The Missing Hours
Silvery drops clattered against the window pane like a series of arrows shot by a fierce warrior. Lightning lit the otherwise pitch-dark sky like fireworks. Thunder roared ferociously leaving the birds petrified. Nature turned resentful robbing everyone of the tranquility the mornings had to offer. Nestled in his cozy bed away from all the cacophony, Rajesh woke up to the shrill noise made by the alarm.
"Good morning, Revathi," he whispered and drew the drapes.
There was no hint of sunshine. Like an abandoned snail waiting to be swept away by the wave, he wished to be engulfed by the blanket one more time. But his rumbling stomach gave a reminder that it was time for his morning coffee. It was half past eight but the otherwise busy streets seemed deserted. Occasionally, men with plastic bags wrapped around their heads traipsed through the murky water. The black liquid dribbling into the ceramic mug made him smile. He walked to the door and picked up the newspaper floating in a puddle. His neighbor greeted him with a bright smile. He stared at her, his initial confusion replaced with a frown.
"Who's that woman? The one with a messy bun," he spoke as he entered the house and closed the door behind him.
Stark silence met him in the eye. Holding the ceramic cup that read "World's Best Husband" in his hand he settled on the couch. As he tried to separate the pages of the newspaper, his eyes fell on the photo frame. Her lotus-shaped eyes were bright like the morning sun. Her smile dispelled the darkness around him and filled his soul with light. Her ebony-coloured hair ruffled his still heart and he felt his cheeks get wet one more time.
"I can never stop.... talking to you. Can I?" he struggled to speak.
Five years had passed since the wind beneath his wings had left the world. But nothing had changed. She still was his only source of hope and happiness. The coffee turned ice-cold just like his lonely heart. He walked to the dining room and found two floral plates, glasses half filled with wine, a white-colored cloth folded like a flower and food neatly arranged on the table. The lines on his forehead deepened. He picked up a glass and felt a whiff of jasmine envelop him. His heart raced. A bolt of panic rushed through him. Sweat crawled on his skin.
Who was there at his house the previous night? He lived alone. Only his children visited him. That too once in a while. And, he was sure he didn't have any visitors in a while. Or did he? Thoughts stabbed him like needles. He crashed on a chair and felt the aroma pierce his senses. What happened the previous night?
A thought hit him and he felt the turbulence settle. His phone. Where was it? He loved to click pictures of everything around him. The table, the flowers, the delectable meals, everything were worthy of a photograph.
"Human life is a tapestry of memories." He smiled remembering his words.
He walked to the room and searched for his phone. But didn't find it. It felt like he never owned a phone. Confusion took over him again and he felt a wave of panic strangulate him. Tears welled in his eyes. His mind was blank like an empty notebook. Burying his face in his palms, he sat on the bed.
"Revathi," he muttered for a few seconds before going silent.
Time passed like a gentle breeze, slowly and steadily, soothing his frayed nerves. Rain stopped. Sun rays peeped from behind the clouds. Drapes fluttered in the air and caressed his face. He looked up and wiped his weary eyes. He wouldn't give up. Not yet. He reached for a notebook tucked away in the upper shelf of the night stand. He noted the events of the previous evening in the order that he remembered. A tiring sigh and frustration-filled grunt later, he read the events out aloud.
"I went for my regular evening walk, shared a cup of coffee with a fellow loner who frequented the park, returned home and.." He stared at the blank page wondering if his life was as empty as the book.
What had happened after 7 PM? Clutching the notebook in his hands, he evaded the idea of inspecting the dining area for a while. But like the creaking sound made by an antique door, the idea kept gnawing at him. Not wanting to put off the inevitable any longer, he dragged his stubborn self to the supposed crime scene. Hoping to solve the mystery of the unaccounted hours, he held the wine glass in his left hand and sniffed it. The same scent swept over him, hitting a few right chords while tugging at a few wrong ones. It was Revathi's favourite perfume. That aroma drew him towards her each time. She knew the right amount that would do the trick. A dab here and dab there, not a drop more and his heart used to skip a beat or two.
His thoughts seemed scattered and he tried his best to take the reins in his control. Slowly, he lifted a lid that covered a bowl. Milk pudding. Potato fry, beans floating in a sea of crushed onions and tomatoes and a half-eaten piece of chocolate cake gawked at him from the bowls lined on the table. It was everything she loved. A glimpse of the half-eaten cake floated in his misty eyes. It felt strange. He didn't remember eating it or even buying it just like other important events that slipped through the gaps in his mind. Not letting his emotions overpower him, he rushed to the balcony and emptied the contents of the dumpster. The stench wrenched his gut. His disgruntled expression warded off the insects that feasted on the debris. A cardboard box with the words "Cakes and Bakes" printed in red color lay at the bottom of the pile. Half wet and soiled, its dilapidated state didn't stop him from examining it. He wished he found a receipt or paper that spoke of his visit to the bakery. A piece of paper that would shed light on his actions.
Despair overpowered him. Seated with his legs wide apart, he soaked in the sea of apathy and diffidence. Wet and dry waste scattered all over the floor formed an unpleasant pattern. Questions and doubts entangled his neurons. But his brain seemed to be more active than ever. The food. There was a scant chance he whipped up a full course meal. He could hardly cook a simple meal of lentils and rice. But the contents on the dining table spoke otherwise. The mental mayhem took a toll on him. He felt fatigued. But not giving in to the circumstances, he stood up. His legs wobbled, his hands shivered and he wished his heart would stop beating. It would put an end to all the problems. He would finally rest in peace and so would his mind.
"Write it down. Write down everything you remember," he repeated to himself as he walked to the dining room.
The pen slipped from between his fingers but he tightened the grasp and prevented it from falling. How he wished he held onto his memories tightly and stopped them from slipping down the abyss. Seated on a chair, he made a note of the previous evening's events.
A calming breeze played with his hair. His creaking joints recommended he rested for a while before heading home. A bench in the corner nestled under a tree felt inviting. Another walker joined him, a loner he assumed. He sat beside him and introduced himself. What was his name? The sound of it had tugged at his heartstrings. It reminded him of his wife. What was it? He tried to jog his memory. But then decided against it. It didn't seem important. They engaged in a random conversation. Something about sports and... His brain gave up on him. But not completely. He remembered that they had a cup of coffee at a roadside stall. That golden brew was pure magic. It was nothing like the liquid he made at home. Energized by the coffee, he walked back home with a smile lingering on his face. That smile got etched in his mind. It had been ages since he smiled. Maybe, a random conversation with a stranger filled him with peace.
As he thought deeper, he wondered if he walked straight home or had he gone elsewhere? Everything seemed like a daze. Like it was some weird dream.
"Move on. Before that slothful mind of yours stops working," He made a fist and his jaw bone flashed from beneath his skin.
Carefully, he took a tour of his home, examining every nook. Keys dangled from the peacock-shaped key holder.
"I opened the door myself." He made a note.
The lines on his forehead deepened. His muscles tightened as the fear of finding something intangible became deep-rooted in his mind. The connector of his charger lay on the floor in a serpentine manner. The switch was on. And, he exhaled a lung full of air.
"I had my phone with me when I entered the house. I had kept it on charge." He noted.
His face was now relaxed. The faint lines around his eyes seemed to be in a state of repose. But it didn't last for more than a second. The urgency to unravel the enigma of the previous evening tormented him. The unrelenting agitation made him break into a sprint. The kitchen sink was empty. The granite countertop shone brightly which meant he hadn't cooked one bit. Beyond that nothing made sense. It all seemed distant like it had happened in his previous life. Tears streamed down his cheeks like raindrops gurgling down the branches of a tree. One at a time. His head pounded. Fear clutched his heart. Was it the first stage? Had it advanced? Did he need medical help like everyone suggested? First things first. He needed coffee. He wasn't deranged.
"We are what we believe." He repeated as he poured the coffee into a cup.
He refused to believe that something was wrong with him. Not yet. As the first drop trickled down his throat a flush of familiar warmth wrapped his mind. The pause helped him organize his thoughts. He didn't look in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. He opened the door and there they lay in a corner, staring at him haughtily. The takeaway containers from Revathi's favorite restaurant. Before the corners of his mouth could relax, the stoic expression was back. Why did he order food from that restaurant? He hadn't visited that place in years. Not after Revathi's demise. Was she here? With him? To feel him, love him and care for him one more time. To make him feel wanted. Or was it a sign from above? An invitation to drift into an eternal sleep. As delusional as it felt, he loved the idea and fantasized about it most of the time. He sank to the floor, curled in a fetal position when the doorbell rang. At that instant, he heard a jingle. It was his phone ringing.
"It's here," he stood up with a child-like enthusiasm.
He ran in the direction of the sound. The doorbell rang again distracting him. But like a cheetah chasing its prey, he followed the clue. With every step he took, the jingle became louder and clearer. Hoping to put an end to his trauma, he opened the door and found it. It lay unattended on the bathroom floor. It must have dropped from his pocket the previous night. Wiping the screen on his shirt, he answered the phone.
"Happy anniversary, dad. You must be missing Maa. We know how much this day meant to both of you. It was her last wish we remembered her and celebrated all the special days with a smile. So, we decided to do something for you. To bring a little smile on your face." His son's words reached his numb ears.
But he didn't speak.
"Open the door, Dad," his son continued.
With his phone glued to his ear, he walked to the door in a daze as though he was anesthetized. A young man stood at the door with a bouquet and a box of chocolates in his hands. Burying his face in the bunch of flowers, Rajesh wept inconsolably.
"Have a good day, sir," The man spoke hesitantly and left.
"Dad, are you okay? Please be calm. We will visit you in the evening. The kids miss you." His son's voice went feeble and finally trailed off.
He wished he could thank his son but words failed him. Like an aimless kite, he wandered around the house for a long time. His questions still remained unanswered.
He felt detached from the world and himself. Yet he scanned his phone. But there were no pictures. Worn out, he lay on the couch with his knees pulled closer to his chest and his hands wrapped around them. His eyelids drooped. Sleep eased his anxiety.
"Happy Anniversary, Dad," his son's words played in his ears.
He woke up with a jerk. It was a special day. The day he had found his love. He had to make it special for her. Feeling short of breath, he rubbed his sticky palms on his shirt leaving a mark or two on the fabric. The subtle fragrance of the flowers that lay on the floor sparked an idea. He carefully extracted the petals and arranged them on a tray. Fidgeting with the stem, he reminisced the endearing moments he had once spent with her. His eyes turned cloudy and misery wrecked him. He felt nervous as though he was about to lose something important. His mind was stuck in a loop of thoughts. It felt like he was about to throw up. He heard a dog bark and felt his eardrums shatter. Tears rolled down his eyes and he wasn't in control of himself anymore.
He closed his eyes, hoping for a miracle to happen. His pulse steadied and his heart beat at a normal pace. And, everything that happened the previous evening came back to him in a flash. He returned home from the park and ordered her favorite food and cake. He lit scented candles, filled two glasses with wine and folded the napkins just the way she preferred. Her smiling eyes danced before him. Wanting to feel her presence, he let her jasmine-scented cologne float in the air. Minutes later, he saw her walk towards him. Unable to control his fluttering heart, he hugged her tightly. Afraid of losing her one more time, he held her in his grasp for a long time.
"Let's eat," he heard her speak.
He cut the cake and fed her.
"It was all a lie. My life is a lie." Reality shoved him to the floor.
"She wasn't here. I imagined everything. It was an illusion," he stuttered.
He had eaten the cake. He drank the wine. She wasn't there with him. Was he delusional? Was he suffering from memory loss? Was he.....? He dreaded to think further. Like a child who let go of his mother's hands, he felt lost. His kids were right. He needed help. He needed to act before he did something wrong or hurt someone. Knots formed in his stomach.
"Acceptance is the key." Revathi's words rang in his ears.
He reached for his phone and dialed his son's number.
"I need help. There is no hope left for me," he cried and spoke to his son in detail.
"There is always hope, Dad. And, you are not alone. We are all there for you. I'll fix an appointment with the doctor," his son tried to comfort him.
He felt his wife smile contently. He finally made the day special for her. Normalcy would soon be restored. Sooner or later.
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