieve this. I simply eat as much as I want to and say a firm no when I have to. It does get tricky when the food in front of you is something you like. But sometimes you become full and the feeling of having more of your favorite stuff just fades away. I reach that state quite easily most of the time.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Apart from having grown a beard and keeping it on for most of the time, there hasn¡¯t been any changes from the time I passed out from college. In college, I had grown my hair to a good extent. I tried to do the same thing when I was in my second year of work. It didn¡¯t work out well. The water we were getting to bathe was hard. I began losing more hair as it grew. It was not strong. Because of this, I decided to chop it off after a couple of months. My hair loss did come down but the process was initiated. There was no way of undoing it. Since then I do have hair loss. But I think I grow back almost the same amount of hair. Thus there isn¡¯t much visible difference in my head, although there are some places where if you look closely you will find a lack of thick hair.


    I know I will get the greys at some point in time. My parents have grey hair. From the time I know him, my Grandfather has had white hair. There isn¡¯t a hint of black in them. He is completely ok with it. I think he doesn¡¯t care much about it. Honestly, it suits him. I have seen his photographs from his youth. He had thick black hair back then. He looked really handsome in it. Now in his eighties, his white hair compliments him perfectly. They are really soft and silky. I like to rub my hand over it from time to time whenever I am with him.


    I have greys towards the front end of my head. Sometimes they seem prominent. Sometimes they don''t. When my hair grows beyond a certain level, these greys somehow hide among the blacks. People have come to me and said my hair has become grey all of a sudden. I try to explain to them what was happening. But I don''t think they get it. Anyways I don''t care much about what they think about my hair and its color. I just want my hair to be there as much as possible for as long as possible. Any kind of hair is better than having no hair.


    There are some dark circles under my eyes. I think it is because of the lack of sleep for the last two nights. I have noticed these dark circles remain under control if I get a good night''s sleep. No matter how much I try to compensate for it by sleeping in the daytime, it doesn¡¯t work. I wish it did.


    I smile. Initially, it comes out naturally. I see it in the mirror and it feels good. It quickly turns into a forced one and soon dies away. Why was I smiling? Was there something funny to smile about? Or did something good happen?


    They are here. The feelings of loss and anguish, depression and anger, helplessness and weakness, they are all here. I can see them in the mirror staring right back at me. I need to accept reality and take it for what it is. Only then will I be able to go forward with my life. In such a situation what is the point of going forward if there is no destination in mind? Is it worth the journey? If not, wouldn¡¯t it be better to end it now? Wouldn¡¯t it bring much-needed blissful peace once and forever?


    I have always been confident about myself and my good mental state. I believed it was good and will not have any problems in the near future with how things were going. I will be rational and will not do anything foolish whatsoever. This is the one life I currently know about. This is it. It would be great if I can live it to the best of my capabilities and see it through. I will not be the force that stops it midway. It will unfold the way it has to.


    Yet I find myself harboring those very thoughts in my head even for a fleeting second. What has happened to the confidence I have in myself about being in a good mental state? Have I been pushed to walk down the darkest of all paths yesterday? Am I still walking in it? Is there no return from this?


    This thing we think about ourselves, this feeling of being in control of our lives, of having figured it all out is very wrong. I thought I had reins over my mind. I am wrong. I have got a glimpse of how fragile and delicate it is. It has taken a blow from the events of the past twenty-four hours from which it will take quite some time to recuperate. In that time frame, it is very easy to take the escape route - to end it all. I think I will be taunted to consider it from time to time whenever memories and thoughts resurface. I will be harassed and pushed to my limits. My mind will go for a toss.


    All I can say now is I need to take this one moment at a time. These feelings will come. They will stay for a while. I just need to not feed them anything else. Their hunger is insatiable. They get hungrier the more I provide them. And scarier too. I need to be able to put up a stoic face in front of them and confront them for what they are - misfortune on the grandest scale ever.


    There is only one question I keep pondering upon. Why me? Why was I chosen for this experience? What is it in me that makes me worthy of having to go through this experience and come out the better of it? Or is it that there is no coming out of this? Is it an experiment of sorts in which I was drawn out randomly from billions of other human beings to live this experience and see how I respond to it? In life, there is no fixed path. And all paths are just paths. No one is the best or the worst. There is no absolute one. All are relative to each other. In the infinite paths that stretch across the multiverse, this one singular experience is one among many.


    I was one among many. Now I am all alone. The only one of my species left.

 2.2

    I force myself to walk away from the mirror, pull up a chair from the dining table, and sit on it. I take a deep breath and calm myself.


    I look out through the window. It is going to be a sunny day. The sunlight is hitting hard on the leaves and branches of the couple of trees I see through the window. Its intensity tells me the day is going to be hot and humid. I see a couple of crows chasing one another and going around circles on the mango tree. It felt good. It felt nice to see a fellow living being. I wonder if they have realized what has happened. Are they also a part of this phenomenon? I mean, I did come across the stray dogs yesterday night. They didn¡¯t seem to show any particular kind of change in their behavior whatsoever. Nor was there any strange behavior from any kind of animal or bird. They will get a small idea of it in the coming days when they run out of food and the conditions required to sustain their living.


    I take the jug of water and pour myself a glass of water. I drink it at a much slower pace than I normally do. I am drinking it as if I am savoring every drop in it. I don''t know why I did it. I felt like doing it. Honestly, I don''t know what to do now. I really am clueless right now.


    Before I can think of anything I get a signal from my tummy telling me to hit the washroom. I hear the call and walk towards the washroom of the bedroom I slept in. It takes nearly five minutes for me to finish my job. I feel a bit better in the tummy. A good clean stomach is always a good sign.


    Normally whenever I hit the washroom to relieve my bowel, I take my phone with me. This is the time when I browse through the WhatsApp and Instagram messages and notifications I might have received at night. I also browse through some of the stories that show up in my account. This does prolong the session. It makes it almost double the length. Actually, it only takes five minutes at max, but sitting down and scrolling through the posts and feeds sucks me into that world with ease. I have to put a good amount of effort to pull myself out of that black hole and get down with my business.


    Today as I went in I didn¡¯t have my phone with me. It was just me sitting down to get the job done. By now you must have got an idea of the kind of person I am. I can get deep into thoughts anytime anywhere. The washroom is one of the perfect conduits for me to enter the realm of thoughts. Every shower I take, I think about something or the other. Every time I use the washroom to clear my stomach, I harbor all kinds of thoughts in a short span of time. Here I might have my mobile with me. But in my workplace, I don''t take it along. I leave it in my room and I go free. There too I find myself drifting into deep thoughts from time to time.


    As I sat down to get my business done now, the thoughts that got hold of me were about the future. What is going to happen next? What does my future look like?


    One of the first thoughts that came into my mind was if I would find some other survivor like me. Where will I find him? That question is something I cannot answer. Instead, I should be looking to answer the question of how I will be able to find such a person if he exists.


    The only mode of communication I have with myself is the walkie-talkie. The networks are down and they will remain down since there is no power. All the generators that might have switched on with the loss of power would soon run out of fuel and stop powering the signal towers. They were actually powering them for no reason. The main system is down without which these towers are mere dummies.


    I can only pray that if such a person exists, he somehow manages to get his hand on a police walkie-talkie and keep it powered up. He must also be able to know how to use it in the minimum possible way. At least if he can keep it switched on and at full volume, he might be able to pick up any one of the signals I will be transmitting on all the channels.


    It suddenly dawns upon me I was transmitting my messages only through a single channel - the channel that was already set when I got my hands on it. I didn¡¯t cycle through the channels and transmit my messages through each one of them. I should do this today. I should be doing this first thing in the morning. I will do this after I am done with my job here.


    I was able to get my hands on a walkie-talkie because I was able to get out into the open and visit a police station. The idea just sprung into my head and I was able to take action. What if the person is inside a building and can''t get out? In that situation, I don''t think I will be able to make contact. Until the person gets out into the open and decides to explore the city to find some other survivor, the chances will remain near zero. One needs to get out and explore to maximize the chances of coming across someone. In that regard, I will need to go out today and explore more of the city. I will also need to plan for the day and how to go about it.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I also need to put up banners and posters in important parts of the city. I need to make some small posters and convey the message that I am out here.


    In the movie I Am Legend, Will Smith goes to a certain spot in the city at noon and waits for anyone who has heard his transmission and is willing to meet him. He specifically picked this one spot to stay away from the zombies in it while maximizing his chances of survival if anything untoward happens. Also, he has a great view of his surrounding from the location. I will have to find a place that is synonymous with anyone coming into the city and make my presence felt there every day at a specific time. I think the best place for this would be Thampanoor railway station. It is one place that everyone associates with the city. It is the transport hub for the city. Also, I think this place will be marked on maps. Typing Trivandrum and putting on the GPS will probably lead you to Thampanoor. I haven''t tried this but it should be something like that. But without a network will it work, I don''t know. I think for that you need to have downloaded a part of google maps beforehand. Yes. I think that is needed. It gets stored in the cache so that it can be used quickly whenever you open your maps. When I checked the maps yesterday on my phone, it wasn¡¯t showing up because I hadn¡¯t downloaded it. Or I might have cleared it off owing to space restrictions. Anyway, I hope maps come into some assistance.


    I have some A4 papers with me. I will have to use them to convey my message. I have thought about it. It would be a simple message telling them that I would be present at so and so location at so and so time daily. If I am not seen they could probably come to meet me at my home.


    Ummm, I think that would not be right. It is more complicated because I would have to explain how to reach my home. Maybe I can do it on one of the sheets. Doing it in every sheet I intend to post would be a hectic job. I need to sit and think about this. There should be an elegant solution to this problem.


    The five minutes of taking a dump made me realize I have a lot of work to do before I can go out. I need to come up with the posters. Also, I need to think of a way to stick them onto the walls. Usually, a runny solution of maida is used to stick film posters on the walls. I think I can do the same. I will have to look for maida in the cabinet. I am not sure if there is any left. The last of the lot was used to make some banana fritters the previous week. If not, I will have to get it from somewhere.


    The other way to stick these is to use cooked rice. It would be mashed up and the paste would be used. But it is not as effective as maida.


    Speaking of stuff, I also need to get things for my survival. Food is on top of the list. Then comes all other things. In food, I will have to look for a dry ration. All other stuff would start rotting in the coming few days. I must try to get some of the stuff under refrigeration. It will keep them fresh for some time. I need to hit the supermarket nearby. I will find all the stuff I need in there. I probably would have to pry it open. If the shutters are down, I don''t know what to do. Maybe there is an alternate entrance. Yes, I think there is. I have seen vehicles with heavy goods going to the basement. There should be an entrance there. Maybe a lift to take the heavy items into the shop. I can look for an entrance there.


    If that doesn¡¯t work out, then I will have to look for other shops. It should not be an issue. There are other smaller supermarkets and grocery shops nearby. I think it would be easier to open them. Honestly, I really don''t like to do these kinds of stuff. It feels as if I am committing a robbery. I know I am not. I am doing this for my survival. But still, there is that thought in the back of my head. It will not go away. I will be scared and worried when I will be in the act of busting a shop open. If someone sees me and comes and catches me, it would be the best thing that can happen. At least I would have found a survivor.


    It is the prospect of being caught doing something illegal that makes me feel uneasy. It is surely the upbringing and conditioning I had to undergo that is making me feel so conscious. The primal feeling of survival hasn¡¯t kicked in it. I am yet to realize it. In that state, nothing of this would matter. I am still left in the state where I am trying to decipher what has happened to the world and myself and looking out for my wife and my near and dear ones.


    Talking of near and dear ones, I am reminded of my mom and dad. Their faces flash in front of my eyes and stay for a while. It is replaced by the image of both of them sitting on the verandah and sipping their evening coffee. I love this image. I would join them with a cup of coffee upon waking up from my siesta. We would sit and look at all the passing people and vehicles. We would talk about some topics. The discussion can go to good lengths. Along with the coffee mother would have made some snacks to munch on. If not there are always the trusted biscuits to fall back to. As the sun sets amidst the thicket of rubber trees, I feel grateful to have my parents around with me. They have dedicated their lives to making our lives easier and the best. I am always grateful for them. Always. I pray they remain in the best of their health for as long as possible.


    Both of them are into traveling these days. Dad plans all the trips. Sometimes they drive to their destination. Other times they go with a group. It is good as they have finally decided to enjoy the second innings of their life. They need that. They have done a lot for us. They have sacrificed a good part of their youth to make our family financially independent and strong. Now it is their time.


    I pick up the thought of going to my hometown and checking out on them. I don''t know what has happened to them. Without any way to communicate with them, I am left in the dark. I can only hope they are safe and sound at home.

 2.3

    I have a few reasons for sticking to Trivandrum at the moment. This is where I was when the phenomenon happened. This is where we have been living for the past year. She is a victim of the phenomenon. She is gone. I need to find her. I need to figure out what has happened to her and bring her back into my life. It is my number one priority. Everything else can wait. I can try bringing back the rest of humanity after I have brought her back.


    Secondly, without any modes of communication beyond the range offered by my walkie-talkie, I remain in dark as to what has happened to the rest of the world. They too might have succumbed to the incident. In that case, everyone is gone which includes my parents, friends, and everyone I knew.


    Or the other possibility is things are going smoothly out there. They have no idea of such a thing. Maybe it is a localized phenomenon that is being played out in a veil of sorts. For them, all must good. An illusion must have been created for them.


    This is highly unlikely. For such a thing to happen it requires one to fool the entire world into believing all is well in the state capital of Kerala. What about the people that must be travelling in and out of the city? They are dynamic entities. They are always difficult to control.


    This kindles a small hope in me that things are all right out there. I don''t know how I can rationalize it. It doesn¡¯t have logic at all. I know this but I tend to ignore it as I don''t have a clear-cut way to gauge it. I don''t have the means to gather information on it and come to a conclusion. In this case, ignorance is bliss. I am not willing to believe in anything else until I am given solid proof of it.


    If I want I can go ahead and get the proof for myself. I can decide to drive down all the way to my hometown. I will be covering a lot of ground in that 160 km long drive. It will provide me with enough evidence along the way for me to conclude what has transpired. I know this and I have decided to not address it. Sometimes, that little hope does provide a bit of comfort. I need it in these tumultuous times. I need it. If this is what keeps me sane and drives me ahead then let it remain. I will use it as much as I can, until the point where it becomes impossible to ignore. Then I will address it and accept whatever is the truth with both hands.


    Looking back at my decision to come back home and spend the night back in my home, it does seem like a foolish one. I should have instead spent it somewhere on the road. I should have been on the lookout for any kind of movement from any other survivor. No one is going to come searching for me here. If someone is out there looking for others, they will always stick to well-known places. Or at least the main road.


    Shit! I think I made a bad decision.


    Well, I can''t undo it now. I can learn from it though. Tonight I will be somewhere in the city in my car. I can probably sleep inside it. It will keep me safe from stray dogs. Maybe I can go for some rounds during the night. There is time to think about this and execute it. I will decide what to do when night falls.


    I don''t feel hungry at the moment. It is just the start of the day. I haven''t had much from yesterday night. I didn¡¯t feel hungry at all. I guess there was an excess of adrenaline and other hormones running through my system. They effectively blocked out any pleas of hunger from my body. I will be eating something before I leave. I also need to pack something for the road. A packet of biscuits will do.


    Oh! Wait! I need to consider some food and water. It was one of the points in the last message I broadcasted yesterday evening. There are biscuit packets and some savories. I do have some dry fruits lying around - cashews, almonds, and kismis. I think there might be a packet of banana chips stashed away somewhere in one of the air-tight containers. I love them. But more than that, she loves them.


    In my childhood days whenever my grandmother made these banana chips at home, she would serve them in our lunch as an accompaniment. Traditionally banana chips are served in the Onam sadhya or at any other sadhya taking place for a wedding or any other function. It is a part of the meal. Other than that I have only seen my grandmother serve them to us. She introduced my mother to this. Soon whenever my mother used to make these chips for us, she would include them in our lunch. Sometimes she even packs up a bit for me to take to school.


    Her love for banana chips has brought this back into my life. She likes to have them with her meals. She even dips them in the spicy mango pickle before consuming it. I tried it in my childhood. It is good. The extra spiciness does give it a tang. But I love it the way it is and so I don''t do that. I just eat the few she gives to me. Otherwise, I like my banana chips plain and normal. I am also not a big fan of a version in which they sprinkle red chili powder on top of it. It is tasty but not my thing.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    This should be enough food. I mean I don¡¯t think any survivor would have gone hungry in a day. There are enough avenues to get something to eat. I can take a few slices of the remaining bread and the chocolate spread. I will have to take more water though. It is much more important than food. I will take two bottles. If more is needed I can get it from some shop.


    The only shops that should be open must be at the Thampanoor bus stand. The one that used to be open has almost burned down. After I went out and subdued it, I lost the mood to go looking for some snacks to grab a bite. Also, I was not that hungry back then. Hunger was nowhere to be seen. I should have paid a little bit more attention to the surroundings. The shops inside the bus terminal are mostly closed. So are the shops on the first platform of the railway station. I don''t know if some of the other shops on the other platforms remain open. It is highly unlikely. They do not function round the clock. They don''t get many customers in those wee hours.


    I am being optimistic and hoping to come across someone strong and iron-willed. I want to lean on him and let him guide me through the process of survival and getting back my life. It is me leaving out things for someone else. It is me being a sissy, a person who can¡¯t take control of his own life and wants someone to show how to go about it and follow him. It is me not being a leader when the time calls. It is me escaping from what I should be doing. I am trying to be an escape artist. To escape and hope the other person figures it all out and calls for me when things are good.


    I have run away from things that seem difficult to handle. It is my coping mechanism. She saw me through easily. She has said to my face that I do run away from my problems instead of facing them. I knew this but I was in denial for a very long time. When she told this me, my temper rose. But she was telling the truth. The truth was bitter and painful but there was no denying it. I had to own up and face things.


    Instead of being angry at her, I accepted what she said. I confessed I do run away. I try to avoid confrontations. I want to remain in a safe space. I want to make sure things go smoothly without causing many hiccups. It is how I have tailored my entire life.


    I haven¡¯t taken any kind of risks. I haven''t tried to take something that seemed challenging or required my full focus and dedication. I have always tried to find the easier path out of it.


    Luckily my job wasn¡¯t as such. There I did own up. I had to. I did my work to its full potential and ensured everything went smoothly and harmoniously. I think it was my inherent nature to see to it that things remain smooth which helped me navigate through the various ups and downs in my career. Since I always wanted to create an atmosphere in which my colleagues and I were comfortable, I hardly picked any fights with anyone. I treated everyone with the respect they deserved and ensured everyone''s wants and needs were taken care of to a good extent. This enabled me to take things ahead without many problems. Over the years it brought a change in the mentality of the people. They were happy with me and how I took things forward. This translated to them putting in their best efforts, thus getting a good amount of work done on a daily basis. Targets were met and sometimes exceeded. It was a win-win for everyone involved.


    But in life, I haven''t been able to implement this to that extent. Here I have always taken flight instead of fighting. I think I am not a fighter. I am someone who remains in the shadows, gets the job done, and wants to lead a life of peace. The peace part is very true. I really don''t like getting into trouble for trivial matters. I feel trivial matters need to be dissolved as soon as they are created. They should not be given space to grow. They should be nipped out at the beginning itself. Since I am someone who doesn¡¯t want to address them and weed them out, I run away from them.


    This one day of being alone in this city has taught me a lot of things. One of them is I need to start owning up to the things I have to. I need to confront them straight ahead and take them for what they are, address them and resolve them. Some things do not get solved by flight. They remain there, collecting dust, only for them to come back to life in some other situation, which can cause even more harm.


    I need to teach myself to take a moment and analyze the situation before I take the primal decision of fight or flight. When one needs to take a stand and fight, one should do that. Where one needs to fly away into the distance, one should do that. In both cases, one should always reflect and see if it was the best decision. We are humans and we are bound to make mistakes. We need to come back to them and analyze them. What has happened has happened. It cannot be changed. But one can learn from it.


    The funny thing is I know all this and I have decided multiple times on previous occasions on being more dynamic. I sleep on it for a while and before I know it I am the old me. I have somehow managed to scrap out of the odd situations without many problems and see them through. Not in the current position though. I will have to man up if I have to survive this ordeal and triumph over it.


    Maybe that is why I am not hoping to come across someone I can count on. Someone who can direct me to what has to be done next to survive. He will be a catalyst in transforming me. He will build in me the confidence to face my ordeals and deal with them one at a time. He will be the mentor that makes me believe in myself and prepares me for the challenges ahead.


    What if I never come across anyone? What if I am the lone survivor, the cursed survivor? What then?


    Then the only person left to fall upon is me. Shouldn¡¯t I be doing that? Shouldn''t I be owning up to what I have to and facing it head-on?

 2.4

    I take out the packet of biscuits and the banana chips from the container. There is a full bottle of water on the kitchen counter. I take all this stuff and walk towards the sofa in the hall. I dump the stuff onto the sofa and open the bag. As I open the bag I am welcomed by a bottle of water and a packet of savories. I had kept them inside yesterday when I left for the city but I never ate them. The bottle is half empty though. I am not drinking enough water. The urine I passed in the morning was dark yellowish in color. I am a little dehydrated. Since I realize I am dehydrated I go and drink some water from the jug right away. I should have been hydrating at regular intervals and I know that there is no point in trying to compensate for the loss of it by drinking a huge amount of water at once. But I ignore the compensation part and mentally visualize myself getting all hydrated and ready for the day.


    The time is five minutes past seven. The small timepiece on the counter near the wash basin tells me this with its tiny green hands. It has an even tinnier yellow arm for the alarm. It is the first time keeper of this house. When she moved into this house, she brought it along with her. Since our house owner has forbidden us from drilling any holes in the walls or driving nails into them, she settled with this small timepiece. It was also perfect for her use. It is small but the white background and the dials can be seen from a distance.


    We now have a clock on the wall right above it. When I moved it, I was given some clocks by my mom to hang in the house. We had a surplus of them from the time we gave a party for our new home. Most of the gifts we received were wall clocks. Our home doesn¡¯t have that many walls to hang them all. So one of them was transferred to me. I used double-sided tape and stickers to stick the clock on the wall. Until now it has not fallen from the wall. I hope it doesn¡¯t. I pray the battery lasts for a very long time. I will have to remove it from the sticky stuff. Once I do that I need to stick new tapes onto it as the old ones will not hold them once I remove them.


    This location was specifically chosen by her because here the clock and the timepiece can be seen clearly from the kitchen. She needs this. She needs to have time under check whenever she is cooking in the morning. It is essential for her to stay on time and to leave home before it gets too late.


    Also, it can be seen from almost anywhere in the hall yet it is not the first thing that comes across the opposite wall when you open the front door. There is some feng shui logic to it that was given by my mother. It has stuck with me. She read it only a few years back. When she did share it, I went back to all the homes I had stayed in and tried remembering the location of the clock in them. I was able to recollect most of them, all the way back to my childhood days. None of the wall clocks were facing the front door. None of them. Some of the homes were designed in such a way that there was no point in keeping a clock on the opposite wall to the entrance door. Thinking along those lines, it was somewhat the same situation in almost all the homes. The clock was placed in such a manner as to be seen from the kitchen or the hall or adjacent room. The clock was made to be functional whether it liked it or not. When I mentioned this to my mother, she took a while to think about them. When she returned from her thoughts I found the same surprise on her face that I had a couple of minutes ago.


    Maybe it was this incident that somehow stuck this idea into my head. I never had to place a clock anywhere. This is the first house I find myself inhabiting without my parents. Even at my worksite we mostly stay in bunkers or makeshift houses. There is no permanence there. Things are very much temporary. They cannot be considered a house.


    If it was a normal day I wouldn¡¯t have noticed the timepiece. My gaze would have automatically gone to the clock for the time. Maybe it is her absence that is making me do things differently. Maybe it is her way of making her presence felt. Maybe she hasn¡¯t gone anywhere. Just became invisible or something like that. Along with the rest of the population of this city or maybe even the world? It is not possible, but still. If the thought of having her here with me all along brings in a little bit of solace and comfort, I should entertain it.


    It made me observe a thing that seems to slowly fade away in importance. It is making me see the world in a new light. If asked to trade this all to be with her, I wouldn¡¯t give it a second thought. I would throw it away to be with her in an instant. I guess I shouldn¡¯t entertain anything much. All these are a figment of my imagination. I am trying to find illogical explanations to stuff so as to keep myself in a fantasy world and away from reality, the reality of being all alone in this city and maybe this entire world.


    Time seems to be passing by very slowly. I wish it sped up a bit. I know it does speed up when we are having a good time. It is a global phenomenon. That and time slowing down when we are waiting for something or when we are going through something bad or rough. Uggghhh. They are bad. Then there is the extreme case - when time stands still. It happens when you least expect it to. It is bad. It is never good. Time stands still when you are in an accident, or when something untoward happens. When it stands still a gazillion thoughts pass through your head. You feel like a million volts of electricity are passing through your tiny brain in a fraction of a second. It is overwhelming. Before you know it, it is done. Time has resumed, that too in the slowest of all manners. This is definitely going to be torturous for you. In this instance, you would have wished for it to never happen or for it to be reversed somehow. This is something you don¡¯t want in your life, something that is not in the picture you have seen for yourself. And yet, here it is.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I have had a couple of instances in my life that I can remember. It is something I don''t want to remember. You want to forget it as soon as possible and get on with your life. One of them is fresh in my mind. It happened five years ago at my worksite. I will not get into much detail about it.


    As I was finishing off the day''s proceedings, I came upon an unexpected unwanted situation. As I gained composure to think about it, the only thought in my head was this question - how did it happen? I had foreseen the work being done and yet how did this happen? It was something that shouldn¡¯t have happened. I had performed the process a couple of times earlier without any problems. Even if I hadn¡¯t done it, there was a procedure to be followed. I had done the exact things. Well not in the exact manner as there was a constraint. We had to cut short one of the operations. As this constraint was encountered previously, we had always followed this set of operations. That is why I had done it in this situation too.


    Panic took over my whole body. I had to leave for my home because my grandma was a bit serious. She was hospitalized. I decided to take the night bus and reach home. But now this incident put me in a very dicey situation. My boss was a chill man. He told me to go home and not worry about this when he came to me with the news. Actually, he had got the call from my mother. My phone was out of coverage area or was silent, something like that. My mother had called him when she couldn¡¯t get me. I could see the tension on his face when he came to know of the situation. He would have to be answerable to it. And he did. He took it upon himself.


    I think I had seen all this in the instant time froze. I saw how my boss would react, how his superior would react and the numerous phone calls and queries we all would have to undergo just because of the problem we had created. It was not intentional. But it was something that should never have happened.


    Later on, when I became a little bit composed, I rewinded all that had happened leading to the event. I figured out what had gone wrong. All I can say about that incident is I wasn¡¯t the one who made the mistake.


    It is a closed chapter now. We did face a lot of backlash for it from our superiors and the higher management. I was summoned to the office to give explanations to it. It was a bit to take mentally. But I guess I handled it well. It is true that in the process I was looked down upon by my colleagues in the other projects. That''s okay. I am fine with it. I know what had happened and why I stood by what I said afterward. I tried to remain neutral and see if it goes away without much trouble. But it didn¡¯t. I finally had to own up to it and share my true thoughts on the events that took place. I made sense to the people who had done the job with their hands. For the others who couldn¡¯t comprehend what had happened, I was looked upon with a guilty eye. As I said, I was ready for it. I have my reasons for it. I don''t think anyone would understand it.


    It taught me a big life lesson. Sometimes people do things no one would understand except the person himself. No matter how much you try to decipher the reason behind it, you will never get the true picture. You will always come across a version of it he wants you to see, not the true one. He is the narrator of his story. Only he knows what comes next, what is to be told, and what is to be concealed.


    I am the narrator of my story, this story. I know what I am telling you and what I am not telling you. I am not telling you a lot of things. You are witnessing a fraction of the things I am going through from yesterday. Whatever I have told you is true though. It is something I had decided before I sat down to write. All of this is true. Nothing is false. But this is not everything. There are a lot of things I will probably never tell you.


    Similarly, there are a lot of things my Anna would probably never learn about me. On my death bed, there will be thoughts deep inside my head that I have never shared with her. The same applies to her too. I will never know certain things about her. I will only know what she wishes to share with me.


    We harbor in us things we will never share with anyone, no matter who it is. I think it is one other thing that makes us human. We carry with us all the things that cannot be shared with our graves. They weigh us down at times but we get used to them and learn to live with them.


    Lucky are the ones that don''t have many burdens to carry, the ones who have made peace with them and left them where they belonged. I don''t think I am a lucky one. I will carry my burdens to my grave. There isn¡¯t much though. I know it is less. I can¡¯t compare because I don''t know what others are carrying. I guess I am happy knowing this is all that I have to carry. In this, I have found a certain peace I wish to sustain for the rest of my life.

 2.5

    Enough of these depressing and dejecting thoughts. They have no space here. I need to flush them out right now. They are only capable of doing damage and clouding my rationale. Out with all the dark thoughts and in with the lighter ones. The ones that shine upon you and make you get up and going.


    It is not easy to summon them as and when required. It hardly happens that way. I have seen a lot of stuff on the internet about manifesting goodness and the positive energy of the universe into our lives by thinking about them hard and strongly and visualizing them. I don''t believe in that stuff. I mean I don''t know why anyone would believe in it. I think it is not how this universe operates or whatever entity one is referring to. I actually don''t know whether such an entity exists. Wouldn¡¯t it be more like a god figure then? The one above all, looking down at us and pulling the infinite strings as he pleases or randomly. I really don''t know. There is a lot of debate on how life has come up in this speck of duct in the vast cosmos. Is it just a funny coincidence or a masterfully designed idea? I don''t know. I leave that question to the philosophers of this planet. Many have tried to decipher it in their own ways. Many more will. They will surely have found a profound thing to think about and ultimately share.


    Maybe I should sit back and write about this. I should pen down what I think of the events that have transpired and what it all means.


    Where should I start now? Ummm, well I really don''t know. I mean I can''t get a starting point. This has been my problem. To start. I wonder how all these philosophers and writers start. I have ideas in my mind but when I sit down to put them into words, they never seem to come together. They hang up like a floating mess inside my head I can never bring together.


    Okay. I will give this a try.


    What am I feeling now?


    I am feeling pain and sadness. I feel alone. I feel utter guilt and god knows what all feelings on not having her with me. I feel cheated. I feel like I am in a vast arena, being watched over by a huge crowd that I am completely unaware of. I don''t know what to do here. I am lost. In that horrible state, I find myself being judged by them, being laughed at, and even pitied by a few.


    I am also feeling extreme helplessness. I really don''t know what to do. I don''t know what steps I need to take to come up with a solution to the situation at hand and find the answers to all the questions that have popped up in the last twenty-four hours.


    But beyond all these, it is the feeling of missing my love that haunts me the most. It has nothing to do with the time we have had to know each other or how we are taking time to become singular. This feeling would have easily consumed me at any time in my lifetime, whether it is twenty or thirty, or forty years into being together. She is my backbone, my go-to person at all times, my partner in crime to all the things we are yet to do, my biggest supporter and my truest critic, and the love of my life. Her absence in any form is bound to bring in a flood of emotions that cannot be held back. I go through them every time I leave for work. I go through them every time she does her night shift. There is a certain comfort we have with each other. Anything that breaks it causes pain to both of us.


    I am sure wherever she is, she must be suffering through all these, maybe more. She must be missing me and dying to get back to me. For once I will be the one missing her the most. Cause I am the one at our home, not her. She used to be the one to feel the loneliness this place can assert upon you when I leave. I have also felt it at the lowest amount. In this short time of a single day, I am getting a hang of how hard it can be.


    Next question: why am I feeling all this?


    Isn¡¯t this what a human is supposed to feel? Isn¡¯t this what anyone would feel if he finds himself all alone one fine day, his wife missing along with all the people in his city?


    This feeling is being catapulted by a sense of loss. It is the loss of our near and dear ones that pushes these feelings and emotions onto us. I might not have responded like this if I had her with me. I am sure that I would have thanked the Gods for having her with me in this situation. We would have definitely tried to contact our parents and our siblings. When that doesn¡¯t succeed, panic would have come over us. But we do have each other. We have each other to comfort and pacify and to hug. A warm hug does miracles. We have each other for that. It makes us strong. We are strong together. We would have maybe thought of driving down to them since they are the next of our kin that matters to us.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I can only imagine how we would have responded to the situation. In reality, it could be very different. We are humans and we really don''t know what comes over us at any point in time.


    Does it mean the sense of free will is false? Does it imply the control we feel we have is something being simulated in us, that in reality, we don''t have any control at all? Can it be the moments were we do things out of our control the moment when the system glitches, thereby revealing to us our true nature?


    Chaos. That''s all there is. That is what made us and drives us. We are all chaos. Our surroundings are all chaos.


    But it is all being made to come in order. By whom? No idea!


    I have heard people talking about how the universe is a cradle for chaos. Every second it exists, it is expanding the chaos in it. But somehow, it is trying to be reigned in and made orderly. Is there an entity in play here or is it just how things are? Like the two sides of a coin. What good is chaos if there isn¡¯t any order? Does chaos have any meaning the second order dies out? Will such a situation ever come? If it comes, will chaos let it happen? For if it does then there is no meaning to it. Without order, chaos has no meaning. So wouldn¡¯t it also cease to exist?


    The mixture of order and chaos across all the dimensions in space and time - from the lowest one to the highest - is like a chemical solution that is still undergoing the chemical reaction. I don''t think any one of them is vying to vanquish the other. As I said earlier that triumph has no meaning. Both of them are trying to come to an equilibrium. Reaching that state is like reaching zen. When yin and yang come together to form a harmonious whole. I think when that happens, everything in this universe will know what its purpose is - to be a part of the process that drives it to the state of zen, the harmonious whole.


    What will happen after this state is reached? Will the universe cease to exist? Or is it the beginning of something else, something more significant than the universe? What can it be? Can we ever comprehend it? Does it make any sense to comprehend it? We have played our parts and that is it. We are done. We are out of the equation. We will not live to see what comes next. Like the long essay answers we write for our mathematics exam in high school that stretch across pages with numbers and letters coming and being equated to and going after they have played the part. The starting equation doesn¡¯t know how it is going to end up. It is born with its end and purpose instilled in it.


    I am talking too much nonsense. Even if this is true or false, it doesn¡¯t apply to what I am going through. Maybe it does. But that is not the problem here. I need to find out what has happened and why it happened. For that, I cannot sit here and entertain all these thoughts.


    They did give me break though. They did make me think in a much more rational way than I would ever have if I was clouded over by loss.


    I get up from the sofa. I had somehow managed to make myself comfortable in its arm. I usually don''t do it but I was able to, thanks to the deep thoughts I entertained. It is now time to take some action.


    The first thing I do is drink some water. I felt thirsty all of a sudden upon getting up. It must be all the talking I was doing to myself in my head while I was thinking. I gulp down half of the bottle. Not in a hurry though, but at a good pace. I look at the clock for the time. It is seven twenty-six. I turn and make my way to the front door. I grab the scooter key from the wall, open the multiple locks of the door and close the door behind me.


    Once out, I am greeted by the freshness of the morning air. I should have just stood by on the balcony to clear my head a little. I should be doing that more often - turning to nature and its healing properties whenever I feel burdened.


    There is a slight chill in the air. I like it. I wear my crocs and make my way to the staircase. I don''t ring the calling bell of our opposite house. I know no one is going to respond to it. Nor will I ring the calling bells of any other houses in the building. I must accept things for what they are.


    As I reach the landing of the first floor, I am greeted by the cawing of a couple of crows that fly away on seeing me. It makes my ears prick and pick up the shrill sounds of the birds in our owner''s home. Do they know their master is no longer with them? Do they know that they will never be fed again? I can maybe feed them. But for that, I will have to break open his house and enter it. Or do some daredevilry. The birds are kept in the open area on their top floor. I can probably jump into the parapet and from there scale the low wall that borders the open area.


    We cannot see these birds from our balcony. They are hidden by the curtains that cover the area in which they are housed. But they make their presence felt every now and then. If I hear them loudly and clearly whenever I talk to her over the phone, it means she has put the phone on a loudspeaker and is in our bedroom. If it is weaker, she is in the kitchen or any of the other rooms. The weakest is when she is in the hall. Sometimes in the silence that hangs between us during emotional conversations, it is these sounds that bring back a sense of warmth and togetherness in us. I have seen how dogs can do this in the Instagram stories that flood her account. I know this is quite possible with any kind of pet you have. Never have I ever thought these birds that don¡¯t belong to us could bring in such a feeling. That too from a distance with only their cries.


    Nature is surprising. It has always been surprising us from our inception. We are after all a part of her, which we forget most of the time. Does she hold the answer that I seek? Does she know what has happened? I proceed to take the next flight of stairs.

 2.6

    I take the last flight of stairs without much hurry. Why should I hurry? There is nothing to be done in a hurry. As I reach the landing on the ground floor, I look at the fish tank. The lone fish paddles its way around the constrained space of the aquarium. I wonder if it will ever know that there is a bigger world outside. Can it see the rain? What does it make of the water dropping all around it from above and never getting into its own world? The caretaker used to feed it. I have seen him do it once. I don''t know how much to feed it or how many times. Right beside the aquarium is the fish feed bottle. I make my way towards it, open the bottle and sprinkle some of the multi-coloured feed into it from an opening at the top. The fish immediately makes its way and gobbles up all of it. It must have been really hungry. I decide to feed it whenever I can.


    What about the birds at the house owners? I have never seen them and will never see them. I guess it becomes a reason not to care about them as much as this fish, which is something I come across daily.


    Priorities. That is what it is. If I decide to feed every animal and bird crossing my path, I won¡¯t have any time left to do my things. I am sure within a couple of days there will be a large number of animals and birds hungry. They would venture out of their comfort zone in search of food.


    It can become a threat. Over time the wild instinct hidden in every animal that has been domesticated and made to be passive will come out. Hunger would be the prime driver of this. Without food, it becomes a question of survival.


    I can ask myself the same question. What will I do when I am faced with a similar situation? To what end will I go to secure a morsel of bread for myself? Will I kill a fellow human being for it? In this current situation, I don''t think I will come across many humans. Will I then kill the only other human I know of? Or will I find some other way to the situation at hand? What if he decides to kill me? In that case whatever feeling I had harboured to keep me away from committing the crime would have ultimately brought my own demise. Is it a crime by the way - the act of killing for food to survive? There wouldn¡¯t be any concept of a society or a community to validate that. We are two living beings struggling to survive. If only one gets to go ahead then who would it be?


    I don''t think I have fully recovered from the philosophical state I was in a half an hour ago. I love philosophy and love to entertain all kinds of thoughts. But I should put a brake on them. I need to get going with my day. I can''t be entrapped in its vicious circle. Yes, it is a vicious circle. It makes you wanna stay in it and ponder. You are of course doing a noble exercise when you are thinking of questions that transcend the mundaneness of everyday life.


    Maybe life was made mundane so as to urge you to think on a very metaphysical level. Would you have entertained all these thoughts if you had the answers to them? What happens is these answers would call up more questions. Questions we only encounter when we answer the current ones. These questions take the place of the current ones and we find ourselves right where we started.


    Life is surely a never-ending train of questions. We are traversing from one end to the other. We think we know the end only to realise it isn¡¯t, and so we keep going along the path.


    I get out of the building and pull up the scooter from the edge of the wall. I put in the key, pull up the choke and start it. It came to life in a single go. Good. I rev it up for a while before I push down the choke. I rev it a bit more before I turn the scooter and start moving ahead.


    The sun is up. The sky is scattered with clouds. They must be the upper atmosphere ones. They are like brush strokes drawn on a blue canvas. I think they are called nimbus. Or is it cirrus? I think it is nimbus only. Anyways, I hope the day is good. I hope I do find some answers today.


    I exit the premises in silence. Except for the sound of my scooter and the cries of the birds from the owner''s home and maybe the odd crow, there is total silence. The air is still. There is no wind. The trees all stand firm and tall. As I observe them I see the leaves of the tallest coconut tree sway gently. It brings me a certain joy to me. I can''t say why it did so, but it was nice. I think I had a small smile on my face that instant I saw it sway. It was a little moment of joy.


    I remember this particular incident I had with her. I guess it was a couple of months after our marriage. I had come back from my work and was one week into my leave. It was a weekday. Since there weren¡¯t many patients to attend to on that particular day, she was able to wind up well before her usual time. I had to go and pick her up from college. Back then, I was thinking of getting into eating healthy food. I have always wanted to make good salads, particularly Caesar salads.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I was never a salad person, but I become one when I tasted the Caesar salad made by my father. It was heavenly. It was so awesome I immediately fell in love with it. I wanted to create it for myself. I instantly asked him how he had made it. He told me what goes into it and how to make the dressing. It was easy. Actually, I felt it to be very easy. There was no cooking involved of any kind. Dad had a packet of croutons with him and so he did not have to make them from the leftover pieces of bread. He told me though, how to make it. I had the recipe in my head for a very long time. Then I forgot about it.


    Since I don''t cook and don''t have much idea about it (actually no idea at all to be fair), making a good salad was something I could do with all the time I have in the daytime. I looked for some recipes online. I was looking for the veg version that was healthier and easier to make. By easy I mean the ingredients were readily available to me. I know I wouldn¡¯t get the anchovy paste which goes into making the dressing. It is one of the signature ingredients of the salad. That¡¯s what my father had told me. He also couldn¡¯t get it but he managed to make something similar with the ingredients he had. I wouldn¡¯t be able to do it. So I was looking for an easier alternative.


    I finally got my hands on an easy recipe. I got the lettuce, peppers and parsley from the supermarket. I had a leftover bed with which I made the croutons. I used some of the seasonings dad had given to me on my previous visit. The croutons came up well. I feared that I would burn them. I didn¡¯t. I turned off the flame after it became a bit brown. They became better with the residual heat.


    I made the dressing using the mayonnaise that was lying in the fridge. I added some lime juice, olive oil, few dried herbs and gave it a good whisk. I added some water to thin it down. It came out to be good. Later on, after seeing a couple of youtube videos on making a salad, I came to realise that dressing was the most important part of the salad. It determines the flavour of the salad and holds the various greens together.


    I took the leaves and peppers and added the dressing and croutons to the bowl. I grated some cheese on top of it and gave it a good toss. In fact, I actually used a spoon to mix it all together. I shouldn¡¯t have done that. The crunchiness of the greens which was very much visible on them before I added the dressing and mixed was gone now. It felt kind of soggy all of a sudden. I became a little heartbroken. But it tasted good. There was a tanginess to the whole mixture. It was because of the lime juice in the dressing. It was a bit too sour. I should have probably tasted it before adding the amount specified in the recipe. I can always do a little bit more if I am on the lower side.


    Anyways, I decided to pack it up and take it along with me. When the call came from her to come and pick her up, I took the salad in a small container and drove down in the car towards her department.


    She was expecting me to be in the scooter. As she got in and kept her bag in the back seat, she asked me why I had taken the car. I said nothing and gave her the container. She had a pleasant surprise in her face. She asked me what it was. I told her to open it and look for herself. She opened it and a smile spread on her face. She let out a long awwww and pinched me cheek. I was immediately blushing. I smiled at her and asked her to taste it. She asked me if I had brought a fork along. I did. I took it out from the cover. She took her first bite. She took her time to munch on to the peppers and fiddle with the leaves. She liked it. It was to be seen in her face. She did point out that the dressing was a bit tangy, the lime juice being the culprit. I agreed to it. She gave me the next bite. I took it and munched on it as I drove my way back home.


    On the way, she told me how she had been getting this feeling of having something healthy for a change. We were not eating unhealthy food. We were eating good food. But not the kind of salad healthy. She didn¡¯t know what made her think along those lines, but she did want to have something healthy for a change. She isn¡¯t a salad person. But this one was good. By the time we reached home, the portion was done. She asked me if it was all that I made. A little bit was left. She skipped out of the car with a spring in her feet with the thought of finishing off the remaining portion.


    I was happy to see her happy. I know the salad was not upto the mark I wanted it to be. But she liked it. It was good. No, it was great. I think I was seeking her approval in a way. She approved and so I was euphoric. I didn¡¯t show it though. I think I was more happy when she told me how she had thought of eating healthily and I turned up with this salad. That was that little moment of joy. Those moments are the ones that make you feel all good and happy.


    There are a lot of such moments in our life. Sometimes we appreciate them when they happen to us. Sometimes we appreciate them after they have happened. In any case, I think they are the ones that need to be taken into consideration when one is looking to make a happiness index or something similar.


    It is the little things that matter - the everyday things we take for granted, the occasional positive gestures from our near and dear ones and the comfort of our dearest one. The last one is the most underrated. I now know how much I miss it. It is something I yearn for right here right now.

 2.7

    I stop at the exit of our lane. Since I had been to the city side and will most probably be going there later, I had made up my mind of exploring the opposite end. From Pongumoodu, it would be Sreekariyam, Karyavattom, and Kazhakootam. There is the option of taking another route that is somewhat parallel to this one. It goes through the College of Engineering, Kulathoor, and joins the bypass near Kazhakootam. Both are good roads. I will select when I reach there.


    I decide to take the road in the opposite direction from my usual route to Pongumoodu. This road stretches all the way to join Sreekariyam - Aakulam road. The road becomes a little bad after a few meters. But that was when I moved in here. Recently this road had been tarred to a great finish. Proper road markings and signposts were installed on the edges. The small reflectors are embedded into the sides and the middle of the roads. It has come a long way from the first time I had taken this road to meet her. The road was the only major concern when it comes to coming to our home. With its repair and renewal, it has become nice. It has prompted people living on the premises to walk with confidence. We too have gone out for more walks after it became better. The reason why we sometimes put off our walking was gone.


    As the road approaches the main road, it becomes narrower. Just before it joins, there is a tight ninety-degree turn. I guess the authorities were not able to get the people staying on the premises to give up their land for the development of the road. It is very tight. For a car to successfully navigate it without nicking the walls, the driver needs to have a good amount of skill and judgment. I had taken this road once when I was alone. It was really difficult. I took some time to get it right. I did manage to come out without any scratches. The other time she was with me. I had her get down and give me instructions to take the proper turn at the proper angle. I was able to do it in much less time because of her help. She made it crystal clear that we would never take this road no matter what. Two-wheelers wouldn¡¯t have any issues. I sometimes take this road to reach Sreekariyam on my scooter. It is almost the same distance as that of taking the main road.


    I turn left and let my scooter roll down the road. The road slopes down for the next hundred meters or so. Houses flank on either side of the road. On taking the first left turn, I am greeted by this huge house with a very modern construction. The first time I saw it, I was really fascinated by it. The fresh design and sharp edges jutting out keep it distinct from the others. I didn¡¯t find it to be occupied. It was late in the evening. Lights had come up in the street as well as the surrounding houses. There weren¡¯t any in this one. Also, the premises gave off a vibe of being unused or inhabited for a while. Maybe the owners are abroad. Or they must be out of the station. A car was lying in the garage, all covered up. This locality has some rich folks residing. The two houses that I come across on my right as soon as I exit my lane and take my usual route are really huge. I think I have already mentioned them.


    The simple thing is I am fascinated by houses of all kinds. I love the various ways in which a house can be built. Whenever I see an interesting house, I get this feeling of wanting to know more about it. I want to know what the owner was thinking when he decided to build such a house. I want to know how the architect managed to come up with this design, what motivated him and how he went about it. As much as I am drawn to the big fancy homes, I am equally drawn to the cozy small ones. The thing is the big ones are really fancy and they make their presence felt. The small ones, blend into the surroundings and have a low-key profile. I think it all depends on the mood. Normally the fancy ones appeal to me. But when I am a bit moody, I feel the small ones call out to me. I would be much happier to come across one that is quaint and small. I feel they are more comfortable, warm, and cozy than the big ones.


    I say this with the experience of living in my home in our hometown. It is big enough for a family of four. Dad had made it clear this would be the only house he would be building and wanted it to be well built. It is a good house. It has its own charm. But it is big. And sometimes being big means a lot of areas to be kept clean and tidy. Believe me when I say cleaning a big house is a hectic job, one that eats away your entire day. By the time you are done cleaning the house, you are no longer fit to do anything else. I always feel drained whenever I was tasked with the duty of cleaning one of the floors. It would eat up my morning and it would be lunchtime by the time I finish it, all sweaty and exhausted. After lunch you will only find me lying in my bed, sleeping away peacefully. I love an afternoon nap. But this nap is doing more than that. It is restoring the energy I had spent in the morning. I only wake up when it is time for the evening coffee.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    When I see all these houses, I want to design one and build one for myself. I want to be the one that comes up with a kickass design and builds it. These are fantasies to me. I am not an architect first of all. I am an engineer. I might be able to come up with an arbitrary idea of how I want my house to be, a rough sketch of it, and an idea of how the rooms should be laid out. But I will never know the technicalities of it. They are important. I learned it when I was taught civil drawing in my third semester. The walls had a thickness to them. Ten centimeters it was if I am not wrong. They had to be taken into consideration too when calculating the overall dimensions of the house. Then the doors and how they swing. It didn¡¯t have any importance. But having lived in many houses throughout my life and having developed an interest in design and its principles, I have realized even a door placement can be optimized, if required.


    It makes me think of how every space in the house can be utilized. I have seen animations of design ideas for children''s rooms. Some of them had incorporated bunk beds seamlessly into the room along with cupboards that were hidden under the bed and tables that could be folded, thereby making it quite efficient and spacious.


    When our house was being built, I realized a lot of things about space. When the floor plan was laid out and the markings done for each room, I felt as if they were all small. I couldn¡¯t visualize or comprehend the space in my head with a bed and table and chair and cupboard. I was told by the contractors the room was big enough when I raised my concern to them. It didn¡¯t have any relevance but still, I did ask why it felt to be small. They said always feels like that. They told me to wait and see how the space materializes when the exteriors are done and the walls come up. It would take another six months.


    They were right. When the walls came up, the room was indeed big enough. It was as if the space had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I always have the same feeling whenever I go to the terrace of an apartment. Take the case of the apartment we currently live in. The terrace is right on top of our apartment and has the same dimensions. We hang our clothes to dry here and so I visit it regularly. Every time I do, I feel as if it is small in comparison to our home. There are all the walls and doors to be taken into consideration and yet the terrace feels small. If I take a few steps, I can easily traverse the longer end of it, which would not be possible in our home. I even try to visualize our apartment in this open space. But I can''t. I really can''t. I leave it to be as it is and carry on with my work.


    This makes me conclude that I wouldn¡¯t have made a good architect. I can''t visualize space. Without it how will I come up with good and effective designs?


    I envy those who can do it. Those who can visualize stuff and also those who can recall stuff from their memory. Also, those that have a photographic memory can draw things as they see in their head.


    I think the problem could be mitigated away if I am to build a small and cozy home. I want it to be small and spacious. I want it to utilize all the space available in the smartest way possible. This has led me to think of the interiors of a house more seriously. Whenever I visit a house nowadays, I always look at how they have utilized the space. If I see some good methods, I keep a mental note of them and ruminate upon how they can be incorporated in a general way and maybe even modified to make them more efficient and effective.


    From our house, I have learned how to incorporate cupboards into the room. Also how to accommodate the size of the room if one is considering placing a working table and chair in it. When we start, we might not have much stuff to store. But over the long run, we will surely accumulate things. Space for them should be already considered when you are building a house. No one is going to modify and redo their homes in the coming future. Most of us build a house with the intention to keep it lasting for as long as possible. In any case, space should be accounted for the things that will come in as time passes.


    I feel one should be able to visualize the space and try to get a feeling of staying in the house even before it is built. I know it is not practical. It is almost impossible. Only when you start living will you come across the difficulties arising from a lack of proper planning. We mostly plan for our convenience, but we rarely take into account the possible difficulties that can arise from it. We never take a moment to scrutinize it to the lowest level and see how it pans out. I guess when we see our conveniences being fulfilled, we leave it there.


    This is where I want to be of use. I want to find them out beforehand and help people realize it and take necessary measures before it manifests. Since you only build once, it is always better to build one that has been thoroughly researched and thought of.


    I have a set of things I have earmarked for the house I will build in the future. They ought to make me get the most out of the available space and put it to maximum use. I will share them somewhere. I will write it down in my diary in case I need to refer to it, or someone else does. I suddenly wish for the second one to happen. I wish someone would come and ask me for it.


    I guess the loneliness is getting to me slowly. I shake it off and continue on the road.

 2.8

    Loneliness gets the better of me when I come across a house she liked. The house had an older style of construction she is fond of. She loves the way the windows have wall extensions jutting out and forming a covering of sorts. She likes the plainness of them. I lean more towards the ones having a touch of difference from the usual crop. I like old homes. I like the ones built in the Laurie Baker style, although I seriously doubt if anyone does build it in the way it was propagated by the great architect. His name is synonymous throughout the state. Nowadays his style is being emulated with false designs. The walls might look like authentic Laurie Baker style, but they aren¡¯t.


    She likes the ones built with a similar style. I guess her thinking and taste comes from the way her house is built. It was built almost two decades ago. It followed the design that was trending back then. It is a cute house. I love how it is situated in the middle of the property. From the gate, a straight path leads to the house. Trees and shrubs flank the two sides of the path. When the path finished onto the flat clearing, the house stands beautifully in the middle of it. On its left side are the shelters built for the dogs. They have had a lot of dogs, one after the other from the time the house was built.


    On the right is the well, beyond which lies the small room that houses the pump. This is one common thing across homes built in this period and even before that. In my father''s house, the pump was kept in a small cage-sized room. In my mother''s house, it was a bit bigger. This was done in order to prevent it from being stolen by thieves. Pumps were stolen back then frequently. They got good value in the black market. They could even strip it down and sell the coils if selling it as it is was difficult.


    Behind the house, the property extends for some distance. It has good undergrowth and some trees. Right beside it is a huge guava tree. At night I have seen plenty of bats come and go to savor the tasty guavas that grew on them. It was difficult to pluck them as they were high up. If they got ripe they would fall down and splatter on the ground.


    She had taken some pain to make a small garden on one side of the property. She would take good care of them when she been working at a nearby hospital. Now since she is not there to look after them, they have withered out. She feels sad about this, but then she can''t do much about it. She isn¡¯t there to take care of them. She will if she gets an opportunity. Whenever we visit her home, she takes a look at the plants she had planted on the ground and in pots. Some of them were robust and made it through. Others suffered. Since we live in an apartment we can''t take them along with us. They wouldn¡¯t survive in the small concrete space we live in. If we were living in a villa or an independent house, we would have taken them. She would have even started a whole new garden by herself.


    I am not much of a garden person. I mean I like plants and flowers but I haven¡¯t done much gardening in my life. When I was in my fourth standard, we had a teacher who wanted us to try some gardening. She made us into groups and allotted a small portion of the land that was available at the far end of the school property to our class. We were told to bring seeds from our homes to sow on our allotted land. She gave us bean seeds to sow as a start. We sowed them along with the seeds we brought. The property behind the school was inhabited. She had managed to somehow get some sticks from them. She gave them to us to help the beans grow. It was the first time I was doing gardening.


    The land was a bit sloping. The rains would come in a couple of weeks. All of us made a pathway along the corners and through the center of our lands to divert the water that would flow down the slope. When the teacher saw this, she congratulated us on our innovative idea. We wouldn¡¯t have to water our plants and at the same time, the water wouldn¡¯t collect and form a puddle. This was bad for the growth of the ones we had planted. It was good for rice, she told us.


    After that, the only other gardening I did was when we had built our house. Whenever I was there at home for the holidays, my mother would call out to me in the mornings or in the evenings to help her with shifting pots and weeding. I would give her the plants she had managed to get from some friend of hers and she would plant them either in a pot or on the ground. Back when we had made this house, the front was barren. Dad, on seeing the barrenness of it planted grass on it. Then he planted two mango trees, two coconut trees, and some five or six palm trees (not to be mistaken with date palm trees). They would take time to grow. Six years later, the trees have grown. One of the mango trees gave us its first batch of mangoes last year. They were really delicious. It was a small batch though.


    Then there are some other fruit trees behind our house. I have no contribution to any of them. But I somehow associate myself with it. I don''t know why I do that but yeah.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    If I stay at home and maybe take a little bit of interest in it, I might enjoy doing it. I do love plants. I like flowers too. But I am not well-versed in them. Mother and Anna are well-versed. Even dad knows a bit. Sometimes he goes and buys some saplings he comes across on his journey. When it comes to planting them, there will mostly be a disagreement between dad and mom. This is quite normal.


    I pass the house and continue on the road. Soon the slope becomes steep. Here the road has not been tarred. The good portion of the road has ended. I carefully roll down and reach the bottom.


    This area looks to be marshy. There are houses to my left. To my right, the land is as it is. I can''t term it to be marshy. It is more of a flat stretch of land that can be used for cultivation. The soil is good for it. I think my grandfather was the one who told me about this kind of land. If the land is marked for cultivation purposes by the government one can''t build a house on it. This makes them remain idle. Under favorable circumstances, some of them manage to convert into ones that can be used for construction. One thing that this kind of land is susceptible to is the accumulation of rainwater. Since they are the lowest lying area, all the rainwater comes rushing in from the various lands that had been once filled with soil. They see an increase in the accumulation of rainwater with the increase in houses. One of the very first instructions I received when I mentioned my interest to buy some land in a remote area was to never buy such low-lying lands or the ones that are prone to accumulating rainwater. With the floods the state witnessed in the past couple of years, it becomes even more important to look for places that are not prone to natural calamities. Even landslides can be a problem. For these reasons, I have put off my search for land. I hope it comes to me whenever it has to.


    Till now, I haven''t seen anyone on the road or anywhere in the surroundings. The houses all have a deserted feeling to them, kind of like the big one I had seen earlier. I did hear a dog barking from a house behind the ones that flanked the road. The dog also stopped barking after I left the premises from where I heard him. There were a couple of small homes along the road. I noticed that their windows were open. But that was it. There wasn¡¯t any light coming from inside. Nor was there any sound of any kind coming out. Usually, there would have been a TV or a radio playing from these houses. I am not saying this from the stereotypical references they have made to houses in movies. It usually is like that. Where else would they keep their television if not in the hall, which is usually the room you enter into?


    The road here is small and rickety. I cannot speed through this section. I navigate it peacefully for a while. I start it when it seems to come to a halt. The road will start climbing uphill soon. I rev up the engine and keep at it as my scooter climbs. The road is okay in this section. It is wide. As I reach the top, the incline decreases. In the end, I take a sharp right turn and find myself in that small ninety-degree turn. I breeze past it. There is nothing to worry about when you are in a two-wheeler or an auto. I reach the exit leading to the main road. I stop here.


    I want to take the left turn and go in the direction of Akkulam. As the road reaches the top of the hill and the small industrial estate where HLL has its offices and buildings, the topography becomes interesting. On one side of the road is a sharp slope of the hill. It is mostly covered with trees. It faces the west. I have traveled on this road by bus a long time ago in the evening. I saw a beautiful evening sky back then. It mesmerized me and remains fresh in my memory. Even when I was staying in Trivandrum a decade ago and had the means to travel in and around the city I never came to this area to relive the experience. Nor have I done it after moving in with her and being close to the vicinity. Once we had taken this road to drop me at the airport to catch my flight for work. The ride reminded me of the road. I narrated my experience to her right then as we passed through the vicinity. We told ourselves we will visit it some other day and relive it once again, now with her by my side. It never happened.


    One of the reasons is we never took this route for any of our purposes. Secondly, we only take our scooter to come from our home on the route I took now. We had decided to never take our car through that dangerously sharp curve. And lastly, if we ever came walking in this direction, going to the place where we saw the clearing would be an even longer walk. We would have been exhausted from the long climb up the road. Also, we would have to take an auto back home. There is no possibility of walking back the way we came. It would be too long and tiring. We are not regular walkers. Over-exertion is also not good.


    I feel sad thinking of the lost moment I could have had with her. Why didn¡¯t I take the initiative and drag her along with me one fine evening? Why didn¡¯t I try to make that small moment of joy? I talk about how it is the little things that matter and bring the most joy in life and yet I didn¡¯t take the effort to make one. Why did I be lazy about it? Why couldn¡¯t I just do it?


    My laziness has surely cost me a lot. It has made me miss out on all the things I could have done. My laziness is my biggest enemy. I know this and yet I don''t take action against it. I feed it and let it grow along with me.


    Will I ever be able to get out of its clutches and be more responsible and take action? Or is it written that my life will go along with it side by side and I will always remain remorseful of what I could have done?


    I know I am a work in progress. Progress is achieved over constant and dedicated effort over some time. I don''t have both. Maybe I can try. From this moment onward.

 2.9

    I ease myself and take the right turn. For a moment I was tempted to take the left turn. Not anymore. I need to get going and explore the areas I am familiar with. This is not the time to take a leisurely ride. This is the time to be serious and get on with the business, no matter how hard or insurmountable it is.


    The main road is in good condition. On my right is a board advertising a restaurant that was serving lunch at a very cheap price. It is a bit surprising to sell it at such a low rate, almost half the price in other common restaurants in the city.


    I should make a small point here. We generally use the word hotel to refer to a restaurant. If you hear someone saying to his family about going to a hotel, it refers to taking them out for lunch or dinner in a restaurant. One can also see that a lot of the restaurants have their names beginning with the hotel salutation - hotel this, hotel that. From the big ones to the small ones. This is quite normal. I guess the word hotel was the one to register in the minds of the folks. Plus it was much easier to say instead of the fancier restaurant. I think people might have even heard the word restaurant in recent times. I remember how my grandfather used to refer to the outside food he brought from having bought from a hotel.


    Nowadays with the advent of branding and advertisement and all sorts of marketing, most hotels and restaurants are known by their names. Some of them have gone on to create a brand for themselves and become a chain. We all know who they are. The big ones. But in cities like Trivandrum, the older ones that have stood the test of time have expanded and currently have multiple outlets in the city. Their loyal fans make it a point to visit them regularly to have their favorite dishes.


    Coming back to the point of selling lunch at the lowest rate possible, I have my doubts if they are even serving anything in it. No offense, but it is what came into my mind when I saw the board. When I visited my friend''s house, I came across a shop selling lunch at the same rate. They were advertised as a place for the common folk. Janakiya Hotel - that is how they were branding themselves. His house is near a hospital. Oh wait, I have already mentioned him. His house was the one I took the diversion from Pattom junction. He was at his worksite. There was no one there. The hotel I am talking about is right in front of the small lane I took to reach his house.


    The thing that surprised me about the pricing as it was the same price I had to pay to have a good vegetarian meal back in my college days. The rates have increased in the last ten-plus years. It is evident the prices are never going to come down. But still, I sometimes hope the prices would stay flat, maybe not increase for a couple of years while our salaries increased. A little bit of thinking and elementary knowledge of economics made me realize that this was never possible.


    I had it in my mind to try lunch from this kind of place one day. I had even told her about this. She agreed to try it once. She raised her concern about the quality of the food being served here. To serve at such low rates, they must be doing something to bring down the cost. I too had the same questions in my head. Maybe that was why we never entertained the idea. I am not blaming them for serving at such a low rate. There are scores of people out there who are benefitted from this. For many, this would be their go-to place for a satisfying lunch. But these are the doubts I have. I mean them no harm or no ill favor. In fact, I wish they were open today. I would have gladly had their meal today. I would have done anything to maybe sit and talk to the people in it or to the one serving. I would do anything to meet someone and talk and try to make sense of the circumstances.


    I continue on the road to Sreekariyam. The road widens a bit for a while. There are all kinds of fancy houses on both sides of the roads. Even more, houses lie on the pocket roads that diverge from the main road. Kerala is a state with a high population density. It was among the top in the country back when I was studying in school. It hasn¡¯t changed. Everywhere you go, you will find habitation. People buy land near the roads and built their properties on those premises. The state is densely packed with houses. It is the first them my colleague told me when he came to the state for a short visit.


    He had to attend a wedding close to my hometown. I decided to go and visit him after the wedding. When we met, the first and only thing he had to say with awe was about the huge houses he had seen on his way. He was fascinated by the architecture and the construction of these houses that were alongside the road one after the other. He asked me if this was how it is in the state. I said it was. To build a house is what one considers his final purpose in life here. Also, the house is a status symbol. The bigger the house, the more affluent you are. To make this people save their hard-earned money for a very long time. When they have enough money to build the house of their dreams, they go for it. I have understood that given a chance, most Malayalees would want to build the biggest possible house they can afford in their lifetime. Since there is a high majority of the middle class in society, you are bound to come across people who would have saved for a while and built a house that would showcase their status and maybe even up it a bit.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    This isn¡¯t a generalization. But everyone would have a house for themselves, even if it is an apartment. To own one in your name is something everyone looks forward to in their lifetime. It is not bad or something I look at with distaste. It is just that I feel a lot of undue importance and relevance is given to it. A house is a house after all. You make it a home. Just like the one we were staying in now. It is an apartment. We have made it our home in time. It feels very personal to us. I don''t know how we would feel when the time comes to vacate it. I guess we both are attached to the place very much.


    As the morning cool breeze strikes my face, I feel the surroundings waking me up and keeping me away from any moody thoughts. The greenery around me is surely at work.


    I am approaching Loyola college. I see the ground and their staff accommodation on my right. On my immediate left, I see a building under construction. Only the structure has been made. I am not sure what it will end up being. I am not sure if it comes under Loyola college or its group of institutions. They have a school just adjacent to the college.


    I see the wall of the college on my left. I can see the buildings beyond it. I want to visit it one day and see the campus. I reach the main gate of the college. Right opposite it is the Sreekariyam police station. I come to a halt right in front of it. I turn off the scooter, park it and get out.


    The station seems to be empty. Most probably it will be empty. But I will check it. It is a small house-like structure, single-floored. There is no light in the station. It looks all dark and eerie. I could have tested my walkie-talkie if I had brought it, but I don''t have it. I skip up the stairs and reach the entrance. The table right next to the entrance has a register on top of it. The metal grill structure that is sometimes used instead of a door is partially closed. I open it and let myself in.


    There are a couple of desks in the room I enter. Three rooms lead from here. One of them is for the SI. The others seem like rooms for the other senior staff in the station. I open the door to the office of the SI and peek in. The window at the opposite wall lets in enough light to see inside the room. There is a table that has a bunch of files, a PC, and his name board. Apart from that the room is empty. There is a cabinet and a shelf behind the chair. The shelf is populated with files and folders. The cabinet has steel doors that are closed. I come out of the room.


    Next, I visit one of the other rooms. It too has a similar story to tell apart from the fact that the shelf is replaced by a cabinet that has glass doors. Inside them are files and folders. Just a little bit of cosmetic change.


    After this, I walk to the third room. The door remains open and fastened to the wall permanently. The window in this room faces the main road. Light filters in from it. This is a big room. There are four tables and correspondingly eight chairs in it. I think they belong to the different subdivisions in the station. I don''t know what they are. Nothing is specified anywhere. There are a couple of walkie-talkies lying on top of a table. I pick them up and see which channel they are tuned to. It is the same channel I am using, the one that was in the walkie-talkie I had picked. I pick one of them and press the push-to-talk button a couple of times. The static noise hums lightly from the speaker. I turn the volume and repeat the process. The noise becomes louder.


    ¡®Hello! Hello! Can anybody hear this signal? If so then know that you are not alone. I repeat you are not alone. I will be waiting for you at Ulloor Junction at ten in the morning. Please come there and meet me. Let us work together to make sense of this. Stay safe. Over!¡¯


    I hadn¡¯t thought of saying anything about it but I don''t know. Something just go hold of me and told me to broadcast this message. I really don''t know if anybody would think of using a walkie-talkie or any other form of radio communication. We cant communicate through normal radio. The only thing we can do is sweep through the channels and see if anyone anywhere is broadcasting anything in it.


    I turn off the walkie-talkie and keep it on the table. I take the other one and max out its volume in the hope of someone passing by listening to the message I would broadcast later. Also, the messages I am broadcasting are one-offs. They do not repeat. The probability of someone accidentally stumbling upon a walkie-talkie that was broadcasting my signal at that very instance is again very small.


    Technically I should be thinking of making my messages hang in the spectrum for the entire time. Only then would the odds be raised. I don''t know how to do this. The only thing I can do is manually repeat my message from time to time with the walkie-talkie I have. It is not a long-term solution. Feeling a little bit of defeat at the prospect of not being able to up the odds, I get out of the room.


    I walk out of the station. I check the register at the entrance. A pen is wedged into the last page in use. I open it up. It is a log of the people that had visited the station on the night before the phenomenon took place. The last entry is at eleven forty-five. I take a mental note of this and close it.


    I come out of the deserted station and give out a loud sigh. Nothing makes sense. There isn¡¯t any progress from yesterday. What should I do to make sense of all of this? Will I be able to get a grasp of it?

 2.10

    I need to be motivated from time to time to keep going. I know this for a long time. But the thing is I can''t motivate myself. If I try to motivate myself by motivational books, watching videos, or consuming any kind of media that encourages me to get out and do the thing I want to do, it doesn¡¯t work. It simply doesn¡¯t. Motivation has a very different relationship with me. I can be motivated by someone. My mother and father have motivated me to do certain things. She has motivated me enough to do things that I would have never done. People can influence me.


    At this moment I lack a bit of motivation to go ahead. There is no one here to do it. I am left with the only option to do it myself. I am not going to say to myself things like ''Yes, you can do it, you have it in you'', and all that. I will only remind myself that I don''t have any options. The only thing for me to do is to keep going, be on the lookout for something that can make me understand the situation I am in, and take the necessary actions accordingly.


    It was enough to push myself to the scooter. I start it and get back on the road. This particular area has some huge trees that provide good shade on the road and the premises. Under this shade, as I speed up, I feel the small tinge of cold air. A shiver runs down my spine. I might have lost my focus on the road for a teeny tiny bit. I finish this shaded area at a slower speed and speed us as soon as the sun hits me and makes me warm.


    As soon as the college premises get over, the land belonging to the Central Tuber Crops Research Institute starts. They have a very large area on both sides of the road. From here one will not get the extent to which they stretch. Once when I had come for a walk exploring the various by-lanes of our colony, we ended up taking one that leads to this road. It traversed through the boundary of the land owned by them. We figured out it belonged to them when we saw a wall that was almost my height. I could see the land under cultivation. There were long sections of plants being grown. They had deployed a sprinkler system to water the entire area. Soon we came upon a building that looked like a guest house or a facility for training people. It was indeed their guest house and their training center. Along the other end of it, they had their living quarters. I remember telling her how awesome it must be to live in a tight-knit community like this. I am sure most of the employees of the institute would be staying in the colony. As such, they would be knowing every person and kid belonging to the community.


    I have lived in these kinds of communities for most of my life. It was only after my passing out of college did mother decide to shift to an independent house. Community living is a great thing. I would recommend it to anyone, especially ones with young kids. The bigger the community, the more it is easier to find like-minded people.


    Since mother was a working woman, we were forced to move cities when she was transferred on other assignments to the different offices spread out in the state. For almost fifteen years, we moved from one flat to another whenever it was needed. Community living offered lots of benefits. I was really happy about it because I would always find someone who would go on to be a good friend. There would be ground and some provisions to play for the young ones. We would play football, cricket, volleyball, and badminton depending on the mood and the number of people present. Sometimes our friends would come from outside. We know them through common friends. They would join us to play. It was always a merry bunch. Petty fights and arguments would occur among us but that was okay. It was all part of the game. We fight one day and forget about it the next day.


    We were young and wild. After we had finished playing, we would all sit and talk all kinds of nonsense. It was also a time when we were entering adolescence. We would talk all kinds of shit and discuss everything we wanted to without many hindrances. In almost all the groups I had been in, the age band would be seven years or more than that. I was never the eldest one of them. I mostly fell in the middle. It was awesome being in that space. We would prick our ears to hear all the stories the elder ones had to share and also found it amusing to join with them to pull the legs of the younger ones.


    In one of the communities I lived the age gap was ten years. I was in the lower half of it. I was like thirteen or fourteen back then. The smallest was ten. He was my neighbor. His elder brother was three years older than me. He was a great guy. I have immense respect for him. I don''t know much about them now. I lost contact with them when they moved away two years later to their own house. Mom was in touch with the uncle and aunt. We even visited their house once. After that, I have seen aunty in some marriage functions of my mother''s working group. She worked with my mother in the same department but had a different assignment.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Back then there used to be power cuts for half an hour in the state during the summers. This was to cut the load and save electricity. We looked forward to it. When the lights went out, we would all gather at our meeting point. There we would either sit and talk about something. Mostly it would be the elders doing the talking and the younger ones like me listening. We didn¡¯t have anything to say. We listened to all that was discussed and kept them in our heads. They were aware we were young and didn¡¯t do any dirty talking. Maybe they might have done it using double meanings and codes. The talks were mostly gossip and nonsense but interesting enough to kill time.


    Sometimes if we were all in the mood we would play hide and seek. Because of all the flats surrounding the area, it was never so dark as to feel scared. It was a comforting darkness of sorts, not the one like yesterday night. That was horrible. This wasn¡¯t. I know that I will be subject to horribly dark nights from now onwards. Without any form of lighting, the nights will be the darkest. My only respite would be when the moon is up and the sky is clear. Yesterday I couldn¡¯t spot the moon. It might have been a new moon night. I don''t know.


    The game of hide and seek was awesome. It was full of surprises. Mostly the elders would conspire to make one of the younger ones the seeker cause they like to hide. Most of the time it was my neighbor, the younger one, who would be the seeker. I knew it was all some sort of scheming from the elders. They liked to pick on him. His elder brother wouldn¡¯t say anything but then he never joined in the conspiracy. He would remain calm and see how things proceeded. Sometimes when the younger one would complain and make a ruckus of him being the seeker again and again, he would take over from him and resume the play.


    The games would last for a long time. In the thirty minutes, we hardly ever played more than two games. In the vast area, it was challenging to find them all. But it was fun. I too became a seeker a couple of times. That night I realized it was not that easy. I failed in both games that night. It felt bad. I think I felt what that chap would have gone through in all the times he was made the seeker. It was always better to hide and not be the seeker.


    I feel like I am playing this game on the biggest stage ever. I have the whole city to maybe find someone like me whom I have probably never met in my life. This must be the grandest version of them all. I have vehicles to traverse the city and the surroundings and unlimited time. Maybe it does not confine here. Maybe the whole world is involved in this. A hide and seek game taking place on a planet scale.


    I don''t know how to process this thought. I like to play hide and seek. It is a fun game for kids and teens. I can still play it with kids and even babies. There is no age restriction to it. If you are to bring a group of like-minded adults and bring out the kid in them, they would finally come forward to play it. But the way it will be played might be different. It will not be like the ones we played when we were young.


    I can play the game if I know the other participants. They would have been people I know or have interacted with. At house parties sometimes there would be this one new person to come into the group. It takes some time for us to be comfortable with him and vice versa. Once the comfort is established, playing hide and seek or any other game with him would never pose an issue. When we part for the night, it would be as if we have known each other for a long time. He has become a part of the group.


    If this is a game, then the rules have been changed. Why would anyone want to change the simplest of all rules? To make it more interesting? I don¡¯t know. The game is interesting in itself. Why would you want to bring in a change in it? Why the freshness?


    Maybe they are tired of the original version. Maybe they are trying out something new, something different. Hasn¡¯t it gone a bit too far? Having unlimited time is not fair. We play the game with the feeling of it ending at some point. When we fail to seek out the last player, we admit our failure and call him out to start a fresh game. There are plenty of places to hide and plenty of scenarios to come across. Everyone wants to experience them.


    As a child, we want to explore all that we can. We are curious. There is an unquenchable thirst in us to learn and experience new things. The world becomes our playground. We are mesmerized by everything in it. There is excitement. This fuels us.


    This brings about a small smile on my face. A gentle one. I had gone back in time to those good old days. I do it from time to time. I relive my childhood memories. It is not a mental condition. I just like to do it. Neither am I trapped in the past. The past is gone. It will never come back to me. It can¡¯t be relived through time travel cause I want to be back in time in that same situation. I don''t want to revisit it. I want to relive it. And there is a hell of a difference between the two.


    The only thing I have left with me now are my memories. Memories of Anna, my parents, my brother, my friends, and my near and dear ones. Memories of the moments with each one of them. They are all beautiful, even the ones that felt painful or saddening at that moment.


    A moment will bring in all the emotions about that event as you live through it. As soon as it becomes a memory, it is stripped of emotions. You cant relive them anymore. They are in the past. And things in the past can only be revisited.


    With all the time I currently have, I can visit them one by one hoping they provide an impetus to go forward with my life.

 2.11

    I can see the CTCRI building up ahead on my left. I reach the gate leading to the building. It sits higher from the road. The building is a long one. I think it was one of the preferred building designs back then as I have seen a lot of buildings with similar designs. What I like most about it is the position concerning its surroundings. It is amazing. Being at a higher plane than the road commands attention from all ends. That along with the various trees in its surroundings gives it a commanding presence that is in some ways imposing too. It is solely because of the land. If the same building was at the same height on the road, it would have seemed normal. If it was at a lower plane then a feeling of being below the ground or being looked down comes over.


    A similar feeling exists with portrait photographs and their perspectives. A face-to-face level picture would look like a normal image, a normal person. Click the same photo from below the leg or the knee, the person looks larger and has a more commanding presence. He suddenly has an aura of being a leader and someone bigger than life. Now change the angle and click it from a height higher than at least the length of your arm. The top-down angle makes the person seem smaller and gives him the characteristic of being meek. It gives a feeling of being looked down.


    These are simple psychologies that make use of how your eyes look at things. We have been programmed to behave in such a manner. Whenever we need to turn our eyes to the top and tilt our heads to get a look at something, it imposes the feeling of being large. With that comes in a lot of automatic thoughts and responses corresponding to the feeling of largeness. Similarly, when one has to drop his eyes and head to look at something smaller than him or below him, a feeling of lowness comes followed by the corresponding synapses, triggering appropriate responses. I have not studied any kind of psychology for this. These are stuff I have realized from my observations of things and my surroundings. I haven''t had the opportunity to discuss this with someone and see if I am correct with my deductions.


    Suddenly I am engulfed with this feeling of being with her. I really really wish she was the one riding this scooter. I would be the pillion. I would stretch myself and come closer to her ear to talk about something or the other. I want to relive all the scooter rides we have had together. I am also okay with a role reversal - me the rider and she the pillion. Anything that includes her would bring an unexplained joy in me now.


    She is always there in my mind, in one corner of it. She will never cease to occupy it. I am occupied with a lot of thoughts in my head. In a way, I think they have overcrowded my brain, which has resulted in my mind bringing her to the center stage. I don''t have a problem with it cause I know this is how it is going to be from now. I am mentally preparing myself for a world without her. I know it is not how I want it to be but I have to be practical. I don''t want to be but this is my only choice.


    As much as I want to get to the bottom of this phenomenon, I must be open to the fact that what has happened can be a one-off event. There is no reversal of this. Whatever has happened can''t be undone. One can only live ahead from the time it has occurred in the new setting. Maybe there isn¡¯t any explanation for this. Maybe this was something that was bound to happen or just happened out of the blue. We haven''t decoded a major part of the mysteries that surround us. Maybe this was caused by one of them. Who knows.


    By entertaining this, I am trying to be practical. I must take what is given to me and make the most of it. I must be rational and use logical reasoning to plan and execute all that I want to from now on. I must not let my emotions take over. They will surely make their presence felt from time to time. But when it comes to decision-making, I must ensure that I am rational. I must learn to be cold at heart and see things for what they are.


    Maybe I will live like this for the rest of my life. Maybe I will be all alone, wandering through lands in search of someone alive. Maybe I might not come across anyone till my last breath. Maybe I will stumble upon someone at the far end of my life. By then I would have made my peace with this world. The only excitement I would have on finding out a fellow human being would be to maybe share a cup of tea or coffee and stories from our past. What else would I want then? Would it bring any solace to me if I get the answer to this phenomenon from him?


    There are infinite ways in which things could go from this instance. Instead of taking the left from Sreekariyam junction, I can take the straight one. Maybe I might find someone there. Or maybe I might come across something that changes the whole thing. Every second I am making a choice, conscious or unconscious and the universe is being played accordingly. I am just reiterating what is being told in catastrophe theory. Every choice is a universe in making. I didn¡¯t make this choice knowingly. I would never have. But then I don''t get a say in it. Maybe choice itself is an illusion.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I have crossed the premises of the institute. A normal street setting is what I see around me. The road is getting narrower and narrower as I approach Sreekariyam Junction. I come across a car that has rammed into an electricity pole. It is a bad crash. The car is destroyed from its front. It must have come at a very high speed. The pole has tilted a bit. It is a concrete pole. The concrete portion in which the car crashed remains broken off from the structure. This had led to its tilt. Otherwise, it looks fine. The airbags have been deployed. It is a compact SUV. I slow down as I approach it. Once again I strain myself to get a look inside the car. It has the same story to tell as that of all the other crashes I had seen yesterday.


    I didn¡¯t come across any crashed vehicles up to this stretch. A couple of scooters were parked in front of a shop before Loyola college. There was nothing off about them. There were a couple of bikes parked in front of the police station. The police jeep was parked in a garage at the end of the house. It was empty. Everything was empty. And normal. That is why I didn¡¯t say anything about it. I don''t think there is a need to describe the vehicles that I come across. There is nothing new in them. It is the same story every time. All of them have the same patterns. Yet I strain to find out if there is something new in every crash I come across.


    This is me hoping to find a clue. As I said earlier, I must not hope for it. Maybe there is no clue. But what if there is? I mustn¡¯t let it deter me from doing a small thing that hardly costs me anything.


    I am about to approach Sreekariyam junction. The increase in the number of shops on either side of the road indicates this. I come across a bike that has skidded and lies strewn on the road. I navigate around it. As usual, I slow down and take a look at it. Nothing new.


    The row of buildings has started. They stretch to the junction. As I drive slowly between them, I look at them and see if there is anything that catches my attention. The shops are all closed.A couple of buildings have houses on top of them. One of them has its window open. I stop my scooter right in front of it and look at it for a while. I honk my horn a couple of times to elicit any kind of response from anyone or anything. I don''t get any for the next minute. There is no movement inside it. I decide to continue on the road.


    I reach Sreekariyam junction. I drive to the middle of the road, to the center of the intersection, and stop to get a good look at my surroundings.


    The road coming from Pongumoodu is almost empty except for a car that lies crashed on the turning of the road at the end of it. It jumped onto the pedestrian pavement and crashed into the shop. The shutter has taken the brunt of the impact. This is a declining stretch of road from the car''s perspective and so it must have come at a good speed. I can''t make out anything about the interiors of the car. It is a small hatchback. It now lies peacefully on the pavement.


    Straight ahead, I see a car facing me lying idle in its lane. It looks intact. I don''t see anything that must have hit it. This car must have slowed down or stopped at the instance when the phenomenon occurred.


    I expect all these cars to have their batteries drained by now. It''s been more than twenty-four hours. I don''t think any battery would have lasted any longer than twelve hours. I remember once when I had left the interior light on for an entire night of my car, it wouldn¡¯t start the following day. I knew it wouldn¡¯t start the moment I saw the light inside the car. I had to call the service center. They arranged for their mobile service vehicle to come and jump-start it.


    I have seen in most western countries, they carry their jumper cables with them wherever they go. Or is it the way it has been depicted in Hollywood movies? We don''t do that here. We only have the stepney wheel and the accessories required to change a flat tire. I have seen a spare bulb tucked away in the dashboard. I think it is a spare headlamp. But I don''t know how it changes it. So what use does it have?


    The next-generation EV cars shouldn¡¯t have this problem. They will have a huge battery bank to power them. It will power these lights. Leaving a light on wouldn¡¯t have an impact on the battery.


    The road on the left is the road to Kollam. It seems clear from here. This is one of the main roads connecting the city to the northern parts of the state. It is the one KSRTC buses take to travel to Kollam, Allapuzha, and beyond. The arrival of the bypass has made it easier for the people living in the western part of the city and its outskirts to head for the north.


    I turn my scooter in its direction. Sreekariyam junction is totally deserted. There is nothing here save for the few stray dogs that have wandered in from the opposite road. I see a brown cat prowl away with a dash into one of the small shopping complexes. They all are closed. None of the shops are open. Not even the small flower shop that lies next to the big tree adjacent to the end of the road I came in. These shops tend to open early in the morning along with the tea stalls. I see no tea stall anywhere. There should have been at least one in this junction. This can be compared to Ulloor junction in terms of the traffic jams that occur during peak hours and the number of workers that pass by to go about their daily wage jobs. I have seen them in hordes when I have passed through the junction early in the morning while coming back from our hometown.


    These are all new scenes for me. Scenes I would have never imagined seeing. Or anyone for that matter. No one wishes or dreams to be all alone in this world. No one. And here I am, all alone, trying to find meaning.

 2.12

    Forcing myself to focus back on the road ahead in a literal and metaphorical way, I rev up my scooter and continue on with the journey.


    Sreekariyam is an important junction. It is big. The whole stretch from Ulloor to Sreekariyam is a busy place. The roads would be full of vehicles going here and there and causing small traffic jams from time to time. The road width varies from place to place. As the road approaches any of the important junctions in this stretch, it narrows down to a normal single lane. These junctions are so dense the probability of them expanding to accommodate for the ever-increasing traffic is less. I can only imagine how these roads must have been big enough at one point in time. Now they are small. All because of the population explosion that took place in the last five to six decades.


    Having stayed in Trivandrum a decade ago, I can vouch for it myself. The growth has been large. I don''t think any city in the world is equipped to handle it. All of them are somehow able to accommodate all the changes occurring at a blazing pace and would run out of it at some point in the future.


    As I ride on my scooter on these deserted roads, I wonder if Mother Nature had a hand to play in causing the phenomenon to occur. The images that come to my mind are that of the titan Gaia who is Mother Nature in greek mythology.


    I remember seeing an animation of her talking to the protagonist of the video game I used to play. That image has stuck with me. Whenever someone talks of Mother Nature, this image automatically comes into my mind. In it, she is described as someone who is compassionate and benevolent. Or maybe not. Maybe I have that image imprinted on my head. With this image, I can''t accept the thought of her scheming to bring about this phenomenon.


    Humanity has indeed done a lot of harm to nature in the last century. It is increasing at an alarming rate. We don''t seem to be slowing down. Leaders from all over the world are coming together to find a solution to this before it becomes too late. Global warming has taken up importance in round table conversations. Environmentalists have come to the front with their findings which needs to be addressed by us. Our belief that we are the children of this planet and everything in it is for us is wrong. We occupy only a tiny bit of the life of this planet. There are entities that have lived longer than us. We might not see them but that doesn¡¯t imply they don''t exist. They don''t go about asserting their dominance. We did get a glimpse of how lethal they could be, and how easily they can bring down the pride we have in being the dominant species on the planet. It is the key takeaway from the Covid outbreak. That we are after all fragile creatures. We are here for a while. Whether our species will survive or not is a question I can''t answer. I will surely not be there to witness it. Or is this it? Is this how it ends?


    I don''t think so. This must not be how it ends. How can it all come down to one person all of a sudden one fine day? It is not fair. It is not how our species should end. I think the dinosaurs had it better than this. They at least faced their extinction. They saw it coming and succumbed to it.


    I think this is why I have this hope that whatever has happened is not a permanent thing. There must be something that has gone wrong, something which triggered this. This must be an event unasked for in the bigger scheme of things. Like someone pressing the delete button accidentally only to realize it at a later time and restoring it from the recycle bin.


    There must be something I can do or figure out to negate it and bring it back to how it was. I want to undo the delete action that has caused this mess. Maybe it is not a mess for the one who accidentally did it. But then this is not how you go about annihilating a species from cosmic history. Bring in another meteorite, a flood, or an earthquake. Make it devastating, make it graphical, I am fine with it. At least I will have a chance to fight it and figure out a way to save her and myself. Here I didn¡¯t even get a chance to say goodbye or give her a kiss. This nags me from time to time. The feeling of having her robbed from me in an unexplainable and unplausible manner.


    It is saddening to see all these shops closed. This is something you would expect to see on a harthal day. Even on Sundays, some of the shops would be open for business. Harthal is one such day that forces everyone to close their shops and sit at home. It is a big loss for these businesses. They are dependent on their day-to-day activities to earn a living. I guess somewhere down the line a hartal once in a while is actually welcomed by these shopkeepers. A day to shut down and take rest is essential in our fast-paced stressful lives.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I am feeling a bit sad to see the shutters down. I feel for all the things that will stay inside them, without any purpose or use. The perishable stuff will give way in a couple of days. They will make their presence felt. The non-perishable ones would stay still in the racks and keep collecting dust over time. They would have forgotten their purpose.


    Speaking of the perishable stuff, I am reminded of collecting them for my use. If I had taken the straight road at the junction from the way I came, I would have come across the local market. There all the vegetables, groceries, and household items along with fresh meat and fish get sold on a day-to-day basis. It will take time for the veggies to go stale and rot. The meat and fish would not survive that long. Once the ice starts to melt, the fish would be prone to going bad quickly. Chicken would still be hopping around in their cages, waiting to be fed or be fed. Beef would most probably have been sold out the previous day. The local markets have this advantage over the cold storage.


    Anything that was frozen would have thawed by now. Supermarkets and departmental stores must be smelling foul. I would have to take precautions against this when I visit the supermarket between Sreekariyam and Pongumoodu. I should be collecting and storing away all the cold-cut meats. They are the best providers of protein. I will be needing them from time to time. I must therefore get as much of the remaining good stuff and store them in my fridge.


    Oh, wait. My fridge will not work. Shit!


    I need to figure out where to get a genset and hook it up and make it operational. Only a genset will be able to provide me with the power I need to run my fridge. I can look for a deep freezer, a small one. Then I would be able to store the cold cuts away for a while.


    I take a deep breath to stop my train of thought. I do this because as these thoughts came to me one at a time I realized something. I am thinking on a very short-term basis.


    I must have been thinking for like a week or two or maybe even a month tops when it came to collecting the cold cuts and stashing them. I really don''t know why I am hoping that things will be solved in this time period. Maybe it might take years of research and exploring to figure out the answer. I should be thinking along those lines too.


    I know I won¡¯t be able to do that now. I still have a strong sense of finding out the answer in the quickest time possible. Over time it will dawn upon me. I hope it isn¡¯t too late by then to make arrangements for the time ahead. I will somehow adapt to this and make it through. I know I can do it. But I also should be thinking more about the future from now onwards. I should at least plan for it on a daily basis from now on and act on it. If it means I need to collect as many deep freezers as I can and run them on multiple gensets continuously, I should be taking the first steps toward it.


    I can''t delay. The more I delay the more I lose. Foods can perish quickly. When it comes to food, I need to act in the coming few days. My only hope is since these shops were empty yesterday and had their powers running, the deep freezers and chillers must be chilled to the max. Since they were not opened, I presume their capacity to hold the chillness would be much better than when they are constantly opened and closed. I will get a better idea of it when I visit the supermarket later in the day.


    The deep breath helped me regain my bearings and put me back on track. I had come to a stop at the bus stop while I was entertaining these thoughts. I resume my ride.


    Suddenly I hear a lot of crows fly away with loud cawing. It catches my attention. I follow their trail for a while. It was good to hear them in the silence beyond the sound of my scooter engine. I am used to its sound. But I am also used to hearing all kinds of other sounds on my rides. In the very few early morning rides I have done, I still haven''t had such silence prevail over me. There would be sounds emanating from everywhere These exclude the birds and insects. They are a part of the environment by default. I did hear crickets chirping and making their distinct shrill sound when I entered the marshy area.


    A bunch of dogs starts barking out of the blue from the open compound I pass by. One of them gets out of it and chases behind me. I speed up my scooter in an instant and leave him behind. I can hear my increased heartbeat. I slow down gradually and calm myself. I wonder why the dog chased me.


    I look at my watch. It is eight forty-two. I have to be back home. I need to be ready to be at Ulloor junction at ten. I might have to turn back soon enough. I haven''t covered much distance after leaving home. It would have probably taken me half the time to get here if I was driving at my normal pace. But I am not. I am always on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. I am scanning my surroundings as I pass them. I know it is not at all thorough. I can''t go about looking in a detailed manner. That is not feasible.


    The scale of the city and its area is so large it is impossible to explore every nook and corner of it in a lifetime. It is simply not possible. I can only skim through the surface and see if anything sticks. If not, I continue with my journey. This is the only way to go about it even if I have to go through this for a lifetime. There isn¡¯t a better alternative to it. I don''t think Will Smith would have explored every nook and corner of the city in I am Legend. I really don''t think so. Trivandrum is not that big. Even if I manage to explore every part of it somehow, I would be just widening my horizon. There are cities, states, and countries beyond.


    I am after all a tiny speck on this planet. I need to remind myself of this from time to time.

 2.13

    I approach Chavadikmukku junction. I am cruising at a higher speed because of the dog chase. When considering these types of incidents will happen much more frequently, a two-wheeler isn¡¯t a safe option. I must start considering taking my car out. But my scooter is way more convenient than a car. I did come across a couple of situations in which I would have been forced to reverse my car and take the opposite lane. There are bound to be cases where cars or even buses might be blocking the entire road. I need to carry a stick or something to frighten these stray dogs if they furiously approach me.


    I see the signboard announcing the left turn one has to take to go to the engineering college. It is a well-known institution in the entire state. It was founded by the late Travancore king back in 1939. It was first located in PMG. The building that is the current PMG was the college back then. It was shifted here after some time. The college has produced fine students who have contributed to the state in various fields. I appreciate the effort taken by the king back then. He must have been a visionary.


    Travancore was a prosperous kingdom that was doing really well. It was well ahead of its peers when it came to social matters. There is this beautiful book written by a young historian about the Travancore kingdom. I read it a couple of years back. It paints a great picture of how life and times were in those days. I loved reading the book. I am not a history buff. Nor did I like the thickness of the book. It is 500 pages long. I can read fiction that can stretch on and on but not something non-fiction. The book doesn¡¯t feel like one. It is like a well-woven tale being told by an all-seeing entity as he narrates his take on the lives of the queen who takes the central character in the book. I have recommended it to my friends who had come asking for a book other than fiction. He has published a couple of books after that too. I haven''t read them though. I would have loved to read them but there were other books I wanted to read.


    This is something I don''t like - the fact that there are so many awesome books in this world and you will never even read a fraction of them. You might read all the well-known ones, the ones that have attained recognition and global accolades, the ones that are bestsellers and are seen in every bookshop you come across, the ones that your friends and relatives recommend, the ones that keep you all excited and gripped and the ones that you have heard of in one way or the other through all the marketing and publicity that goes into making them be heard.


    But there are so many other amazing books that will never attain popularity. Some will only get sold in the first batch of publications. Some might see a bit more success but would never make it to the list of books to be read. Some might be too controversial to even exist after their publication. They might be burned away and the author made to suffer for it in various ways.


    Some would have seen the hands of an editor or two and then ended up in the dump. Some will not even see the day of light. I can only sympathize with them. I wish they had taken the first step in putting the words in their heads on the paper. Maybe it might not make sense. But what is in your head is something unique. Only you are privileged to it. If it is worth sharing the story, one must take the effort and bring it to life. Maybe your friends will read it and that''s it. They might tell you it is good but you know it isn¡¯t. Don''t give up. Keep writing. You don''t stop with one story. When one finishes, another one comes up. There is no dearth of stories. We are all stories in motion. Our life is a story in itself and in it millions more.


    I wonder how one can even fathom all these stories. Like if there was an entity above all, someone who made this universe and now finds himself witnessing all these stories. How does he process them? Does he even care for them? Are we the only ones who care for a story? Are stories our thing? Do animals have stories to tell each other?


    Stories are something I hold dear to my heart. I love hearing a good story. All stories evoke the respective emotions they are meant to within me. I laugh out loud when something funny happens, cry softly and quietly when something moving happens, and get mad at the protagonist for not saying what is meant to be said. I kind of live these stories in my head. Sometimes they happen as the story is being played out. The process happens subconsciously in my head. I am aware of it after a certain point in the story. I let it play out. I don''t hold it back. It makes the story even more beautiful.


    Sometimes they happen after the story is done. I recollect them from time to time. The first recollection paves the way for how it will be played out in future iterations. The characters and settings take shape along with the outline of it. The problem with recollection is over time the story gets distorted. I forget some things. They might get completely erased from the story or might be a bit distorted to fit the need of the hour. Sometimes I even add elements that are not there in the story. This happens when I rehearse to share the story with someone else. The pressure to make it interesting and elicit a good response from them makes me add elements catering to these needs. This is not right. I am not telling the story in its truest sense. But then they don''t know what the story is. All they need is a story and I am creating one for them from an existing one.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Stories that existed when humans came into being are long lost. Does a part of them remain in our DNA? I don''t know. I mean I don''t know if we even store the information we process in our DNAs and pass it on to our younger generations. If so I guess there might be a very tiny part existing in it.


    If they exist then they must be stories of survival. After all, survival is something woven into our DNA. Not only ours but of every living species. Survival and propagation of its species. If stories could play a part to help then why wouldn¡¯t they be stored? They would only enhance it.


    I am thinking too much about all of this. I don''t know why but I have been in a very philosophical mood today. I reach the junction from which the road separates to the college. I decide to head to the college. When it comes to finding out more people in an area, the college would come out on top. They have all reopened after being shut for more than a year owing to Covid. Students are waiting to head back to college and utilize the remaining beautiful time of their lives.


    The road to the college isn¡¯t as big as the main road. The shops in the junction are all closed. A lodging of sorts stands tall on my right. I see t-shirts and pants hung out to dry on the balconies. I honk my horn nonstop and look out in the direction of the balconies and open windows. I get no response. I continue with my ride.


    I pass through a stretch of road that seems out of place. On my left are huge houses. They are situated in an ample amount of space with tall trees covering the plot. On my right is an empty plot that is filled with tall trees among which coconut trees are the majority. Normally people would want to set up a building or a provision to cater to the needs of the students in the form of lodging or a gymnasium or restaurant, a stationery store, etc. If the college can''t accommodate all of its students then lodging becomes a good business. As far as I know, amongst the engineering colleges in the state, only the one in Calicut provides the facility to lodge all of their students on campus. I don''t know about the other colleges. The MBA college in the same city is also completely residential. I know this because some of my friends have studied there.


    The stretch is over in seconds following which I am greeted by the kind of atmosphere I was talking about. I see a building on my left. It has a board in front of the wall that advertises lodging for women. A few meters ahead on my right is another small two-storied building advertising boarding for men. There is a small supermarket on my left as well.


    I see the tall boundary wall of the college. There is a board that says the same too. A small road diverges to the left. I stick to the road I am in. I am heading for the main entrance of the college.


    I see the buildings of the college on my left. They are old in construction. To my right is another lodging for men followed by a juice center and bakery. There is a small restaurant too. I feel excited. It is the whole vibe of the place. I feel all young and vibrant here even though I am not. I passed out a decade ago. It has been a long time since I have sat in a classroom and listened to a lecture being taught. I am not counting the various training programs I have attended for my work. They are a different breed.


    Sometimes I wish to go back to college and learn something. I don''t know what it is that I really want to learn ahead. I don''t want to do a course just because the majority of my friends are doing it or because it has better job prospects, thereby eliminating a lot of options. I am not left with much. There was a time when I had seriously thought of going for a degree in the few options left for me. But it required a good amount of effort and dedication from my end to revise all that I had learned in my college days. I had forgotten them when I joined for work. My work doesn¡¯t require me to use even one percent of what I have studied. What was needed for it, remained with me? Everything else faded over time.


    Honestly, it is not about going back to study. It''s about going back to an atmosphere that had given you the best years of your life with the hope of getting something similar. The truth is, it rarely happens. There are only a few colleges in the country that can offer an experience for your master''s degree similar to the one in your graduate college days. Everything else just fails. Those three or four years are never to return. I wish someone had told me this beforehand. I wish someone had made me realize the importance of these years. I did have my fair share of fun and excitement in my college days. It''s just that there is this nagging feeling of it never ending or lasting for a little bit longer.


    With life having gone off on a trajectory very different from the one before it after passing out, I sometimes wish to go back to those simple and carefree times. I don''t want to earn anything. I want to live off my parent''s money once again. There was a certain freedom to it I cannot explain. It was much different from what I have now. I think it was the carefree nature we had back then that makes it so precious. We had no idea of what our futures would hold. We were blooming forth with all the figs in the fig tree right in front of us to pick. Little did we know that the moment we pick one, the others would vanish into thin air.

 2.14

    When I was a kid I wanted to be a pilot. I have tried looking back in time to find the reason for it. A reason for the thought was the place we were living in. It had an Air Force station nearby. I would see helicopters once a week. I was mesmerized by it. Back then flights were rare. Whenever I saw the long cloudy trail in the sky, I would follow it to trace the flight. The small blip in the sky would enthrall me. I wanted to fly high up in the sky.


    My parents used to take me to the functions organized by the Air Force for civilians. In it, they would have stalls showcasing models of the various fighter jets and helicopters in the fleet. On the last day, a helicopter would come and land in the middle of the ground in which the event was happening. The ground would be full on that particular day. The whole thing of a helicopter coming and landing and coming to a standstill was such an awesome scene for me. Up to a certain age, my father would pull me up and place me on his strong shoulders. I would get the best view. When I grew I would manage to wriggle and make my way through the crowd to find a place for myself at the front. They knew I loved planes and would buy me some toy figurines before we left.


    Then Top Gun happened. I don''t know the exact year. I even forgot the year it was released. I saw it on a night out at my friend''s place. He had managed to get permission from his parents to watch the movie when it aired late at night. Since I had seen it on TV it must have been a couple of years after its theatrical release. I must have been in my third or fourth standard. I can''t recollect it. I only remember getting into bed, pulling up the blanket, and making myself cozy with my friends.


    Top Gun was the movie that made me adore and love planes with all my heart. The epic stunts shown in it gave me goosebumps. Although I don''t remember the movie completely I know the gist of it. In the end, Tom Cruise saves the day and becomes a hero. He was fierce and had a particular swag to him that was very appealing. The whole bunch who say the movie that night remembers it to date. We were hanging onto our blankets when those fighters took tight turns. We panicked when Tom lost control of his jet and began to spin. We prayed that they survive. But Moose had to die. It was very saddening. We were feeling what Tom was feeling. I think I cried when he was being buried.


    It is said Tom Cruise was the one to popularise aviator sunglasses that have become a trademark of the aviators. I didn¡¯t know this. One of my colleagues shared this info when we were talking about movies. The second part of the movie is slated to release later this year, nearly thirty years after the first one. I am excited about it. To see Maverick reprise his role as the most awesome fighter pilot in the US Navy is something I would shell out my money for in an instant. I hope the script is good. The story takes place some thirty years after the first movie, making it somewhat relatable to our times. That is good in a way. I don''t want to see Tom Cruise doing a younger role. He is amazing the way he is now and I want him to remain like that in the movie.


    I was hooked on the music. Back in my childhood days, it was difficult to get the soundtrack of a movie. Only albums by music bands would be released in audio cassettes. My friend''s elder brother was the one who collected English music back then. In my home, my father would get all these Malayalam movie audio cassettes. They were the ones to be played on weekends in our audio player. He had a lot of them. Sometimes he would bring in Bollywood movie songs too.


    When I was in college, the movie came up in one of our conversations. The first thing that came into my mind was the stunts performed by the jets along with their trademark music. On reaching back to my hostel that night, I immediately searched for the soundtrack of the movie on the internet. I found it without much hassle. I downloaded them and loaded them into my music player. They were in the loop for the entire week. The fast-paced one is called Danger Zone. The title is apt for the feeling it gives to the listener. The slow love song is called Take my breath away by Berlin. I love that song. It is smooth. I don''t remember the visualization of it in the movie, the complete one. I just remember Tom being with the actress and riding his bike during the song.


    As I kid, having been enthralled by the movie and wanting to do something daredevil like him, the only outlet for me was video games. I got my first video game system when I was seven years old. It was a generic model that used game cassettes having 8-bit games preloaded. I was introduced to the world of Contra, Mario, Sonic the Hedgehog, and various other memorable characters. It was the time when all my friends were getting video games. We would trade our game cassettes after finishing the game ourselves. These machines were simple ones. They didn¡¯t have any memory to store saved states of the game and restore them at some other time. If one had to finish a game then he has to sit and play it in one stretch. We used to do that on holidays or weekends. Also, we would pray that the power doesn¡¯t go off. Back then there were no inverters for backup. A power cut during a crucial moment of a game meant restarting it from the beginning. It was a really frustrating thing. But we never gave up. The moment power is restored we got back to playing it once again.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    In one of the game cassettes I got from my friend, there was a game based on Top Gun. I was so excited to play it. It was fun. You were a fighter pilot on a mission to destroy the bad guys. You got your guns and sidewinder missiles and off you took to the skies. The viewpoint was from inside the cockpit. This was very exciting. I had played other plane games. But none of them gave this first-person view. All of them had us control the plane from a third-person perspective.


    I never excelled in the game even though I tried a lot. Firstly I couldn¡¯t understand it much because the language used in it was a mix of English and Chinese. I have the memory of seeing the name sidewinder on the TV screen. Rest I don''t remember. Most of the time I used to die by being prey to the small bombs the enemy jet would throw out from its rear. I don''t have a good memory of it. I remember watching my friend trying to land in the aircraft carrier. That is how the level ends. I never reached that far.


    When I got my first computer I installed a couple of flying games on it. One of them was set in the World War One time period. You are a fighter pilot and you had to fly the vintage propeller aircraft of the two factions as part of the campaign. The graphics were awesome when compared to the 8-bit games I had played for the larger part of my childhood. Also, the last flying game I played was Top Gun some six years back. It was so much cooler than that. By now the controls had gotten tougher. I had to memorize what the keys did. It took only a day for me to get used to it and play it for hours at a stretch. My mother used to scold me for the excessive amount I to spend in front of the screen.


    Up to my tenth standard, I thought I would take the path to becoming a pilot. Becoming a commercial one meant shelling out a huge amount of money. We didn¡¯t have that much to spare. The alternative was to join the Air Force and become a pilot there.


    But fate had something else for me. It was a time when engineering was booming. The IT industry had been established in the state and the country. A lot of jobs were being created by them. They were well-paying jobs. People were flocking to join the big IT companies straight after college. They would come and recruit in mass. People were happy with the package they were getting. It was much better than the ones being offered by the core engineering companies.


    I met a super senior from our college when we were traveling back to college in our first year. He had passed out three years ago but had a couple of back papers. He was telling us his story. He got placed in a core company and was doing a job that was very much related to all that he had studied and was interested in. I didn¡¯t have much clue about all this. We were new to college and had no idea of what we had to expect from it. The senior was coming back to college to write his supplementary exam to clear his final paper. We had known that having back papers disqualified you from sitting for campus placement drives. He agreed to it but also added that when the placement drives were taking place in his final year most of the class including the toppers opted for IT jobs instead of core industry jobs. As such the company that he is now had to include students with backlog to sit for the recruitment process as they needed quality engineers. Later on, when I recalled this story with the friends I was traveling with that day, we understood how lucky he was.


    When our time came the core engineering jobs became in demand and the IT jobs started to lose their sheen. They were also not able to pay as much as the core ones. It did help the ones who were struggling to get a job. The toppers had their eyes on the core jobs. They wanted to stay in the field in which they had invested their four years and take it forward from there.


    I sometimes wonder how different life would have been had I managed to get into the armed forces at that young age. I heard a lot of stories about the kind of life it is in there. It is rough and tough. I am not made for it. I think I would have been disqualified in the medical phase. I am actually not made up for such a tough and challenging job. I am more of a 9-to-5 person. I know my current job is not along those lines, but still.


    I reach the main entrance of the college. An empty college front greets me. College of Engineering, Trivandrum is written in bold letters on the plaque posted right in the middle of the entrance. To its right in one corner is a tall wall having a barren look in which the college name and accreditation are written. A lot of political banners can be seen surrounding these two plaques. Standing at an elevated space from the main entrance to the campus is the main building. There on top of it, the college name is written in an old font. It gives off a feeling of pride and heritage. The lush greenery all around it makes it even more beautiful.


    Even with all the silence surrounding me and the absence of a single human being on the premises, the college and its surroundings give a positive vibe. It makes me feel happy. I have a small smile on my face. I am transported back to my golden college days. My smile widens to a big grin. I kill the scooter engine, get out of it, and walk towards the entrance. It is good to be back in the place that made me.

 2.15

    When I saw the entrance to the college some 15 years back, I was thrilled. I didn¡¯t know what awaited me as I embarked on the journey of being an engineering graduate. I was following the rat race. I was a rat in it. But over time I realized that you are always in control of yourself. You have the choice to keep running in it or away from it.


    The four years at the College of Engineering Trivandrum or as we fondly called it CET was one of the most memorable times of my life. I am sorry for hiding this fact. I didn¡¯t know if I had to mention it or not. But the sight of the front gate and the surroundings and the subsequent flooding of memories made me realize there was no point in hiding it. This place molded me to be the person I am. I have no reason to hide it. If fact I adore this place. I am proud to have passed out from this institution. My current group of besties is my classmates. There is a sense of belonging amongst our peers and the professors who taught us.


    We did our college days at a time when technology was slowly disrupting the whole human society. Mobiles were already present among the crowd. It was the time of long calls made free by the various new networks vying for a piece of the pie. The pie was huge. Money was to be made in the numbers. This and the free SMS were what got us through the four years of our college life.


    Smartphones were slowly emerging. I have seen the change in those four years. In the first year, we all had a basic phone. In it, we were happy with the ability to make long calls and send free messages. The first smartphones made their appearance. Nokia was the one leading the way. They were already an industry favorite. If you remember the number 3310 then you are actually old. Let that sink into you.


    In the second year, we were official seniors. Having shed the moniker of being first years, we were bold enough to buy better phones. Most of us had the ones with a basic camera and the ability to load micro SD cards. In it, we watched movies and blue films in our classrooms. Most of the classes were boring. Some professors managed to hold our attention and actually take an interest in the subject.


    The third year saw us being comfortable with where we stood. We had our batch tour. We had our college cultural festival, which turned out to be a great success. It was a year of celebrations. We were enjoying our college life to the fullest. It is rightly said that the third year is the best year in your engineering life. We were bunking classes frequently and doing what we liked. We frequented festivals hosted by the various colleges in the state as well as outside it. We explored the city and took to outdoors on the weekends. Every week there would be a drinking night. Life was great. Apple released its iPhone in the International market. It quickly became a sensation. Samsung made its mark in the android industry with its Galaxy S1. Facebook was becoming popular. It was replacing Orkut. The Internet was evolving at a very high pace. We were only witnessing a small part of it in the limited speed broadband we all had in our hostels.


    The fourth year saw these smartphones upgrade. 3G was already in the country. It was being propagated more vigorously by the various telecom networks. It was costly. But it was amazing to have access to good internet at your fingertips. Most of us had an internet-enabled phone. With that, we downloaded games from the store and played them. These games were much better than the ones before. Gone were the days when one found solace and comfort in controlling a pixelated snake to find its food in a Nokia phone. With color touch screens that were becoming better and better, these next-generation phones were really a leap into the future. Ask any one of us if we could have predicted such a change in our lives in the coming decade. The answer would be a big no. technology was changing daily.


    One of my besties had an HTC smartphone. It was small and sweet. It was very much handier than the beefier N-series phones by Nokia. He had downloaded a game in it which became an instant addiction among us. In class, we would take turns to play and beat the high score. When the novelty of the game faded another one would take its place. These were simple games that used the touchscreen for actions. We had grown up in an era where the games we played were either through the keyboard and mouse on a PC or through a joystick or gamepad in the gaming consoles. Touchscreen was new to us. It was exciting. Actions like swiping and drawing specific patterns were the novelty.


    Since it was our final year, we bunked classes and stayed back in and around the college premises. We realized that our time was coming to an end. We were all asking ourselves if we had made the most of it. Sometimes we felt we didn¡¯t. Sometimes we felt we did have a great time. There is no singular answer to it. I have the point of view that it was a beautiful period of time. We did what we could with the facilities we had. In that regard, we did make the most of what was given to us.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Something I loved about that time was the compact size of the smartphones. They were really handy. Over this decade it has only grown in size. Now it wouldn¡¯t even fit my palm. I need to stretch my fingers to reach the top corners of it when I hold it single-handedly. From 4 inches to 6 inches, the difference is huge. The HTC model was really cute. It was chunkier than the ones we have now owing to the larger battery size. But it was really handy. The iPhone was really handy too. None of us had it though. I saw it when I joined for work. Some of my colleagues had it. Others bought it in a couple of months. It was the rage back then. Even now. Android phones have made a mark for themselves. The two factions have regular arguments as to which one is better. It is pointless in my opinion. Both are very different as the design philosophies in which they are built are different. So the end product will obviously be different. I have used both of them and I like to keep them separate. Each has its pros and cons. I will not go into this. It is a never-ending topic. Better to stay away from it and enjoy the product in hand.


    Having seen the changes happen right in from of our eyes, I have always wondered how our juniors fared. They would have been exposed to it from an earlier age. Kids in their tenth standard have smartphones with them, even younger. They have found even more penetration during the Covid lockdowns. These came in handy for conducting online classes to ensure uninterrupted classes. It did not have the classroom feel, but something was better than nothing. Students lost a year or two in terms of going to school, sitting in a classroom, and studying with their friends. I feel sad for them. But we survived through it all. We have almost overcome the deadly virus. It is still mutating and coming back in different variants. But I feel the bad days are behind us.


    The third wave is upon us. There has been a steady rise in cases in the state from the start of the new year. December was a month that saw fewer cases. This prompted folks to get out of their home, travel, and make up for the lost days. The holidays were celebrated with much fanfare. Parties were being organized in popular destinations. Tickets were being sold out like hotcakes. Everyone wants to get out of their house and have a breather. Maybe we became complacent. She was telling me how the medical college was gearing up for the third wave. Covid duties would be resumed again with the increase in wards to tackle the incoming patients. One can only hope this wave isn¡¯t as bad as the second one.


    The second wave was horrible. The country felt the brunt of it. There was a lack of oxygen cylinders in some cities. People were finding it difficult to find a bed for their sick kin. Doctors were on overtime. Nurses were running helter-skelter in the multiple wards that were springing up one after the other. A lot of people succumbed to the virus during this period. I think this period saw the most number of deaths. Surprisingly a good chunk of it was in the age group of thirty-plus. The virus in this second wave was affecting more adults than elders. This was heartbreaking. I remember her coming back from her Covid duty and telling me about the kind of patients she was dealing with. Half of the ward was occupied by patients aged between thirty and forty-five. These were people who had started their lives and were still young. They had small kids back in their homes, waiting for their return with eager eyes.


    Through her, I have seen a different side of the pandemic. Every time she goes for her Covid duty, I would pray to God to keep her safe and sound. She had already contracted the virus in the first wave. She was scared that a second one would prove to be bad for her. I dismissed this. I am sure she wouldn¡¯t get one. She was very much conscious and extra careful about taking the necessary precautions on a daily basis. This was one of the reasons that gave me confidence in her. She was meticulous about it, which is good.


    As I stand in front of my alma mater, none of this matters. This structure, or this institution and its concept of higher education has been dissolved when the human race was made to disappear into thin air, save me. Whatever is left is what I carry. I am the bearer of all the worries that we have seen throughout our history. I am the bearer of a million dreams that have gone kaput one fine morning. I am the one to see my species through. It seems like there is a lot on my shoulders. There isn¡¯t actually. In a way, I am actually free. Free of all the constraints imposed on me by my own race. Free of all the rules and regulations that were in place for me to be a part of society. There is no more society. Or community. There is only me, the individual. I don''t belong anywhere. I am all by myself. A lone wolf.


    I am the bearer of the various diseases that have populated the human race. If the pandemic is alive then it must be through me. I doubt that. I am good and have no signs of it, thereby confirming that the great swipe took away the corona virus and its variants along with the people it had affected. There is no longer a pandemic. The planet is free of it. No more corona virus and thus no more masks.


    The great swipe. That is an apt name for it. Like how you swipe in those popular dating apps or in those famous mobile games. I like the name. I have been looking for a name to describe it. This kind of resonates with what has happened. With one swipe, the intended action is put in place. With one big swipe, this city is devoid of all the people who called it their home. Since I am crippled by a lack of information I can only confirm for my city. It has the making of a global phenomenon. I guess the pandemic gave way to something even uglier. In that sense, the pandemic was far better than the current situation. Can I call in a trade?

 2.16

    I look at my watch. It is nearing nine. At ten I need to be at Ulloor junction. I can¡¯t miss out on it. It is one of the ways by which I can probably meet someone.


    I want to go inside the college. I want to enter it and relive all the moments that have defined my adolescence. But I don¡¯t know. There is a small hesitation to go in. I don''t want to go into the situation I am in. I would have probably loved to be with my class or batchmate or anyone who associates with this college. It would have been fun that way. There is an inherent connection between two college people even if they are not from the same batch. There is an unknown force that binds us all. We might be separated by decades and yet there will be some link tying us together.


    I imagine how this college would have been in the starting. When I meet someone who had studied here long ago, I am filled with excitement to know how college was for them. I want to hear their perspective. I want to hear their stories. I want to know whether the new mechanical block was built back then. I want to know how the students were back then, and how the hostels were being operated. I want to know stuff so I can probably go back to those times in my dreams. I want to visualize it and maybe live it through my dreams.


    One of my cousins is our alma mater. He passed out in 2004. I was in my eighth standard back then. When I met him after joining college, he told me about his experiences. He was more specific about the kind of ragging he was subjected to by his seniors. He wanted to know if the same stuff was being continued. His experiences were far worse than what I had. I told him things have become way better than that. It is much better. Although ragging was present, it was okay. It was not the kind he had to go through. Now when I look back at it, it was a good kind of ragging. We did feel it to be hard back then, but I guess it was okay.


    I hope the situation has become better by now. I am not pro about it. I mean I know that a good and healthy one will always be enjoyed. Everything in its right way can be enjoyed. It is only when it is taken to its extremes that they become degrading and affects the individual.


    Some say ragging prepares you for the life ahead. I want to ask them how. I want to ask them if they are aware of the kind of mental anguish the person goes through when they are being ragged. How can one know about a person''s mental background? It is not possible. Someone who is mentally strong might be able to take it. But what about a weak one? How will he take it? How will it impact him?


    Ragging is banned in colleges. Yet it takes place incognito. It cannot be avoided. But we can all try to make it fun and enjoyable. Just because we got it hard doesn¡¯t mean we need to pass it to our juniors with the same intensity or maybe more. We can decide to cut it out. We can stop it if we want to. But then there are a lot of people who will not think in this manner. So this will continue in various forms.


    Once again I find myself thinking about things in the future. I guess the gravity of the situation I find myself in hasn¡¯t registered in my head yet. I am thinking of a future where everything is normal. It is far from that. The truth is the future can be anything. Ask me two days back what I would be doing this day, I am sure there wouldn¡¯t be anything of this sort in it, even anything remotely close. The future is unknowable. Anything can happen anytime. It only requires a fraction of a second.


    I say this because now the creepy emptiness that surrounds me has got the better of me. I am falling for it. This is not like the empty college front I witnessed during some of the hartal days back then. That emptiness still had a lot of things going on. Some two-wheelers would pass through the road. A security guard would be present near the gate. Maybe a car or two would pass by. One might even meet some of their colleagues. If not he would have spotted someone or the other roaming around the premises. People would also be present. The college front would never be so empty. Ever. And here I am.


    I look at my watch again. It is showing me the same time I think. I forgot what it was.


    What is happening to me? What is it that I am feeling now? Where are the words I need to describe them? Can I even describe them?


    I want to go back home. I want to be back home. That is all I feel now.


    I look at the entrance once again and start walking back to my scooter. It seems my steps are full of purpose cause I reach the scooter quickly. Whatever the feeling is that has taken over me is telling me to go back to the comfort of my home. Once this college was my comfort. In it, I found the people who made it comfortable. Today it is not so. People are an integral part of my life. But I don''t have them with me. They too have been swiped away, leaving me behind to undergo this feeling. I really can''t say what this feeling is. I am trying to figure it out, but it is eluding me. Is this depression? Is this what it is? I don''t know. And I don''t have anyone to ask or talk to.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    I start my scooter and make the u-turn. As I leave the college premises, a thought strikes me. I apply the brakes and come to a screeching halt. I stopped right in front of a stationary shop. It is closed. But I can see a way to put the thought into action.


    I park my scooter where I come to a halt, get out of it, and walk towards the stationary shop. The wall marking the end of the shop is stacked with posters of an upcoming tech fest of another engineering college in the city. I tear out the one that comes to my hand. It rips off haphazardly. I stop what I am doing. I look at the remaining ones and see which of them are not pasted firmly. The top one fits the bill. Only the edges are pasted well. The middle area is puffed. I carefully pull at it from the lower corner. It tears off for a bit in the beginning but after that, I am able to peel it off without much trouble. Once I have peeled off a satisfactory amount of it, I pull at it one go. The poster rips off from the top. The back portion is white and empty. I have one of the things that I need.


    I need something to write now. Out of intuition I go back to my scooter, open the seat and look for a pen inside it. I find nothing. I close the seat.


    I search the ground for anything I can write with. If I am hoping to find a half-used pen or pencil, then it was the right place to look - in front of a stationary shop. But I don''t. If there was a dustbin near it, I would have checked it. A used marker would be the best thing.


    I widen my search. I start looking for a red-colored stone. It is powdery in nature and is sometimes used to write on walls. I used it in my childhood. I walk slowly keeping my eyes on the ground. I spot a couple of them near the edge of the next building. I pick them up.


    I flatten out the torn poster onto the wall of the building. I take the stone and draw a line on top of it. It marks the white paper with a reddish hue. It is not much but I guess it will do for the time being. I need to always keep a marker handy. They will be of great use.


    I mentally prepare the message and how it must go about in the area that I have with me. Then I scribble it out in the largest possible manner ensuring that it sits well within the page and is visible. This is what the message is:


    U R NOT ALONE. COME TO ULLOOR AT 10 AM.


    This is inspired by what Will Smith did in the movie. I have fixed Ulloor as the spot I will be in at ten in the morning. I need to stick to it without fail. I will. I have no other choice.


    This also puts me in the tight spot of not being able to leave the city in and around this time. If I plan to go to my hometown to check on my parents, I will need to do it in the twenty-four-hour gap I have between two successive meetings.


    The best place to hang this message would have been on the golden plaque. It stands tall and has a commanding presence. But it is not possible to hang this on the top where it would be visible the most. Instead, the only place that has a similar commanding appearance and is possible to be hanged is on the name board in front of the college. I walk towards it. I don''t have previous big strides in my steps. I am looking at the message that I have written. I wanted the letters to be a bit bold. But the stone was pointed. I did rewrite on them a couple of times to make them a bit bold. This will do for the time being.


    I reach the center of the name board. I hang my message bang in the middle of it, covering the letter ¡®E¡¯ of engineering.


    The poster is small. I knew it the moment I tore it off the wall. But I think it is enough to catch anyone''s attention. I hope it does.


    I take backward steps, away from it. Within a few steps, the message on it is barely visible. I have a couple of stones in my hand. I am thinking of darkening the letters once again. I decide not to. It might tear away the paper. I let it be. The white paper covering the name board should draw some attention. Anybody who finds themselves in this situation and is looking out to find someone else must be on the lookout for out-of-ordinary things.


    This is what I do when I am on the lookout. I look for something off, something that is out of place and is calling for my attention. So far I haven¡¯t seen anything of that sort. I want to see one. It would be a joyous moment. At the same time, I need to be putting out markers. I need to put out these breadcrumbs for anyone to follow and come to me. Just as I am waiting for a bread trail, a survivor might be. I have to think of this possibility also. I need to make my presence felt.


    I have been dependent on my walkie-talkie to reach out. This is not the best form. It is versatile though and has reached. But it is not a practical one. I need to do more groundwork. I need to be putting out posters and messages at every important junction in the city. I need to make sure they are visible and legible easily. I will have to make big posters. Not like the one I made just now. Big and legible ones. I need to gather my resources for that. For stationary, I might have to come back here. There are plenty of shops here that will have all the materials I need.


    I look at the message once more as I walk back to my scooter. I am not hoping for anything. This is a small step. From here, I need to make it bigger and larger, make it reach out to every nook and corner of this world. I need to find a way to achieve this. It might take time but that is okay. I have time. Time is all I have.

 2.17

    I start my scooter and leave for home. I come across a big billboard on my left. It is advertising put on by a coaching institute about the success rate of the students who took part in a national level examination. The photographs of the top scorers are larger than the others. They are made large to draw your attention. Advertisers know how to get your attention. That is what they do. I must also be an advertiser of sorts. I must advertise my message in the most fruitful way possible. Advertising and marketing. Let us not forget what marketing does.


    In recent years, with the advent of technology, advertising has changed the way we perceive things. Along with marketing, it has the power to influence our thoughts, which finally seep into our actions. Over the last decade, we have seen how it was used to subtly change the way people think. It is even possible to influence us from a subconscious level, which is frightening. We are not designed for it. If we are, we aren¡¯t ready for it.


    We are not ready for the constant stream of information we receive at our fingertips throughout the day. We are not ready for the consistent tiny dopamine hits we get when we doom scroll our way through the various media outlets we have with us twenty-four-seven. We are not ready for the blazing-fast way in which we can communicate and not communicate. We are not ready for a lot of things and yet we find ourselves right in the middle of it. We have thrust ourselves into it. We did it ourselves. I am not sure if we knew what we were getting into. If we knew, we chose to ignore it and go with the flow.


    I didn¡¯t know how my world would change in the last ten years. I don''t have to look back another decade to see the change it has brought about in my life. This decade is more than enough.


    One way it has affected me is by taking out a part of the huge patience I had. I am more restless when I don''t get things done in an instant on certain occasions. This is because I know they can be done in an instant but at that certain moment due to some reason or the other, it gets delayed. This agitates me and makes me irritated.


    I grew up in a time when such stuff could not even be imagined. I was happy with the time it took for things to happen. I was not so irritated when it took more time. I accepted the fact that it was because of reasons beyond my scope. External factors were in play. I have no control over them.


    Now I know the problem is created by external factors. Still, I feel I have lost control. The situation was never under my control in the first place and yet I react as if I had it in my control. Across these years, the stoic take on how we are only in control of our emotions and our reactions and never in control of any external factors has found its way into my life one way or the other - either through books or through social media posts. I know the simplicity and clarity of it. I know what they are saying is the truth and I want to exercise it at certain times in my own life. But I don''t. I let my emotions get the better of me. I realize it after the event has taken place. By then it is too late.


    I am not a stoic. I have read stoic works and I admire what they say in them. It makes sense to a very good extent. I even want to be a stoic myself. I want to apply some of the principles being talked about in it because I know they are quite true. But I don''t think I might be able to apply the rest of it. I just can''t. I am an emotional person. And sometimes I want my emotions to take over. I want to cry when I feel like. I want to laugh out loud whenever I feel like. I want to vent my frustration and not hold it back. I want to let it flow. It might be against the principles, but I know what I am and what I can be.


    I want to be the best version of who I am. That is what I am striving for every day. I am a work in progress. Every day I am learning something new about myself. Every day is a journey toward knowing a little bit about myself. It is a beautiful journey. I will come across a lot of things. But as always the journey is the best. I don''t know if I will ever reach the destination. I don''t think I will. I am as complex as a human being can ever get. That is why I believe one cannot know himself in this one single life. It might take multiple lifetimes. Since I am aware of this one life only, I will never be able to understand myself completely.


    I reach Chavadimukku junction. My thoughts made the distance feel tiny. It felt as if I had just left the college and appeared here out of the blue.


    Normally I would have slowed down and checked for traffic on the main road before I joined it. One needs to consider the vehicles coming from the Kazhakuttam direction while joining the road since the intersection is slightly angled. Now, I breeze through the intersection and join the main road maintaining the speed.


    I have never thought of having this junction so free and devoid of vehicles ever. I have never thought of witnessing something like this anywhere, anytime in the future. I have always respected traffic. I make sure my driving is safe and sound for myself and anyone accompanying me. It is a strange situation to be in. Although I always wished to have empty roads to myself, I never imagined such a scenario. This is the extreme version of it. I don''t want this. I only wished for it whenever I was irritated with the traffic. If someone has finally granted those wishes, then I plead with them to take it back. I don''t want it. I want the traffic back. I want the people who make the traffic back. I want all of them back. Back to normal.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    I am again engulfed by the feeling of loss and pain. I feel the pain of having lost my wife to the great swipe. I feel the angst of being alone in this city. I feel a lot. I feel the agony of this present turning into the future. I feel the tension of being given a task that I might never complete. I feel unworthy. I feel like a loser. I feel lost.


    The sun is up and shining. The brightness of the day keeps a bit of the moodiness away. I feel a bit thankful for it not being the monsoons. It would have been really depressing then. The overcast skies and the desaturated surroundings can really play with my head. I know I just dug out a slight positive from the heap of negativity surrounding me. This is what the stoics had to say all along - to look at the bright side of things. As I reach Sreekariyam junction, the emptiness of it washes away the slight positivity that was induced in me.


    I ride on straight through the junction. This will take me to Pongumoodu junction from where I need to take the right to enter our lane. I pass through the closed shops as the road takes a small downhill stretch. On my left, my gaze falls on the dilapidated arch of the bar. It was one of our go-to places to have chilled beers back in our college days.


    There are a lot of sweet memories associated with this place. The place attracted us because of the ambiance it had. The bar was an old ancestral house that was reworked and converted. The main hall that seated the audience had the traditional wooden roof on top, with wooden planks running through it in perpendicular directions, providing the required strength to support the roofing tiles on its top. Inside, some of the tables were separated by a small wall that broke off waist-high. It must have been a part of a room that was knocked down to make the hall big. I liked how they had thought of keeping a part of it.


    The entrance to the house has a long verandah. Here two tables were laid out. On moody days, this was the perfect place to sit and drink. Summers would prompt us to go inside and bask in the AC as we chill out.


    The kitchen was at the back of the house. It was not joined to the main building. There were a couple of rooms outside which they had converted into a kitchen and utility area. They had done a really good job with the whole site and made it as nostalgic as possible. This is one of the reasons that prompted us to go back to it even after passing out of college.


    I did visit it a couple of times in the year following our passing out. After that, I moved to cities. I came to know that the place had run out of business owing to new rules that were brought into place. I felt bad at the prospect of never being able to drink a chilled beer and have their famous beef deep dry (affectionately shortened to BDF) with my friends. I felt even worse when I saw the state of it after moving to the city last year. The place had a charm in itself. Now it felt like a deserted graveyard. There was no life in it. The place and its feeling stayed alive only in our memories.


    Next, I cross the bus stop. It is a familiar place to me. It is very much the same as it was fourteen years ago. Right behind it, a branded clothing shop has come up. It makes its presence felt and draws down all the attention from the bus stop. Not that it drew any attention earlier, but still. I maintain the slow pace that I got into as I crossed the junction.


    The road takes a left turn and starts to climb up with a slow incline. I am checking out my surroundings. This was the reason I reduced my speed. I know what the outcome might be, but still, I do it.


    I reach Elamkulam junction. The road narrows down a bit. Once again all the shops are closed. The trees forming a canopy blocks the sun for a small distance on the road. As I pass through the shade, I feel a slight tinge of chillness.


    I get out of the shade and take the banking right turn. There is a huge house on my left. It is really huge. One can make out the house sitting inside the property at a height slightly greater than the tall walls. The walls themselves are big and stretch out around the entire property. It is an old property. It has been there since the time I started traveling on this route. I have always wanted to go in and explore the place. The landscaping work seems to be top-notch. Good aesthetics always attract me.


    I see the supermarket in front of me. There is another smaller one on my right. We usually visit the bigger one. This is the one I was talking about. There is ample car parking available. It also has a clothing store inside it, on the first floor. It is more like a business chain. They have a couple of outlets in the city. Sometimes when we come here for our grocery shopping, we check out the apparel store. If something interests us and is for sale, we buy it.


    I see the shutters of the supermarket are down. As I near it, I ride all the way to the entrance and stop. The main entrance is shuttered. I get down from the scooter and walk towards it to check it out. It is bolted and locked on both sides. I think I can pry this open with some effort. I will be needing tools for that. I make a mental note of it and get back on my scooter. This place will provide me with the stuff I need to sustain myself for some time. I will have to visit it sometime in the day.

 2.18

    I drive away from the supermarket. As soon as I exit into the road, I am suddenly bombarded by a vision. I see myself hoarding a lot of foodstuffs. They go stale within a few days. Now I don¡¯t have an idea of how I am going to dispose of them. As I sit and think about it, the stale food has started rotting. Maggots have started eating them. Soon they will be finished with it, after which they will move on to me.


    I don''t know why this thing flashed in my head. Is it some kind of warning? I know if I have to store perishable stuff, I need to ensure that I have the proper means to store them. Otherwise, they would only turn out to be a pain in the ass when they start rotting away. Everything around me is eventually going to rot away. If I can store some of them, I might be able to enjoy them from time to time.


    I am almost approaching Pongumoodu junction. There is a petrol pump on my left. I slow down at its entrance. The backup generator is not working. There is no sound from it. Did it kick in when the power went out? Did it run and die when its fuel reserves ran away? I need to physically check it to get any data from it. I think of doing it now or later. The vision I had somehow made me want to just get back home at the earliest. I decide to do that. I look at the fuel gauge in the scooter. It is almost full. I have enough fuel for nearly a hundred kilometers. I resume my ride.


    I reach Pongumoodu junction and take the right turn. I take the turn very slowly. I look at the surroundings, to see if anything is out of the blue or if anything has changed from yesterday''s sight.


    Nothing has changed. It remains as it is. I feel dejected. I am used to it now. The hope of finding something out of the ordinary will always spark up in moments like these. It is not going anywhere. I think it will always live inside me, kindling the flame of finding something that would help me make sense of the situation I am in. Maybe it might be a coded message. Maybe it might be the presence of another person. I am happy to have anything. I am happy to witness anything that would be incongruent with the present.


    I find the emptiness of the road and its surroundings to be hard-hitting. This is almost similar to the time I come back home after dropping her off. There is always some kind of activity going on here. On weekdays, the road would be crowded. There would be traffic on the road. A traffic policeman would be moderating it. On Saturdays, it is a lot more relaxed concerning traffic. The commotion in the shops or on the sidewalks remains. All of these tones are down only on a Sunday. It is a day when everyone is at home enjoying their weekly holiday. The traffic would be minimal. Most of the shops would be closed. Some would be open till the afternoon. Some are open in the evening.


    No matter which day it is, it is never this deserted. I mean I haven''t seen it in any other state. Even during the peak of the covid second wave, there used to be some kind of activity. A shop would be open. A car might pass by. Maybe a bike. The medical shop will be open for a while. So will be the grocery shop. On Sundays, they would all be shut. The total curfew would be imposed on Sundays. She never had a Sunday duty on any of those total shutdown Sundays. Maybe then it would have been quite similar to what I am witnessing.


    Still, you were not alone. You knew your neighbors were also stuck at home just like you. You could spot them on their balcony soaking up the sun, coming out onto the terrace to hang the clothes out to dry, sitting on the porch and reading the newspaper, talking on their phones with their loved ones, etc, etc. You might even hear them celebrating the holiday with loud music.


    Our caretaker used to do that. He would play out loud some of the trending Bollywood songs. Sometimes he sang to it. Sometimes she would hum to the songs she liked. I love it. I love hearing her hum to popular songs. She hums them beautifully. She is in tune while she does that. I like humming. I do it but I can never remain in tune.


    Thinking of her makes me miss her a lot. This gets to me. This specific feeling concerning her will always gets to me. Her presence would have helped me a lot. She would have pacified me. She would be in shock too, having lost all her family, friends, and colleagues. But she would have remained calm. She would have composed herself and taken a much better effort than I am taking now to try to figure it out. That is how she is. She is very mature. I leave some of the decisions to her because of this. I feel I have a good amount of maturity and can take the decision myself. But when I have her, I would always love to consult her and get her opinion about it. She has consistently proven that her decisions are better and more practical. She has a natural knack for it.


    Thinking of her makes me miss her being my pillion. She would hug me and hold me tight. If she is feeling a bit down she would rest her head gently on my back and stay there for a while. I avoid sharp turns and potholes on the road. I let her be there on my back. I love that feeling. She says doing so makes her feel loved and warm. I reply that I am not doing anything. She says that is all she wants, to lie down on my back. It naturally brings a warm wide smile to my face. She can''t see it. It stays for a while as I navigate the road and the traffic and bring her home.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The ride through the lane is a quiet one. I drive at a slow pace in order to get a look at the surroundings. As far as I can make it out, nothing has changed from yesterday. I can''t remember how exactly it was but I am pretty sure to have caught any changes in it.


    I reach the shop from where we used to buy our milk. It is still closed. A dog is lying in front of it. It is sleeping peacefully basking in the sun. I think it was one of the stray dogs I met yesterday night. I have no intention of disturbing its sleep and so, I continue on my way.


    I reach the small entrance to our by-lane. I enter and take my hand off the throttle. The scooter eases down the path. When I reach the entrance to our apartment, I rev it up for a while and slide on comfortably to its parking spot.


    The place is as I left it. There is a cat on the boundary wall. It jumped up from its sitting position and ran away on seeing me approach. I kill the engine to silence. A wind blows in and extinguishes that silence. The trees dance to it. The wind stays for a while. I stay in the scooter and hear the leaves flutter, hear them break the silence, and send a feeling of being alive and in motion. A coconut tree in the adjacent property sways to it much more than any other tree in the vicinity. The wind slowly fades away. The trees come to a standstill. A couple of leaves fall off from the huge mango tree on the same property. They swirl and fall with grace. With that, the show has come to an end. Silence is back. I get out of the scooter and walk to the entrance of the building. The flight of stairs awaits me.


    I don''t have as much energy as I had when I left home in the morning. I was feeling a bit low but I did have some energy in me. The energy was being channeled in by the hope of going out and finding something out. I have returned with nothing at all. I did visit another police station to find it in the same state as the ones I had visited yesterday. Everything remains as it was yesterday. The simple hard fact is that it is going to remain as such for the foreseeable future. I must accept it and get on with what I have to do.


    The task remains very much like an impossible one. I still have no idea if I am taking the right decisions. I don''t know if my approach is the right one. I have no one to ask or refer to. It is this feeling of being trapped in an insurmountable position that drains me out. It makes me feel like a loser. I know I haven''t even tried anything before and I am declaring myself to be a loser. It is not right. But my circumstances are as such.


    I reach my apartment and open the door. The curtains aren¡¯t open. It casts a forlorn ambiance in the room. I close the door and open the curtains one by one. Light floods in. It looks much better now.


    I grab myself the half bottle of water lying on the table and finish it off. I guess I was thirsty. I feel a bit hungry. I can hear my stomach rumbling. It is asking to be fed. I think I am in the mood to grab a bite. I go to the kitchen, open the cabinet on the top and take out the biscuit container. I open it up and take out the packet of dark fantasy biscuits from it. I like it very much. It has this chocolate-filled center which is really yummy. She had bought the packet. She knows I love it and makes it a point to keep it topped up in the pantry. I take out a single biscuit from the pack and indulge in it. The biscuit feels even more delicious today.


    As the chocolatey liquid hits my tongue and its taste floods my senses, I am lost in its ecstasy for a while. I close my eye to indulge in the luscious taste. Only chocolate can do something like this. No other flavor can even come close to it.


    Chocolate reminds me of her. I associate chocolate with her. But she isn¡¯t a fan of this biscuit. She might have one if I am having one. I think she isn¡¯t a fan of biscuits. Oh wait, she likes milk-bikis. She likes to dip them in a cup of a hot tea or coffee and eat them. That is the only way I like to eat them. I can''t have them as such.


    All this makes me feel moody. I want to make some tea, take out the biscuits, and sit and eat them with her. I really miss her. I miss her warmth and comfort and the conversations we share. Sometimes we might not have anything to say. We sit and eat and drink our hot beverage in silence. It is a different feeling in itself. Even though we are not uttering words, we are communicating. There is a silent conversation going on between our minds. A kind of telepathic conversation. I feel it is needed at times.


    Silence can teach you to appreciate the noise. I felt it very much during these two days. I have truly come to appreciate the sounds that I had taken for granted. In their absence, I feel a void. That is why I stood still and listened to the trees dance to the tunes of the wind on parking the scooter. It is something I witness every day and yet I failed to understand its importance in the context of everyday life.


    Every little thing has a role to play in this universe. Everything has its own purpose. A beautiful purpose. Maybe we should all take time to enjoy them. Beauty is to be enjoyed by everyone. Why deny ourselves the pleasure of it?


    Someone has rightly said a thing of beauty is a joy forever. We know this but we tend to ignore it in our fast-paced lives. My life has slowed down to a snail''s pace. Is that the lesson I need to learn? To slow down, take a deep breath, and enjoy the little things? I will have to live it out and see.

 2.19

    It is almost nine-thirty. I have half an hour to reach Ulloor Junction. I will have to reach a bit earlier than that. Five minutes early will do. I need to hasten up and get things in order.


    I walk back from the kitchen to the sofa. On the sofa are the things I had taken out from the kitchen to carry along with me. The bag is already open. I stuff the biscuit packet, the half-eaten banana chips packet, and the bottle of water into it. There are now two bottles of water in it. This should do.


    I am reminded of taking a marker along. For that, I go to the study table and look for it among the heap of things that lie scattered. I can''t find it amidst the books, notebooks, sheets of paper, and many stationary things. I think I saw it lying on the dressing table in our bedroom. I walk towards the room and enter it. There is no marker on the dressing table. I look at the other side of it. The red marker lies fallen on top of her makeup pouch. I pick it up, open it and test it out on my palm. A red thin stroke appears on it. The ink is thick and uniform. It means there is ink in it. I walk back to the sofa and dump the marker into it.


    I ought to be preparing for the day ahead. I don''t think it would be wise to come back home and go out again. I can use that time to explore more of the city. Or make posters and stick them wherever I feel is the best place. I can do something or the other.


    I go to the study table and take out a bunch of white paper. This is for writing the message. They are plain A4 paper. They might not be visible from a distance. But maybe I can combine four of them into a single big sheet and use it to pass on my message. On the table, I see a glue stick. I pick it up. I know it won¡¯t be of much use if I am thinking of sticking these papers on walls or any other surface. This glue will not hold it for long. Just behind a stack of books, I see a small bottle of craft glue. I take that also. This is better than the glue stick. But it will also not hold the paper for long. It might be effective on a smooth wall. But for that, I might have to empty the whole bottle just to stick a couple of sheets of paper. My only other alternative is to make use of cellotape. I search for it in the table. It is not here.


    I go to the bedroom containing the TV and search for it amongst the other stuff that I have kept here. These are all the random stuff I have collected over the years - some random colored papers, empty and filled notebooks, diaries and fancy notebooks gifted by some of my friends, some colored pens and pencils, etc. I don''t use them at all. Nor does she use them. They have been lying here from the time I dumped them upon moving into the house. I brought this stuff with me thinking I might use it at some point. They lie here, having gathered dust.


    In one corner I find the thing I am looking for, a brown cellotape roll. This will do the trick. This is more than enough to stick those papers on the surfaces I will come across. The roll is thick. It should last me for some time. I pick it up and walk to the kitchen. I need to have a scissor to tear the tape. There is this small one we use to cut open anything in the kitchen. It lies on top of the fridge. I find it lying there and take it. I go back to the sofa and put them into the bag. I pick up the bunch of paper that I had left on the dining table as I was going to the bedroom and added them to the bag.


    Tools. Next is tools. I go to the wash basin and open the cabinet below it. I pick up the only two tools I have in the house -a hammer and a flat screwdriver. Dad was telling me to take some more tools with me when I was moving into the house. I only took these two and said I will take some more the next time. By then I had hardly used these two tools that I forgot about them.


    Amongst the two, the screwdriver has seen the most use. I have used it to tighten the handle of a couple of utensils. I think I have used it to pry open some containers. That¡¯s it. The hammer hasn¡¯t seen any action yet. I had brought it to hammer in nails or anything else. It was when I showed the hammer amongst the stuff we had brought that she told me of the clause in our rental agreement. The owner has specifically written in it against the use of nails on the walls. Due to this, we use double-sided tapes to stick things onto the wall and sticky hooks to hang something. They can''t be trusted. So we have decided not to use them if we can. That is one of the reasons why our walls are empty of things. But that''s okay. We like it this way. We are used to it. We like the expansive feeling it brings in.


    I forget the most important thing I need to take along with me - the walkie-talkie. It lies on the counter beside the wash basin. I pick it up and turn it on. The familiar switching of tone greets me. After that, there isn¡¯t any sound from it. I can hear the small grainy nose that is always present. I switch through the channels. The static crackle as I switch is all that I hear. All the channels are silent. I decrease the volume and stash it into the bag. It is fully charged. I checked it at night.


    Stolen story; please report.


    I take out the mobile from my pants pocket and check out its charge. It has come down to seventy percent. It will last the day for me. I don''t bother to unlock it. I saw there is no network available. That is enough for me. The network is not going to be available anymore. If I turn it into airplane mode, I can conserve more battery. But I don''t do that. I leave it as it is.


    I will have to take a big shopper with me if I need to collect some of the essential stuff I need to carry back from my outing. I intend to go to the supermarket and get my stuff today itself. I will have to take my car for that. There is going to be a lot of stuff. My scooter won¡¯t be enough to carry them all. There wasn¡¯t any obstruction on the road from the supermarket to Pongumoodu junction. A car had climbed onto the pavement and crashed into the wall of a car showroom. I had checked it out as I passed it. It had the same story to tell.


    I go to the kitchen and remove the big shopper from the lower cabinet. I fold it small and stash it into my bag. The bag has grown in size. I lift it and check its weight. It ain''t heavy. I keep it back on the sofa.


    The time is nine thirty-five. It is time I had something to eat properly. I go to the kitchen and take the packet of bread from the counter. I pick a plate from the rack, open the bread and take out a couple of loaves from it. I smell it to make sure they are good to eat. They smell okay. They might be good for another day. I will then have to look out for any fungal growth in it before I can consume it. I open the fridge and take out the small bottle of chocolate spread With a spoon I scoop out a generous helping of it onto a loaf.


    Being a big fan of chocolate, she was skeptical about buying this. Something got into her that day at the supermarket. We had just finished the bottle of peanut butter that morning. On seeing this bottle of chocolate spread I called for her attention and suggested taking it. She refused initially. She opined that this stuff was not good for our health and that we should not get them this time.


    She is right. There are a lot of calories in this. Peanut butter is better. But the ones in the supermarket all have added sugar in them. She was referring to something that didn¡¯t have these added sugars and was healthier. I don''t think a chocolate spread can be tasty without added sugars. It wouldn¡¯t taste nice. That''s what I feel. Maybe they can substitute the sugar with something naturally sweet. Something that would compliment the chocolatey flavor also. Maybe there is such kind of products. I haven''t seen them here though.


    Anyways she was clear about it. I then told her if that is what she wants then let''s do it. I moved on with the cart on the aisle. Afterward, right before checking out, she brought the bottle for billing. I looked at her with surprise. She said she was sorry for not letting me take it just because she was taking the decision of avoiding it. I reminded her that it was a collective decision for me. Her logic was right and I was taking the side of it. She made a sad face and said sorry again. I always fall for her sorry face. I hugged her and gave them the bottle for billing. It was great to see her sad face turn bright.


    I wish I had a hot cup of tea right now. The kind she makes. With a tiny bit of cardamom in it. There is enough time to make myself a cup of tea. But I don''t. I want to drink her tea. Or even the coffee she makes. I make the filter coffee. She makes the one with instant coffee powder or black coffee with locally ground powder. I don''t make them as sweet as she does. Her sweetness level is apt. Especially for the black coffee.


    Our local black coffee should not be confused with the kind you get elsewhere. It is definitely not an espresso. I think it is somewhat similar to an Americano. We take the required amount of water and bring it to a boil. Then we add the coffee powder according to intuition. She gets the feel of looking at the color of the brew. If she feels it is too light, she adds more powder. If not then she might even dilute it. Once it is brewed, she adds the sugar, dissolves it, and serves it.


    I am a big fan of this black coffee. This is the one I would prefer after a hard trek or an exhausting day exploring some wilderness. If I come across a tea shop in a remote place, the chances of the shop having milk are less. Black tea and black coffee would be available. I got used to it on one of our trips into the heart of the ghats. It was a two-day trip that included some trekking. We were doing it as part of volunteer work. We had to visit a tribal village and impart some knowledge to them. Along the way we were collecting all the plastic waste, we came across.


    As we traveled through the jungle we would come across these tea shops from time to time. The place was known for its coffee production. We ordered both tea and coffee at our first stop. The black coffee easily won over hearts. From then on, we would stop to have a hot glass of black coffee before proceeding on.


    On one of our family trips, mom had filled a big thermos with black coffee. It proved to be an awesome addition to our trip. Midway, it rained crazily. We got stuck in one of the tourist destinations. We couldn¡¯t get back to our car. The rain was really heavy. Mom had brought along the thermos with her. For the time we were stuck there, we took turns in drinking the coffee. By the time the rain slowed down and we left, the coffee was over. It kept us warm and improved our moods. I had almost given up hope in continuing the journey. The coffee brought me much-needed encouragement. We continued with our trip.


    I finish the loaves of bread and dump the plate into the wash basin. I drink a glass of water and get out of the kitchen and into the hall. The time is almost nine forty. Time to leave for Ulloor.

 2.20

    I check for the mobile in my pocket, grab the bag and head for the door. I take the car key and put it in the bag. I take one more look into the house. Opening the curtains brought in a pleasant feeling. The loneliness seems to be at a distance for now. A light breeze flutters the curtains as it passes by. My gaze falls on my wallet on the table. I pick it up. I check out its contents just to be sure of what I am carrying along.


    It has some five hundred rupee notes along with two hundred and a hundred. They sit on the last sleeve. On the one before it, there are a couple of tens and twenties. There is a strip of a ticket or something tucked away in a corner of it. I take it out and open it. It looks like a bus ticket. The size of the paper and the serrated edges is similar to the ones issued in KSRTC buses. The ink has faded completely. Nothing is visible in it. I crumple it and throw it onto the table. It lies there along with similar crumpled papers.


    I have my debit cards in the front. Alongside it is the ID card of my workplace. Behind it, I have tucked in my Aadhar card. And beyond that my driver''s license. I open the coin pouch. In it, I find some ten coins. There is a large ten rupee coin amidst it. It is easily identifiable. The one rupee and two rupee coins are nowadays indistinguishable. They have become smaller and similar in dimensions. Earlier there was a difference in their design. A one-rupee coin would be round and smooth, while a two-rupee coin would have a slight octagonal profile. This makes them easy to distinguish. One can easily pick them apart without looking. The five rupee coin has remained almost the same. It is thicker which makes it easier to identify from the rest. Nowadays it comes in brass coloring also. It still keeps its thickness.


    I close the coin pouch and check out the last small sleeve. In it, there is a piece of paper. The ink has bled and is visible on the other side of the paper. It has my details, in case I am to lose this purse and someone finds it and wants to return it. I take it out. Behind that lies two passport-size photographs. One is mine. The other is hers. These two photographs have been shot well. I had others too, but they weren¡¯t that great. So I picked the one I felt was the best. She had been using this photograph for quite a while. In it, she has a sweet smile. It is good to see her smile. It makes a smile appear on my face. I pick up her photograph, kiss it and tuck it back safely with mine. Oh, how I miss her.


    Something comes over me the moment I miss her. I feel a deep sense of loss. I cannot quantify it. This makes me want to do anything and everything I can to nullify it. To bring her back to me. But I know it isn¡¯t possible now. I even don''t know if it would ever be possible. I really don''t know the situation I find myself in. All I can do is bask in the memories I have of her. I can at least do that.


    This house and everything inside it reminds me of her. She has a touch in it. She is responsible for the few plants that are making the place greener and livelier. She was the one who took a complete effort in putting up a framed picture of the God we pray to. She took it upon herself to buy good crockery and plates. She was the one who nagged me incessantly to buy a shoe rack, which solved the problem of our scattered footwear.


    Her presence permeates more than the things that she has done in this house. Strip it off everything, I can easily visualize her gliding through the premises. I am the one who moved in with her. Because of that, I will always associate the place with her.


    I drop the bag on the floor and walk to our bedroom. There on the dressing table in a plastic container lies my wedding ring. I don''t wear it because I am not used to wearing any ornaments, whether it be golden or silver or anything fancy. I even don''t like wearing anything for a long time. From time to time I remove this smart band that I am wearing on my wrist. If it stays on for a long time, I feel suffocated. I remove it and instantly feel better.


    She wanted me to wear something. She asked if I was interested in maybe wearing a silver ring. I told her how it was with me. Still, we went to buy a pair for ourselves. We brought similar ones. I wore it for a while and a couple of times when we went out together. It fits nicely on my finger. But I stopped using it.


    The two silver rings lie close to each other in the same container. I pick them up and look at them. Hers is a sleek one with a small design to it. Mine is a thicker one with a very similar design. Together they form a great pair. I close my fist and kiss them. My eyes tear up. I hold them back.


    I see a black strand lying right next to the container. I pick it up. It is a thick thread. I think it was to be used for some kind of stitching. It is as long as my hand. I slide both the silver rings into it and tie the thread. I take it and put it on my neck. The rings come to my chest level. They sit there perfectly. I take them in my palm, kiss them and put it inside my tee. Then I take the wedding ring and slide it into my finger.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    I walk out of the room towards the front door. I take the scooter key, pick up the bag, and leave the house. I wear my crocs, close the door behind me and walk towards the staircase.


    It is hard to explain the significance of the event that took place in the bedroom just now. In all essence, it was me embracing my bond with her. It is a strong and significant bond. After all, she is my life partner. I must have been inspired by the stuff I had seen in action movies. The hero would pull out a dog tag of his friend and wear it on his neck for the entire duration of the movie. It has the significance of being close to the hero. He associates the dog tag with his friend. It is more than a motif to him. It was a way of saying out loud that the person meant the world to him.


    My Anna means the world to me. She is the light in the darkness. She is the one to bring so much happiness and joy into my life. She fills in with all the absent colors in the spectrum. Together I feel strong. I feel I can conquer this world. She understands me and gets me. I am a cold person. She knows this and she bears all the coldness I subject her to from time to time. I genuinely think she is the only one on this entire planet who would get it. Having come together from a small meeting, I am forever grateful for having her in my life.


    I know the rings will irritate me. I am not at all used to wearing a necklace or anything of that sort. But I will wear it with pride and emotion. It signifies us. It signifies our world. We were building one for ourselves. We had a lot to do.


    I still hope our story isn¡¯t over. It doesn¡¯t end here. It simply can''t. There are a lot of things to be done together. We haven''t even taken a week-long trip together. There is so much more to do and explore.


    This makes me feel for all those who have lost their love early in their life. On one of my earliest trips, I met a woman in her thirties. She had married three years ago. She lost her husband eight months into the marriage. It was an arranged marriage. Their love started to blossom after their wedding. Six months into it, they couldn¡¯t keep their hands off each other. They had fallen madly in love.


    Two months later he suffered an accident that saw him succumb to his injuries. She was shattered. They had just begun their lives. They had started dreaming and believing. She couldn¡¯t get over him. She never moved on from him. I didn¡¯t ask her why she hadn¡¯t thought of finding someone else. The answer to it was already out in the process of her telling the story. She was now living her life for him. I didn¡¯t understand it much back then. But I guess I know how it is now. A little of it. I think I will get to know more as I go on.


    I reach downstairs and exit the building. The sun is shining bright. There are hardly any clouds in the sky. I can see some white streaks and nothing else. No dense clouds. I get onto the scooter and keep the bag between my legs. They are a bit heavier to hang on my back. I start it and ride away.


    We have had discussions on how it would be if we were to lose the other. They have never reached a clear conclusion. I think there will never be one. We both tell each other to move on and if someone comes into their life, they should be given a chance. She makes me agree to it. When I try to get her word, she stalls. I know she can''t do that. She can''t let anyone else come into her life. But that is not right.


    I believe every person who enters our life will leave it. Some of them will go on to be with us till our deathbeds. Some will be there with us for a week or more. Some might not even see a whole day. People will come and go. Everyone who comes in will have something to show us. They will have a part to play in our lives. That is why they are there. After they have played their part, they will leave. One can''t always have the stage filled with all the characters in the play. They will come and go. Only the protagonist stays¡ªthe individual.


    A lot of people have come and gone in my life. I am grateful for their time and their contribution to making me what I am now. They may or may not know about it. I just want to express my gratitude.


    A good few stay with me. They are the ones I lean on in tough times. They are the ones who are actively contributing to making me what I am. Through them, I learn a lot. It is a symbiotic relationship. We learn and grow together. I think it is beautiful.


    I am driving my scooter around fifty. It has nothing to do with having time. It has more to do with observing the surroundings. The chances of spotting a difference are slim. Really slim. Still, I need to do it. I can''t leave it all to luck. I need to put in a minimum effort. Without that luck doesn¡¯t work.


    I wonder what has happened to Anna and all the people who have vanished in the great swipe. Have they been relocated to another universe, a similar kind maybe? Or can it be that they are going about their lives and I have been removed from it and thrust into this special setting? This can be possible. Wouldn¡¯t it be better to deal with me rather than a multitude of individuals? I would have gone with the latter. It sounds easier and better.


    I imagine what she must be going through then. She must be distraught. I don''t know what she will do. She will search for me. She will do everything in her power to find me and bring me back. The whole event might not be as significant as it is for me. I can feel the difference when everyone else has disappeared. In the alternate case, it would only be me missing. Nevertheless, she would be heartbroken.


    Thinking along those lines, I feel the pressure of finding a solution to the situation as quickly as possible. I can only contemplate these things. Even I don''t know what is happening to be honest. I can go on and find out the answers for myself. I hope there are answers. If not then I guess it must be my fate. The cruelest of all fates.

 2.21

    I realize after being outdoors for most of these two days that I have somehow lost the capacity to live a simple life. My life isn¡¯t simple anymore. I knew this from the time technology became a staple. As the size of the black screen became smaller and smaller, we became caught in its puppetry.


    Over the last twenty-four hours, I haven''t checked any of my social media accounts. They are there in my phone, a click away. But I didn¡¯t launch them to check out if the network was working or not. It hasn¡¯t caused any distress in me. Normally I go down the rabbit hole from time to time among the many platforms that populate my smartphone. A minute stretches to half an hour. Sometimes it hits the hour mark. When I step out of it, I don''t think there is a feeling of the time spent being fruitful. In fact, it is quite the opposite.


    Getting into a social media black hole always ends up with a desire to do something that would result in someone else doom scrolling their way through whatever I had to offer. I don''t know if content is made that way. I have seen people who make content that is wholesome and to the point. I have also seen people make it just for the sake of making it and keeping their audiences engaged. This at times makes me question what good content is. Or how should content be made? There are no set rules for it. Every platform has a different criterion and to cater to them all, one should be flexible and adaptive.


    Seeing all this I too want to be a creator. I don''t know what I will create but yeah, I want to be a creator. I want to create good content. Because I know how much time is consumed by these media outlets, I want to create something meaningful, one that will be of use to someone. They should not feel they have lost their valuable time consuming it. I can''t cater to everyone. That is not how it is. I used to think if I ever had to create something, it should resonate with everyone. Over time I have corrected myself. You need to be specific and pick your audience. Only then can you resonate with them and create good content.


    This brings in a tricky question. Is my different take on media because of consuming the wrong content? What if this viewpoint I have is made up of all the content I had consumed that was never made for me? Why did I consume them when I knew it was not for me?


    I guess the fear of missing out plays a part in it. Also the sunk cost fallacy. I am an easy victim to both. Fear of missing out makes me want to know what is happening on a day-to-day basis. Don''t confuse it with the zest to be updated. That is something different. I know this is really futile, but if you don''t know something you are not missing out on anything. Every second enormous amount of news and content is being created. This has caused the quality to degrade drastically. Quantity over quality is how it is nowadays. And it is being shoved down incessantly. It is more than enough to fry your brains without your knowledge.


    Sunk cost fallacy hits me when I start something and don''t have the balls to walk out of it even when I know this is not going well or doesn¡¯t appeal to me. I continue with it to the end. I can''t stop it midway. If I do then I am gripped with this feeling of having left something behind and thus the time I expended a waste. I wasn¡¯t aware of this until I read about it. Now I am aware and still do it. It is like a habit for me. I have been doing this for a very long time. I can''t change it suddenly. I did try applying it with a couple of books I found to be boring quarter way into it. But it left an uneasy feeling inside me. I picked one of them up and finished it. It still didn¡¯t appeal to me. But I got over that uneasy feeling.


    I remember my childhood. The memories that stay with me are in a very generalized way. And the eventful ones. Otherwise, I have forgotten a lot about it. It remains in a very condensed form. I can remember how we used to have dinner in our father''s home back then. I remember who would sit where and the talks that would circulate the table. I remember the dishes that used to be served to us. These are all vague pictures in my head. I know I preferred to sit on the chair right next to the central one where Grandpa sat. I also remember the glass shelf behind it, the contents it had, and how to access them. I remember the fridge that sat at one corner of the room, the wooden shelves that sat on the other corner, and an old tailoring machine right next to it. I remember all this. But I seem to forget a lot of other things. I can''t say what they are but I know this is not all.


    If I try to recollect those memories as individual strands, it becomes very difficult. I remember how New Year''s used to be celebrated. I don''t know how it was every year. There used to be a good lunch and dinner. It is all I remember. I can''t recall what we did for the rest of the day. This is what I mean when I say that I can only remember in a very general way.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    This applies to my recent memories as well. For the past year, I have been traveling through this lane almost every day I was at home. There must have been very few days when I have not gone out. Yet the whole experience remains in a very condensed form in my head. Again if I strain hard, I can recall many of the small incidents or things of interest that would have happened to me. For the time we drove the scooter from an event late at night. It was misty. Anna hugged me as I drove through our lane. It was simply beautiful. I remember that but in a generalized way. I forgot how she hugged me. I forgot the conversation we were having throughout that journey. It was about the sweet feeling of chillness and coziness. Thats it. In a very generalized manner.


    I think I can do a much better job of recalling things from my childhood. It was a simple time that ultimately led to a very simple life. There weren¡¯t any unnecessary complications. Even though convenience was low, I feel the quality of life was better than now. I don''t equate the quality of life to the facilities and conveniences one has as an individual and a collective. It is a wrong metric.


    If you ask me I would say the quality of life is a direct measure of how we go to sleep daily. If we can sleep peacefully consistently then we have a good life. If we can''t then our quality of life is bad. There are always avenues to improve them. I agree with that. How many of us actually acknowledge this and take action? We have been soaked into such levels of comfort that it becomes insanely impossible to get out rid of it. They have penetrated our lives to such an extent that it becomes difficult to live without them.


    My ride is an uneventful one. Along the road, I came across some stray dogs. I think they are the same ones from yesterday night. I am not sure though. They barked at me once. I continued with the same pace. I came across a black cat. It was on top of a wall. Even if it crossed the road, it can''t bring me any more bad luck.


    I reach Pongumoodu junction. I hear a sweet voice coming from the tree ahead. I see a bird fly away from it. My curiosity died the instant it rose. Before I take the right turn, I look at the opposite stretch of the road. It has the same story to tell. I continue ahead. I see the crashed car lying as it is. It was the first one I came across. Little did I know this was the tip of the iceberg.


    The sun is in its full glory. I can feel the heat in my arms. But there is something different in the air. I felt it today morning also. Is it because of the lack of any kind of pollution? If so then I must say we have been polluting the environment very badly. I can feel it right now. I can''t precisely define what it is. But it is good. It is way better than the sooty smoky feeling you get when you are trapped in a traffic jam. The heat generated because of it is also a different kind. I am okay with the heat from the sun. It is a natural thing. It doesn¡¯t make me feel uneasy. The traffic kind does. It can be added to the reasons why I prefer to avoid traffic.


    I wonder how it would be across the cities of the world. Traffic pollution has come to an end in an instant. There wouldn¡¯t be any more smog. The air would be much better now. Industries would be running until the power runs out. I guess most of the cities and industries would have died out by now. Maybe some of them would be running. Soon they would also come to a standstill.


    The sound of my scooter is the only thing that penetrates the shrill silence of my surroundings. The voices of the birds and the swishing of the wind are a part of the silence at times. They are there naturally. I am the one who is making an artificial sound.


    There is another supermarket here. We visited it once. It was very crowded. We were shocked to see such a crowd right after the peak of the second wave. She made it clear to avoid the place until things became normal. That was my first and last visit. It has a clothing section on top along with a section for household items. I can come here if I don''t find anything I am looking for at my regular supermarket.


    I reach Kochulloor. I slow down my scooter. It dies away. I don''t restart it. I let it run in neutral. As I drift through smoothly, I go through my surroundings. If I am to keep coming here on a daily basis, I must be well acquainted with everything that is here. I am very much familiar with it. But not in detail. I need to note down some of the details that can be of some importance. Rest I can ignore.


    I reach Ulloor junction. It is very weird to see this busy junction so vacant. Silence hangs around it, which is all the more unusual. I cross to the other side and park my scooter in front of a restaurant. It is an old restaurant. It has allured me on certain occasions with the aroma of freshly fried chicken. I wanted to try it out once as part of the idea of exploring the old food joints in the city. But to stop here and get something to eat was something I wasn¡¯t willing to entertain.


    Ulloor is a junction where I don''t want to get stuck. I want to cross it as soon as I reach it. Sometimes the line of vehicles can stretch for more than a kilometer, almost approaching Pongumoodu junction. I don''t want to be driving a car then.


    I get out of my scooter, take out my bag and keep it at the entrance to the restaurant. I also want to make my presence felt. I come back to my scooter and roll it to the middle of the junction. I park it there. This should draw out attention from anywhere. I check out the surroundings for any kind of movement or anything out of the ordinary. A couple of dogs come running in from the medical college direction. All is as it is. Even the eerie silence. I go back and wait.

 2.22

    I am someone who doesn¡¯t like to wait. I mean I can wait if needed. But generally, I don''t like to wait. It would be much better if it can be done on time. A few minutes here and it is fine. Waiting for a long time irks me. For some stuff, you need to wait. Things do take time.


    I wasn¡¯t like this. I could wait for a long time. It is the lifestyle change coupled with the extreme speeds technology gives us within our fingertips that makes me feel impatient. I still can wait for a long time. Like a said, I can. But there is a decline in the threshold.


    If you look at everything like this we can blame technology for a lot of things. When we are in the mood of pining down something to support our argument, we never look at its positive side. We always tend to focus on the negative part of it. I always wonder if we are wired to be as such. To look at the dark side first and then on the bright side if needed.


    What I am trying to say is this waiting can get to me. I need to keep myself engaged for the major part of it. Maybe today I can get away with doing anything. Maybe I can do it for a couple of days. After that, I will get bored. I will want to kill time doing something. I would have been hooked to my mobile if the networks were up as I would have access to the internet. Time would have easily gone by. Get into youtube, pick up a couple of videos in the suggestion list and it will keep me busy. It will on most occasions lead me through a rabbit hole. I have gone through plenty of them and found something interesting. Sometimes I do like to go through it. But only sometimes. There is a high chance to get sucked into it if you have spare time and are willing to explore. It can be good when you want to skip time. It is not at all recommended if you have the stuff to do and are putting it off by watching a video.


    I could use a good cup of tea now. And maybe some banana fritters. There is this small tea shop a few meters away along the road to Pongumoodu. I have seen it flock with people in the morning. I wanted to visit it once and grab something to eat. The vadas and fritters seemed alluring and delicious in the morning. I do have a vada if I am eating masala dosa or any other form of dosa in the restaurant with her. Otherwise, vadas are not a staple for breakfast. But a good banana fritter would be such a warm welcome to the day.


    I come out of the shade to take a look at the shop. I can see its outline. I can¡¯t make out what is written on the name board. The shutters are down. I look at my surroundings once again. All the shops are closed. There isn¡¯t a building that seems to be open to function. Considering the time the great swipe took place, I will not find a single shop or building that would have been open for business. Except for the few shops at the bus stand or railway station. Or the cafeteria in a hospital. They might be open.


    I take out the walkie-talkie from the bag and turn on the volume knob to the maximum. I keep it on the paved step behind me. A faint rumble comes out of it. It is consistent. I stick to the channel I have selected. I don''t know if I should cycle through the channels from time to time.


    I contemplate whether to broadcast another message right now on all the channels. I am thinking of staying here for half an hour. If anyone hears this, they can respond within this time period. I pick up the walkie-talkie, turn the knob all the way to the first channel, and broadcast a quick message:


    If anyone is hearing this then you are not alone. I am at Ulloor junction. Please come and meet me. We can figure out a way to undo this.


    I cycle through all the channels. There is a little bit of variation in my message as I progress through them. When I finish I turn it to the one I was using and keep it back on the step.


    I still don''t have a plan for the day. I don''t know how I should be making the most of it. It seems there is so much to do. I need to explore parts of the city that I didn¡¯t do yesterday. I won''t be able to cover the whole city in a day. I need to pick up small portions of it and go through them one day at a time. I think I will take the Kowdiar area today. I can branch out from Pattom junction and explore the surrounding areas.


    Apart from the exploration part, I need to figure out my supplies. I need to get access to the supermarket and other shops that will give me what I want. Genset is of importance. Then I need to find out a way to transport them. For that, I will need to bring my car. I wish I could get access to a pickup. I could stash all the stuff in it and take home.


    The whole city and everything in it are for my taking. But it is not easy. It is going to be tough. I might sound all cool when I say I will get my stuff from here and there. The thing is, It ain''t easy. It just sounds cool. That is the truth. Even taking another car is hard. I am not a carjacker to jack a car and take it out. I will have to find the key. Only then can I take it. The key is never going to present itself to me. If the car is parked in a house, I will have to break into the house to find it.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Anyone reading this might have gotten bored a bit. I keep repeating the same stuff again and again. It is what is going on in my head. I am documenting it so that if someone finds it, he will have an idea of how things have been following the great swipe. There are a lot of things that race past my head. A lot of things. Among them, only the important ones hold my attention. They stay in my head for a long time cause most of them cannot be resolved or cannot be answered. So they linger on until they get closure.


    I think about her. I think about what is it that has happened. Why me? I think of what needs to be done so as to bring things back to normal. Is there a normal? I think about that too. But it is depressing. I make myself believe this is a challenge of sorts I need to see through. That too over a short period. I don''t want to be looking out for it for my entire life to find it at the very end of it. Cause I have a life with her. I mean I had a life. I still believe there is more to us. We had just begun. There is so much more to live for.


    This might be treated as a journal. Or a personal diary. I don''t know. I am just writing as I see, trying to put them all in words.


    It is almost ten. I walk towards the scooter. The scorching sun makes its presence felt the moment I get out of the shade. It is hot. I sit on the scooter and wait.


    I take out my mobile and unlock it. I access my gallery and scroll through the pictures taken on my camera roll. The recent pictures are mostly of us. Although I was clicking a lot of our photos on her mobile camera, whenever I didn¡¯t have her phone and wanted to capture a moment, I would take out mine and click. There aren¡¯t many, but they are nice. Especially at this moment.


    I click on a picture. We have come for an outing in our hometown. I hugged her with my arm and hold her tight. We are making a goofy expressions. It brings about a smile on my face. We make it a point to click at least one photo of us with a goofy expression. She does it way better than I do. If she takes out her pout then it is game over for me. My imitation doesn¡¯t even come close to the awesome pout she manages every single time. It is very much natural to her.


    I scroll to the next one. We are smiling in this in the same setup. In the next one, our smile is slowly breaking into a laugh. The last one has us laughing. Our heads have bent downwards owing to the laugh. I remember the moment. The laughter turned out to be contagious. We couldn¡¯t stop ourselves even after clicking the pic. It continued till our stomachs hurt. Only after that, we reviewed the pictures. They turned out to be sweet.


    I feel the heat getting to me as I get emotional. I walk back to the shade. There has been no response on the walkie-talkie. I hear a crow cawing in the distance followed by the cries of another bird. This is followed by some loud barks from a couple of dogs. The sound seems to come from a by-lane.


    I sit down on the step. I access my phone once again, get out of the gallery and access my music player. I go to the recently played list and play a song by Max Richter.


    Music helps to calm me. It makes me feel better. I sometimes use music to express what I feel. Sometimes I listen to them to let go of the emotions building inside me. I have cried to the music of Interstellar by Hans Zimmer. I love his music. There is so much life and feel in it. I always have his music with me. I put the song out for Anna on one of our drives to our hometown. She instantly fell in love with it. We played it in a loop for a long time. We both get emotional about it. We capped off that journey by watching the movie together. The music gets more meaning when you listen to it in the context of the movie. It has a lot to tell.


    The lush deep sounds of the violins bring in a moody atmosphere. Max Richter has the power to do so. Even when the sun is hot. So do a lot of other brilliant artists from around the world. Each has its own signature style that cannot be replaced. For me, music transports me to the feel the artist must have wanted his listener to have. From the melancholy downtempo tones of Christian Loeffler to the vibrant global hues of Yanni, everyone who makes music is doing something beautiful. Music is just incredible.


    At the core of it is a simple wave that is passing through a medium. Basic physics. A simple wave. To make something so beautiful out of this basic thing is simply marvelous. A simple thing has turned into something beautifully complex. That is what this universe is all about.


    We are all made of stardust. We are all made up of the same elements that can be found in the farthest reaches of this universe. The air we breathe, the water drink, the land we call our home, our earth, the food we eat, everything is just a bunch of elements that have come together to make something complex. From a different perspective, the universe lives through us. We are the universe.


    Why did this universe decide to play such a cruel game with me? Why did it have to flip my world in an instant? Why particularly me? Why not anyone else? The universe lives through me and yet I can''t answer these. Why is that so?


    I think it is the moody fast paced raging violins that made my pulse rise. It is rising and rising. I pick up my phone from the step and pause the song. As the song comes to an abrupt end the eerie silence takes over the surroundings. I feel its dark presence. I keep the phone on the step, get up, and start walking.

 2.23

    I think I might have dozed off for a while. I was sitting silently and got lost in random thoughts. I cannot point out what they were. They were random and jumbled up. Very dreamy. I am capable of doing it involuntarily.


    Once I dozed off in my workplace while having our morning meeting. It was a slow week. Work was hampered due to the unavailability of materials and manpower. The previous day I had slept really late. I was hooked on a series and was at the end of it. I saw it through and only then did I go to sleep. When I woke up my sleep was not complete. Still, I dragged my lazy ass to the worksite and sat down for the meeting with the chiefs of the various departments. Work-related discussions hardly lasted for some minutes. After that, a lot of other things were discussed. Gossip was shared between the two senior people. I was mum the whole time. I listened to all that they had to say and nodded from time to time to acknowledge that I was listening to whatever they were saying. In between, the discussion went on another plane to which I didn¡¯t have anything to contribute. I remember feeling all drowsy and unable to control my eyes. I dozed off for like a minute or maybe less than that. I know this because my colleague who was sitting opposite me told me after we were done with the meeting. That too twice. I smiled at him.


    The time is almost ten thirty. I wonder if I missed something. The scooter remains as it is in front of me. There is a slight shade on the road. A cloud must have covered the sun for the moment. The dogs are gone. I see a cat near where the dogs were. I hear the loud cawing of a couple of crows. One of them flies past me onto a coconut tree in the distance. The wind makes a sudden cameo appearance. It caresses the bushy tree diagonally opposite to where I sit, making the small flowers swirl in unison.


    I pick up the mobile and shove it into my pocket. Then I pick up the walkie-talkie and put it into the bag after which I get up. I take out the bottle of water and have some quick gulps. I walk to the scooter and put the bag in front. I take a good 360-degree look at my surroundings. It is the same as it was. It is as if there will never be a change to how it was yesterday. Like a photograph.


    But that is not true. Nature is alive. It will bring about a change over a period of time. Nature will thrive now. Trees and plants would take over everything mankind has built. It will take over the wonders of the world, the tallest buildings, the majestic palaces, and the engineering marvels. Everything will see itself bending to the will of nature. It will take a lot of time. Years probably. I won¡¯t be there to see it. I don¡¯t think any human would be alive then. Our race could be extinct. Like the dinosaurs.


    The thought of it makes me a bit uneasy. As a member of this species, I don''t want us to go extinct. Not so soon. Maybe after we have discovered the mysteries of the universe and answered all the questions regarding life and its purpose and the meaning of it all. This will only lead to more and more questions. But I hope we get an answer we can all agree on and accept, whatever it might be. After that, I think we can fade away in peace. We don''t know where we stand in the grand cosmological timeline. We don''t even know if we are alone. The universe is so vast. We are nothing compared to its vastness.


    I decide to leave. It''s been sometime now. I need to get going. I start the scooter and take the road toward Kesavadasapuram.


    I reach Kesavadasapuram within minutes. It takes more time normally. Also, I was driving at a constant pace, on the lookout. Still, it is much earlier than usual. There are sections of the road where you are bound to get traffic. It is good I don''t have to wait for anything on the road now. Empty roads are always a great feeling.


    The tree that stands out at Kesavadasapuram junction offers me some cool shade. I come to a halt right next to it. I look at my surroundings. It has the same story to tell. I look at the buildings with a sharper eye. Yesterday I was coming to terms with what had happened. I am yet to fully acknowledge it. But now I know what has happened. I am looking at my surroundings with a specific purpose. I didn¡¯t have that yesterday. Today it is what I need to do. It can give me something that might just help me.


    All the shops are closed. A few dogs come running from the road that forks away from the city. They stand at a distance and bark at me. I stay still in the scooter. I let them bark. They keep on barking for some time. Then they cool down. They didn¡¯t come near though. Barking dogs seldom bite is how the saying goes.


    I take out my mobile and open google maps. As it loads up I press the location GPS button. It takes a moment to point me out on the map. It points me very close to where I am standing. I move it in a figure-of-eight motion to recalibrate the sensors. It is still pointing at the same location. If there was a network it would have taken the help of the towers to provide me with a much more accurate location.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Oh, wait. Now it is showing almost the exact location I am in. It is also showing the road and the small buildings beside it. I zoom in. The maps stop loading. I guess I need the internet for that. At least it is showing the basic map and the roads. This is more than enough for me. It has all to do with the concurrent use of maps in the city. It must have cached away data of the city which is being accessed now. I should make it a point to not clear away the cache data from google maps. I zoom out. I turn the phone to see if it can correlate. It does. Very nice.


    I put back the phone in my pocket. I start the scooter, take the roundabout and take the second exit towards Pattom. My new route starts from Pattom junction. Till there I will be on the lookout for any change. I know there won¡¯t be any. Sometimes even having hope can be difficult.


    There is something I need to tell you. I have imagined a similar setting from time to time. Not like this, but similar in theme. One of them was a dream. In it, I go along with my friends to a remote location for a couple of days to unwind and on returning find ourselves in a world that is different from how we left it. There wasn¡¯t anyone below sixty. It took us some time to realize it. The moment we figure it out and think of what to do next, I woke up. I couldn¡¯t resume the dream after that.


    The above one remained with me. There are many other instances where I have completely forgotten the premise of the dream. In most of them, I am with someone else.Only on rare occasions do I find myself all alone.Guess what, I don''t remember the ones in which I was all alone. I really can''t recollect any of them. Also, it has been some time since I have had any dreams of this sort.


    In most of the dreams, I haven¡¯t gone past a day or two. I wake up before it can proceed any further. It pans out for a couple of hours in most cases. At least that is how I remember it. It might have been longer, but I can''t recollect it. I remember the tail end better.


    There are dreams of recreating my childhood in a different setting. Like the one in which we go on a tour and find the teachers who accompanied us missing along with everyone in the hotel. This is a dream I had after I passed out of college. I wonder about it from time to time. I do dream back in time. I visit my childhood days and live them through my dreams. But this one seemed a bit odd.


    Has my dream come true? Like is the great swipe an amalgamation of all the being alone kind of dreams I have had till now? In that case, there must be someone with me. It has mostly been like that. Is there someone that I need to find? I haven''t had such a dream before. A dream where I am all alone and go on to find someone out there.


    The road is empty except for the crashed vehicles I came across. They don''t seem odd at all. In fact, they seem to have blended with their surroundings. Within a day. I wonder if it is the absence of any other elements that make them blend so quickly. I mean if people or things were happening, the crashes would have stood out. I would have probably seen them in that regard - a crash that hasn¡¯t been resolved it. It would kick my curiosity and prick me to find the reason behind it. Basically to mind my own business. I would have been forced by others around me even if I wanted to walk away from it. A crowd is powerful. It can influence you in subtle ways beyond your comprehension.


    I like to mind my own business and go along with what I have to do. I try to ignore an incident that doesn¡¯t affect me and go along. If it affects me it will get my attention. There is nothing to influence me now. Nothing. I wish there was. For the simple reason of being able to meet someone.


    You know what. It is not true. I mind my business at certain times only, when it is important for me to focus. Otherwise, I don''t mind hearing a gossip or two. If I get comfortable with the company then I will even share some of the stories and gossip I have regarding that subject. I don''t think I ever want to escape from it. Gossiping is not that great. But it is fun - if it is kept in that way and doesn¡¯t get too personal or scathing. Gossip is said to be something that brought our ancestors together and made them stick together, thereby leading our species to be what we are.


    When I call her from my workplace sometimes I really want to hear her gossip about something. Anything will do. Good gossip really can make you feel normal. Not great or euphoric but normal. Also gossiping comes naturally to us. It is something that is embedded in our DNA. For that reason, I don''t think we will be able to turn a deaf ear to it. We will listen to gossip whenever we can and also spread some if given the chance.


    I am approaching the LIC bus stop. It brings in a certain calmness in me. The building sits in a lush big plot. There is a garden in front of it. It somehow adds charm to the otherwise concrete atmosphere along the road. The trees and the greenery inside the plot and the old-school architecture divert my attention for a second from the mundaneness of the modern structures beside it. The KSRTC bus that has smashed into its wall remains as it is. Yesterday I stopped to check it out. Today I breeze past it.


    One of the reasons I haven''t come across many buses on the road is the time period in which the great swipe happened. They are odd hours. These premises would see the least amount of buses during that time. If I go to the bypass or take the highway, I will find more buses. KSRTC and tourist ones. Trucks and trailers too. I will have to go through those roads after I have covered the city. Or maybe I should go there tomorrow. What if I find something out there? To be honest, there are infinite possibilities in front of me. And there is nothing to tell me if I am taking the right path or not.

 2.24

    I approach Pattom junction without coming across anything out of the ordinary. It is strange to have this junction free of traffic at this time of the day. Only during harthal days would such a thing occur. Even Sundays will have a bit of traffic here. I have to take the left turn at the signal. But I stop at the edge of the divider - to have a look around before I divert from the route I took yesterday.


    The place is quiet and empty. It is as it was. I know this place well. Any change would have come to my notice. It is a hot day. I can feel the heat. Suddenly the heat disappears. I look up at the sky. A cloud has come and covered the sun. It feels nice, the sudden arrival of a shade and the subsequent decrease in the heat. Before the sun is restored, I start my scooter and take the left turn.


    The road is downhill for a while. The moment I enter the downhill section, I pull the brakes and bring the scooter to a halt. It switches off automatically because of the problem. I let it roll in neutral, controlling it with the brakes.


    The roads in Trivandrum are good. Although from time to time you will come across a well-paved road being torn apart so as to work on an underground pipeline passing below it. It has made me wonder why there isn¡¯t a proper system for it. I have seen a newly tarred road being torn apart. I felt bad. I really wanted to know if there wasn¡¯t any other way to plan for the pipeline or even the road. Since I know no one in the concerned departments I let it go. But I really want to know about it. It feels as if the whole thing was planned. I know this is not the case. A newly tarred road wouldn¡¯t be subjected to such bad treatment head-on. But still.


    I have heard in foreign countries first the road is built. Then comes the electricity and waterworks. Only after all of this has been sorted properly does the construction of the building take place. This results in a well-planned overlay. Also, they give huge importance to how these systems interact with their surroundings. There are proper systems in place to take care of every need. They make sure it functions smoothly. They are also built with a vision to last for as long as possible.


    Here in our country first the building is built. Then the electricity and water supply is given. This results in a lot of problems. In my hometown, the electric lines are all overhead lines. They are strung between posts and traverse the length and breadth of the vicinity. Our area has a lot of rubber plantations. During monsoons, when heavy rains and wind lash, some of the branches of these trees fall on these power lines, thereby affecting the power supply in the premises for hours. Earlier it used to be for more than a day. Now the situation has improved drastically. It is good. I feel the system can be made better.


    I reach a part of the road I have seen being torn apart for pipeline works. I was passing through this place when I was living in Trivandrum earlier. It took nearly three weeks for the work to be completed. I was okay with that. I was not okay with the fact that the road was now not as good as it was before. The patched-up portion took away the fun and pleasure of driving through a good clean section.


    Then there is the problem of the rain. Our roads are prone to get worse during the rains. Roads become littered with potholes and cracks, leading to more trouble. I have always wondered why couldn¡¯t the roads be built considering these in mind. Why not build it in the best possible manner the first time? Why keep working on it again and again, thereby leaving it in a patched-up state?


    As I grew I understood some of the reasons behind it. Corruption has a big say in this. If a road is built perfectly the first then how will the contractor get another contract? For that, the roads need to degrade.


    Then there is the problem of the terrain we inhabit. I read this a long time ago. I didn¡¯t cross verify it. I have a couple of friends who are civil engineers. Maybe I should have asked them. But I forgot about it. It says our topsoil is loose. It cant hold a lot of water. If the road is laid on such loose soil, during heavy rains the soil will wash away, thereby eroding away the foundation of the road. This will naturally result in the breaking of the road.


    There was a recent issue with a bridge developing cracks within a couple of years after its inception. Its safety was compromised. One of the reasons was the seeping of rainwater from the tarred section to its concrete understructure. At the same time, another bridge was built by a well-known engineer a couple of kilometers away. In it he ensured that a proper channel was made for the water to flow away, thereby preventing any water logging issues in the structure. He did come across to say how this was important. These factors should not be overlooked with the amount of rain the state gets during the monsoons.


    I reach the bottom of the downhill section. All the shops here and along the way are closed. There is a small junction. A small road forks away to the right. It goes on to join the main road I came in. I continue on the bigger road that I am on. A car climbed on the divider and crashed onto the post. It is a bad crash. The post was indicating the destinations ahead. It has bent over with the impact. As I pass it I quickly take a look inside. It is empty. I knew it. I look back at the car in my rearview mirror. The bonnet is crushed in. I can see the radiator. It has jumped out from its position. Since it has the same old story to tell, I continue with my ride.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    There is a shop that sells plants and pots. My friend suggested the place to me when I asked him for a shop selling indoor plants. I visited it when I was going to town for some work. The place immediately caught my attention. The whole vibe inside it was beautiful and cheerful. I went through the place, looking for something I can buy for my home. One of my friends had a bunch of cacti at his home. His wife used to put up posts on Instagram along with the cactus and their growing family of indoor plants. I think I was inspired by that.


    I came across a cute little cactus in a cute little pot. It had a pinkish round flower-like thing growing out from its top. The color combination was really beautiful - green stalk with a vibrant pinkish-hued flower. I bought it without any second thought. The shopkeeper packed it carefully for me to carry in my scooter. I made it a point to visit the shop with Anna some other day.


    Later that day when she came back from her duty, I showed her what I had bought. She was happy and surprised to see it. It was really cute. She placed it alongside a couple of plants we had in our home. Compared to them, the cactus looked tiny. Still, with its colorful flower, it commanded attention. Some of our friends who came to our house did ask us from where we had got it on seeing it.


    The cactus is dead. It withered away after some months. It was supposed to be a rugged plant, one that could survive the immense heat of the desert and live without water. The shopkeeper had instructed us to water it once a month only, just a capful. We followed his word. Yet it succumbed.


    I think it is the high humidity of the place. There is already so much water content in the air surrounding it. I don''t think it is suitable for such an environment. It needs to be kept in the driest possible conditions, which we cant. After this incident, we didn¡¯t buy any more cacti. It wouldn¡¯t survive. Maybe we will buy them once we get to know how to take proper care of them. I need to learn about it more.


    I wonder how I can get information now that the internet is down. We have completely become dependent on our mobiles with 4G internet to get any kind of information we want about anything almost instantly. There is no delay in it. Also, there are multiple outlets from which you can gather knowledge, not just a single one. Without any of this, I will have to fall back to the methods that were used to preserve and propagate knowledge before tech took over. Books!


    I remember how encyclopedias were a thing in my childhood. I love books. I also really love to peer through the images of an encyclopedia endlessly. I used to have a couple of them with me when I was young. Among them, the best ones were by the publisher DK. Dorling Kindersley, if I am not mistaken.


    DK had some of the best-illustrated books. I loved them. I had a couple of them. They were mostly sold by door-to-door salesmen who would quote a high price for it and then were ready to sell it at a tenth of it as part of their promotion drive. The book was hardbound with beautiful illustrations on the cover pages. They were enough to make me fall for them. The pages were high-quality. For school projects, I would take photocopies of the pictures in them to stick on my work. I could never think of cutting them out.


    Then there was the Brittanica encyclopedia. It was a well-known brand. Some of my friends had them lined up in the showcase at their homes. I had wanted one but they were costly. So I never pestered my parents to buy them for me. I was content with the many other books I had.


    As I moved on to my pre-teens, computers were becoming affordable. It was also when we were given computer classes at school. We were taught to use paint and word in the initial few classes of the academic year. Then we would be left out to do something in them. A PC would be shared by three or four of us. As soon as the teacher left us, we would load up games and play them in turns.


    I told my parents the need to have a digital encyclopedia and PowerPoint to make presentations for my class. They were skeptical at first but I somehow managed to convince them. As soon as I got my PC, I made it a point to load the encyclopedias I had obtained from my friends. They came in a 10-CD set. CDs were the medium for storing stuff. I would copy the content onto my hard disk and access them whenever I needed. Later when I started running out of space, I copied them to CDs. Over time I had a good collection of games, movies, music, and educational material.


    When DVDs appeared, they had storage equivalent to almost 6 CDs. They became the preferred method of storage. CDs quickly gave way to DVDs. My collection saw more and more DVDs. An encyclopedia came in a single or a maximum of two DVDs. It also brought in larger and graphic-intensive games.


    By the time pen drives and SD cards made an appearance, broadband internet was becoming accessible to ordinary folks at their homes. The internet was the new sensation. Everything was freely available in it. There was a decline in storing knowledge and information on CDs and DVDs. The DVD players in PCs became unused. They gathered dust. They were mostly used to install windows after a PC crash or format.


    I don''t know if I have any of those CDs or DVDs with me anymore. They have become kind of obsolete. The laptops that come nowadays don''t have a DVD slot. Nor do the PCs. The world has moved over them. With storage becoming cheaper and more compact day by day which is promoting the increased use of cloud storage, we have come a long way. I have a pendrive that is the size of a peanut. It can store 64 GB of data, which is one and a half times the storage I had on my PC way back in 2004.


    The great swipe has taken away the biggest source of information from me. Without it, I am in the dark. I don''t have a clue about what is happening around me or anywhere else. Nor do I have information at my fingertips. I have gone back a couple of decades when it comes to technology. Everything that was on the internet is gone. Unavailable. I don''t know if I would be able to restore it, assuming that it is intact. I don''t know.

 2.25

    When there was internet - which was just twenty-four hours ago - everyone had a presence in it.It took you to a virtual space, an intangible place. The likes and comments that you got were all virtual. They might be getting stored in some random hard disk in a server in a storage farm somewhere in the world. To trace it would be a herculean task. Why would you? You need to be just concerned with the thumbs-up symbol that flashes in your feed from time to time. You need not know if they even exist if they were not thrown up by an algorithm. That is not at all your concern.


    In that context, I am back in time. Back when the internet was being thought of by its creators. But there is a disparity. I have access to all the modern gadgets. These couldn¡¯t have been imagined back then. A mobile phone the size of your palm that has a slim display that is made up of LED lights and can facilitate face-to-face conversations with people poles apart is something from a future civilization. Fifty years down the line we are that civilization. Our humankind has reached that state.


    This is a disparity of sorts. I have tech but can''t use them to the fullest without the worldwide web. I am stuck with what I have and what I will find in my vicinity. If I can''t provide it power, it will also die on me. I will be left with a paperweight. This is also intangible. Anything that works with power is intangible - if you extend it to the family of electronic and electrical devices.


    The only tangible stuff that I have with me are the things that do not require electrical power to operate. I don''t know if I can classify motor vehicles as electrically dependent. Their initial versions that ran purely on IC engines didn¡¯t have much electronics. The first one might not have had any at all. But electronics did refine them and made them what they are today.


    Bicycles are purely mechanical. They have no electrical part in them, thereby making them wholly tangible. Even if I run out of fuel to power my vehicles, having a cycle would get me from point a to point b. It would take time and effort but it will get the job done. I don''t have a cycle at home. I have one in my hometown. They are in a rusted condition having not been used for years now. I can get a cycle from Decathlon in Ulloor. Or any other cycle shop in the city. I think there is one in Pattom-Kesavadasapuram stretch too. If I have to get one, I don''t have to go hunting for it.


    When it comes to information keeping and transfer, books are the sole tangible things remaining. Even the CDs and DVDs I talked about will be of no use if I can''t read the information contained in them. I am in a pre-tech, pre-silicon era.


    The realization is a harsh one. I don''t have a choice though. This is what I find myself in. I must make use of the things I have with me and go forward. Right now I restart my scooter as it comes to a stop following the downhill stretch and resume my journey.


    A small stretch of straight road ends with a gradual incline all the way to the Kowdiar junction. I rev up a bit to keep up with the increasing gradient.


    Big houses and apartments line up on either side of the road. Restaurants and fancy bakeries have found spaces to operate and cater to the needs of the people of the vicinity and the city. I always feel some new shop has sprung up every time I take this road. A salon, a bakery, a cafe, or even a food cart, something or the other is always happening here. I reach a section of the road that sees the most traffic. It is due to the cafes and restaurants that populate this small space. It was all started by a bakery.


    The bakery started in a small complex. It soon expanded itself to a casual cafe on the first floor followed by a proper restaurant on the second floor. The bakery was a direct concern of a well-known bread manufacturer. You could find all kinds of their stuff lining the shelves along with a lot of other stuff. The quality was good and consistent. I love it. I just need a reason to go and visit it when I was staying in Trivandrum previously. I loved their fresh cream pastries. They were really good and reasonably priced.


    Their cafe was a place we used to mark out for small get-togethers. I can''t say they had a signature style or specialty to their offerings. Whatever they had was consistently good. The pricing was also on spot. This attracted us to it during our final year of college. When you have limited money to spend, you would always be on the lookout for such value-for-money places. This was one of them.


    Soon they launched a much more upbeat restaurant in the adjacent building. Its styling screamed out its richness. I have always wanted to give it a try. I have heard that the desserts they offer are top-of-the-line. I have seen it being listed in the food ordering apps. I want to experience it there.


    Over the last five to six years, the place saw a couple of cafes open in its vicinity. They had the added advantage of being situated in a neighborhood that saw a constant stream of people come and go. They banked on this and I guess they have succeeded to a good level. People will want to try out something different once in a while. This will prompt them to visit these new places. It has also attracted a lot of people from various parts of the city. This one place can offer them multiple choices. If one fails the other can make up for it.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    This is the story till the Kowdiar junction. You will find a lot of food joints along this stretch. As the sun sets, the food carts come to life. When the sun is down and the moon shines high, the place lits up to the twinkling fairy lights and aromatic flavors from around the world.


    There is a supermarket of sorts opposite the bakery. It sells all kinds of organic stuff. It has been here for a long time now. I remember this place because of its name. The name is familiar to anyone who has watched video cassettes. This would be during my childhood days. They were a production house or something like that. Their name would be present as a watermark on all the Malayalam movies we used to rent and watch at home. I think it is their own shop. They might be out of the whole video cassette and movie production business when times changed, but that hasn¡¯t stopped them from doing something of their own. It is a place that has tempted me to go in and check out. I haven''t. Something always holds me back. Is it the price? I don''t know that. Maybe I am assuming since it is selling organic stuff and the like, the price should be on the higher side. I won''t be shelling out that amount of cash. The speculative pricing in my head is a reason.


    The whole organic thing has become a rage in the market in recent years. Everywhere you go, you will find a section dedicated to them. They are like a cut above the rest, an elitist version of the normal stuff. They advertise being all natural and pesticide free. That is good. The stuff we get nowadays is all doused with all kinds of chemicals to keep them as it is. We can''t go back on that. We have to use them to protect our crops and to ensure that they deliver a good yield. There are a lot of mouths to feed too, which is increasing at an exponential rate. All of these factors compel the farmers to adopt means that might not be good but gives the result. They too have mouths to feed.


    If you are from a rural area and if you have some area for yourself, I think you can grow your own veggies and fruits. They will be the most freshest produce you can get, grown with whatever you have fed it. It will be healthy and good for your health. Besides that, I think it is the psychological effect it will have in your head that makes them more valuable and awesome. It is a thing you have put effort into consistently. When you finally reap its rewards it ought to trigger a feeling of accomplishing a task that has gone well.


    I have this idea of using our terrace and the adjacent land to cultivate fruits and vegetables for our use. The soil is good, there is plenty of water and there is good sunlight. The conditions are perfect. But it will take time. I wish my parents would do something like this. They want to. In fact, mom and dad are pro for it. The thing is they have plans to travel in the coming few years when their health permits. They feel as if they can''t do that after two or three years. I didn¡¯t comment on this. They have worked hard their whole lives. Now they need some well-deserved rest. They should do whatever they feel like. If they want to travel, then let them. Farming and all can be done later. Also, it is more like a fancy thing. Yeah, it is. Having a good vegetable garden on your terrace is great and functional. At the same time, it projects your house in the vicinity. People look up to you and your efforts. I know you might not be doing it for this recognition, but it is bound to create a good feeling. We, humans, love to be cared for and recognized.


    I think of it as having a good green cover in your home. Green plants are essential in your homes and your neighborhood. They instantly lift your mood and bring about peace and serenity. The color green is the reason behind this.


    Once I was working in a very remote place. It was really dry. The place got rainfall for like a month. The farmers were dependent on underground water for their every need. They had adapted to using them judiciously and making their ends meet with the scarce quantity. The surroundings too adapted to the environment. The shrubs were thorny and had little pointed leaves to them. The trees were mostly palm trees. Cactuses grew in good numbers. The land remained brown and parched for the majority of the year.


    Working here was difficult for me. My assignment would last for three months. By the end of it, I felt a little bit depressed and dejected. The feeling hung around me no matter what I did. I could only shake it off for a while. It would return after some time. I didn¡¯t know what to do.


    When I left it, I had a long bus journey in front of me. I took a window seat, put on some music through my earphones, and let the wind beat on my face as the bus cruised along the highway. The first half of the journey had a similar scenery to my workplace. The dryness extended to the horizon. Very little green was to be seen on the roads. Plus the sun was high up in the sky. The intense heat coupled with the arid surroundings was depressing. But the wind on my face made it bearable. After some time I fell asleep.


    When I woke up I was nearing the ghat section. The surroundings had changed. There was greenery all around me. I could see farms of corn, sunflower, and vegetables stretching out on either side of the road. It was a great feeling. I felt energized and happy. The depressing feeling that hung around me was gone. Even the sun felt bearable. I soaked it all in. It felt so great.


    When I got down at the bus stand in the evening, there was a spring in my feet. I was feeling happy going back home. But more than that I think it was the green surroundings that scintillated me and pulled me back. Later, I stumbled upon color theory. It told me the effect each color has on the human psyche. It was a great revelation. We all go through it daily but we hardly ever notice it or the effect it has on us. Green is associated with life, growth, prosperity, and harmony. No wonder I felt so happy and rejuvenated on seeing Mother Nature.

 2.26

    I reach Kuruvankonam junction. The roads joining at this junction come out at odd angles. The food joints in and around are all closed along with the shops. There isn¡¯t any crashed vehicle to be seen. Only a rickshaw lies close to the pavement on my left. I continue straight.


    Whenever I travel through this road, I get the feeling of traveling through a residential society. There are lots of houses and apartments on either side of the road. Amidst them are the restaurants that pop up every other fortnight. There is a good green cover too. All in all, it never feels like a busy main road.


    At dusk, lots of food trucks open along the pavement. I haven¡¯t seen them empty. They stay open well after ten at night. The city calls it a day and winds up for the night by nineish. Trivandrum is not a hip metro. It is a calm second-tier city.


    As I have mentioned earlier, Kazhakuttam being the techie hub will see shops open till midnight. Some of them might even be twenty-four hours working, I don''t know though. With the crowd that works there and calls it their home, one is sure to find customers to cater to at odd times.


    Over the years shops have started to stay open after ten regularly. The generation they cater to now is comfortable getting out of their homes at odd hours and grabbing a bite, maybe even going for a drive. We have done that. We have gone for late-night drives following a movie or a dinner date. It is a great feeling. My parents have never done that. Well, they didn¡¯t have the means for it in their early years. Still, I believe they wouldn¡¯t have done that. For them, being in the warmth and comfort of their home is the preferred and sole way to end the day. I don''t blame them for not being a bit more explorative. They did go out for parties that stretched well after midnight. But they always made it a point to come back home, no matter how late it got. I don''t think they have ever stayed back in their friend''s house.


    The change in the thinking mentality of my generation when compared to my parent''s generation is stark. Times have changed drastically. The world has come a long way in three decades. I keep thinking what if the essence of that time period never changed? What if we had the same thinking mentality as our parents? How would things fare out? How would life have been? How would we have comprehended the changes in technology and everyday life that were happening to us at such a blistering pace? One question leads to another. There isn¡¯t an answer to this. It is a hypothetical question - what if. We can only entertain some of the infinite possibilities it offers.


    My pace has slowed down a bit more in this stretch owing to the number of flats I need to check out while driving by. Nothing seems out of place till now. I can¡¯t find any movement anywhere. Apart from the sounds of the birds and stray animals, there aren¡¯t any other sounds. Everything is quiet and still. Only the wind makes it a point to bring in some movement to the trees and surroundings from time to time.


    I have visited a couple of the new places here. I pass the juice shop where I met a friend after five years. I had entered the cake shop on the other end of the road one day just for the sake of seeing what they were offering. I didn¡¯t buy anything from them. The shop in its tiny setting appealed to me. Further along the way, I see the shut food truck from which I had a shawarma with her. It was good.


    Just before reaching Kowdiar junction is the bakery that is an icon in the city. When I came to do my college, this bakery was the only place that offered amazing desserts and pastries. It was well known among the local circle. It has a dine-in area as well. Couples used to frequent the place to have a nice pastry along with their sweet conversations. In recent years they have expanded with branches in various hot spots in the city. I have met people who are stuck to it and will not even try a new place.


    Right before this is one of the outlets of the bakery and restaurant chain I frequently visit near the medical college, the one I visit with Anna from time to time. It has its own loyal base of customers. These two have carved a name for themselves among the local population. Along with having multiple outlets in the city, they have successfully managed to expand and increase their presence.


    I am reminded of this one story my mother told me a couple of years ago. A fresher had come and joined her department. He was from north India. He was a bit apprehensive at first. Soon he got used to the people and the surroundings and found it to be not as bad as he expected. When asked about the food here, he was prompt to share his observations. One of his observations was interesting. He told us our state must be the only place where one will find so many bakeries. There is a bakery at every junction. Some of them even have a kitchen dolling out fast food.


    His observation is very true. There are a lot of bakeries in our state. Every nook and corner will have a bakery serving the usual snacks and sweets along with biscuits, cookies, and whatnot. They never seem to go out of business. They will always have customers. Most of them also sell milk, curd, and other dairy products along with breakfast items and readymade stuff. Bakeries have evolved from their traditional meaning. They are more than their predecessors - selling bread and biscuits and cakes.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I love bakery items. I am fond of all that you get in them. I sometimes wish I could savor all of them at a time. I genuinely believe even the smallest bakeries would have something memorable to offer, just like the one I mentioned about the restaurants.


    That belief got a setback when I came to know the items in a bakery are mostly made in a central kitchen. We call it borma. They supply it in the city to all the bakeries that have subscribed to them. It meant the laddoos I got from all the bakeries in my hometown are from the same borma. The same goes for the bakeries in any neighborhood. There might be a few things that might or might not make it to the list, but otherwise, it is the same stuff.


    The bakery chains have their own bormas. All their stuff is made in-house in their facility and distributed. They have become established over the years. I try them out and figure out what is good in each of them. But I want to see more variety.


    I think this is not just my thoughts. I think our present generation is more into experimenting with new things. We don''t want to get stuck with one thing and find pleasure in it for our entire lifetime. We want to be introduced to new things from time to time, constantly. Since this can only be understood by ourselves, it has spurred the growth of the independent baker.


    These are people who bake in their homes a unique small batch. Initially, they might have followed a recipe. After getting a hang of things, they would have done something different in it - add a secret ingredient or just vary the process. Or maybe they can be really good at emulating it as per the recipe in the precise way mentioned over and over. In any case, they make their presence felt with what they have to offer. Once they hit their prospective customers and get a loyal fanbase, they venture out in their passion to bring new stuff to the public. What would have started out as a small cake business can scale up over time or maybe even overnight. Business would increase, forcing the creator to keep up the good work along with coming out with new recipes to keep their customers interested and on their feet.


    It is great to be a creator. I have felt the feeling it gives you in some of the small projects I have undertaken. One of them was sketching out a picture from a reference using a pen. The whole time I was indulged in it, I felt as if I was creating something. The feeling quickly becomes that of zen. I was experiencing profound peace and happiness in that state. Time seemed to flow by without my knowledge. Or maybe I became time, I don''t know. It was the best feeling ever.


    Everyone would have gone through this feeling while doing something they really care about. What is happening is you are becoming a creator as you do it. You are creating something out of nothing, even if it has been made previously. A feeling of zen transcends you.


    If you ask me, I want to be doing stuff like that for the rest of my life. I would be doing something I like all the while enjoying it. Honestly, that is not how this world works. We can''t keep on doing things that give us complete fulfillment all the time. We need to do the other mundane stuff also. There is more mundane stuff to be done than creative ones. In one sense the creative stuff is an outlet from your normal mundaneness. They liberate you from the feeling of being trapped as a clog in the machinery. They give you the power to shape your own world and bring it to fruition.


    I have given this some thought from time to time. What I feel is if we take on being creative every single day, soon it will pass into the realm of mundaneness. We get bored of it. Repetition is responsible for making things mundane.


    But there is no escaping from repetition. It is how this world goes by. Just as seasons repeat, so does everything. There might be a tiny change in it. But still, it is a repetition. It is the way of life ahead. We have been living with it for so long. Going to school every weekday was repetitive. Playing the same game, again and again, was repetitive. Life is repetitive. It is an amalgamation of all these repetitive tasks going around one at a time.


    I stop at Kowdiar junction. It is a busy junction. Or was. The road is totally empty. The nearby shops are all closed just as the others along the route. The traffic signal is off. It is a T-junction. The side opposite where I stand is the premises of the Kowdiar palace. It was where the royalty lived back in their glorious days. I don''t know if they live here now. I think it has been handed over to the archaeological department for maintenance and upkeep. It is not open to the public. Maybe they still live there. I haven''t enquired about it. Maybe I should have. Just after the pavement, the lawns start. They are meticulously maintained. Right in front of it is a red alert station. It is kept for alerting the police in case of an emergency. It usually calls for attention with its flashing red light. Now it remains dull, and out of place.


    I look around at my surroundings once again. I look at the rising apartment on my left. It remains silent. I honk my horn continuously for a minute. It elicits a cawing response from a couple of crows. They express their displeasure by disturbing them with their crass cawing. I stop honking. They stop cawing. A truce is reached.


    I take out my cell phone and unlock it. The networks are still down. Just in case. I put it back in my pocket and take out the walkie-talkie from the side pocket of my bag. It didn¡¯t show any response yet. I cycle through the channels. The static of switching channels is the only thing I hear. I let out a deep sigh.