Loner, lower still

For the second time in two days, I found myself walking between two pairs of legs. One keeping a steady pace half a foot ahead and the other right next to mine, hobbling along the path. I didn’t like the arrangement. It was cramped, discomfiting, and gave way to friction. But I had an arm around my shoulder, dragging me with a vigour I couldn’t say no to. The sides of our shoes brushed against one another and curled up dust from the pathway that led us to the dorm. The dorm where I’ll shut myself in for the remainder of the day and downplay my existence. Words were being exchanged. Back and forth like a rally, I watched the two bounce opinions off each other and bicker about people I didn’t know. Judging from their expressions, they seemed to revel in such conversation. Arm in arm, eye to eye, we kept moving. Some arid afternoons certainly called for revitalizing friendships I wasn’t a part of. I was only a barren, unexciting third-wheeler they could hardly care to walk with for the sake of companionship. Companionship we so desperately sought. After all, we were all wolves of a pack, birds of a feather and also creatures that bit flesh off each other to survive.

Walking like that, for every living day of the week, made us look conveniently gay. It hurt my toe nails, disrupted my natural stride and had me at the mercy of a grip I couldn’t wrestle out of. I didn’t like the arrangement, but all I said was nothing.

It had been that way for most days on end, in the death of winter till monsoon arrived. When selfish people hid under their shiny raincoats and masses of umbrellas sat brooding outside on the classroom verandas. I sit beside the four-paned, half-cracked, window and keep switching the broadcast stations in my mind. By the end of an hour, the dials turn slippery and start to hang loose. I can’t switch stations anymore. That is when the downpour begins and I gently quiver inside. The trees sway to the whimsies of the wind and get caught up in its pleasantries. Leaves fall, boughs break and before long, a tree is stripped naked. Sometimes, the pitter-patter sounds on the crazy-paving outside helps me breathe better but deep down, I can’t help feel the weather grow villainous by the minute. The wind outside suddenly changes course and comes at me, through the cracks in the panes that seem to give way and split wide open. I watch my empty notebook pages get ruffled seconds before calamity strikes. The wind manages to deliver a clean slice across my face that carries through to the rear. An odd unfeeling blanket of air washes me down, leaving behind a stinging sensation for me to cope with over the weekend. The classroom is cold but then it grows colder and quieter. Someone at the back yells to shut the window. But they didn’t know that it wasn’t the window. It was the panes. They were all but gone.

Moments later, a loud blaring siren tells me it’s over. That the rain has suspended its assault and I can now go back to the bed I started my day in. The window panes were still gone but I knew they’ll be back, on days with clear skies and vacant window seats. Clear skies which are still years away.

Back on the same path that led to my dorm. I don’t have anyone walking beside me. I don’t see anyone’s face that reads willingness. The dust had now turned into muddy little streams that trickled down the sidewalk. Seasons change and people relieve themselves of people. I don’t have an arm constricting my neck for once. This must be liberty. The liberty I sought so desperately.

Walking beside people now hands me déjà vu. An uncomfortably sound feeling that never ceases to make itself known. Because I keep walking past bystanders, crossing their shadows and taking note of their bitch faces. Maybe it’ll never stop chasing me. But maybe I’ll never stop walking and running and going after them.