Of Fallacies And Fate

t w e n t y

"There's a brief moment when you first wake up where you have no memories, a blissful blank slate, a happy emptiness, but it doesn't last long and you remember exactly where you are and what you are trying to forget" - Carrie Bradshaw.

t w e n t y

Rayhaan desperately wished that the pitter patter of the heavy rain that struck outside on pavements, on ground or on roof of buildings was the only sound he heard. Or the angry gurgling of clouds in the sky. Or the startling sound of fierce lighting hit somewhere. But that was not the case. In addition to all this, he came home to his parents quarrelling fiercely in the living room and the sound of ceramic crushed to pieces by being ferociously thrashed on the ground.

He stood there rooted on the spot. The broken pieces of the vase depicting the brokenness of the very family that lived in that house. If you could call them a family. They were rather three people, a couple with their son who shared the same roof but hardly ever conversed with each other. And each time they did, it almost always ended in a heated argument.

Rayhaan was sick and tired of it. He was envious of his two siblings. Both of them happily married and whisked away from the horrors of this house. What could be more terrible than seeing the two most important people in your life throw venomous words at each other?

Rizwan, the eldest of the three siblings, had went away to Australia to pursue his Masters and married a girl he from there and has been happily settled there itself ever since. He occasionally visited home. Even when he did, it would be for meagre five to seven days. And even in those moments, he could hardly withstand the quarrel of their parents and each time they did argue, he would storm away.

Then there was Resmiya, his elder sister. The middle of the three siblings. She had recently married, almost two years ago to their family friend's son and even she was taken away by her husband to United States. She hardly visited India.

For now, there was only Rayhaan left. He considered going abroad for his Masters too and follow his brother's footsteps and get away from their family. But he just couldn't bring himself to do that. Rayhaan was the only thread that tied their parents together. They fought a lot. A lot. But they tried to decrease those fights at least when he was around or pretend in front of everyone that they were one happy family.

Hope was a bitter thing. Although, he knew that it would end up breaking his heart, he still had hope. A tiny flicker of hope in his heart that maybe the two of them would solve it. That they would eventually get tired of arguments and compromise with each other. But now, standing in his home, seeing his father's blood shot eyes, tears trickling down her mother's face, materials of living room disheveled and mercilessly scattered on the ground and the crumbling pieces of vase that lay shattered on the floor - gave a picture that whatever bleak hope Rayhaan ever harboured in his heart, he would have to let go.

Ironically, shattering of that ceramic brought an eery silence in their home. Or maybe it was the fact that Rayhaan had witnessed all this. Unlike his two siblings, he didn't have his thing when the two of them fought. Back then, each time their parents started fighting, Rizwan would storm away from house and sometimes he wouldn't even return home for days together. Resmiya on the other hand, locked herself away in her room, blasted loud music in her headphones and pretend nothing ever happened. But Rayhaan, Rayhaan always witnessed each of the fights. He would stand there drinking in all the venomous words each of his parent spewed at each other, those words ringing in his ears, eating away his mind, clamouring away his sanity.

He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't do that. But even now, he hadn't learnt the lesson. Each time, his parents fought, it felt like a part of him died. And he let those parts of him die. He no longer wished to live anyway. He hardly ever felt alive anymore.