Impromptu

Au Revoir

"The child maybe the father of man, but the wife is always the mother of the husband."

Shewtha turned in my direction, stupefied by this nonsensical wisecrack if that is something. "What did you have for lunch today?" she said, trying to draw her hand away. I held it tighter.

"That was absurd."

"Wise, actually. There is no husband until the wife comes along isn't it? Alright it is absurd. It was meant to be," I shrugged.

"What do you mean?"

"You know I usually don't act like a fool, but every once in a while it helps to be a complete dolt, isn't it? It breaks the monotony," I laughed until I couldn't laugh anymore, tears streaming down from our eyes. Shwetha started at me blankly. I had found a new way to bring myself to laugh and be happy about something completely idiotic. It was strange and otherworldly, but felt nice.

"What do you mean by wanting to be a dolt every once in a while?" Shwetha said, "are you suggesting you are not satisfied with an eternity of guaranteed happiness? We don't have to leave each other except when we are eating or sleeping. Very soon, our wedding will be solemnised and we will be together for eternity. What pleasure does being a dolt bring?" An uncharacteristic worry came over her face. The sun dimmed a little, the usually linear wind blew in waves and the ramrod straight elephant grass swayed in it. It was an anomaly that we weren't used to. Time went by and I continued to mouth many such words of wisdom when finally Shwetha broke down.

I felt an urge to withdraw my hand and bolt for home. Even as I slowly slid my palm away from Shewtha's, the sirens hooted and a patrol of strange looking men surrounded us. "We're from the arbitrator's office," We were bundled up and taken to the arbitrator even before either of us could as much as say a word.

The day was drawing to a close and the three moons rose in the night sky, wooing the inhabitants out of their homes. The arbitrator's office was large and well-lit. Stacks of leather-bound law books stood in the racks, the latest being from the year 2010. The books had collected dust and beetles could be seen snacking on them without a care in the world. The furniture had inches of solidified dirt on it. It was clear that the arbitrator's office hadn't been in use for years and it would now be put to use, thanks to my antics. Even as I stood thinking of this feat of mine, the drowsy arbitrator walked in. He was well into his sixties, evident from the flowing white mane. His arbitrator's robe was too tight for his well-fed body and it smelt of mold, suggesting the robe hadn't been used in ages.

With sullen eyes, the arbitrator looked at me and Shwetha and motioned us to sit down. He then said something in a hushed tone to an equally drowsy and irritated assistant who waddled to the bookshelf and returned with a fat book. He flung it carelessly on the table, sending a pall of dust into the already dingy room. A beetle scuttled away, and we were all taken aback.

"Acting in an unworldly manner and then laughing about it. That will take some explaining, gentleman," the arbitrator began. "What do you have to say for yourself? Yours is the first incidence of arbitration in years and I hope you make the time spent worth it." The arbitrator leaned into me and he looked on probingly.

"I have nothing to say," Shwetha jumped the gun. "He's hasn't acted like the rest of us for days now. It is very odd. He says it is good to be a fool every once in a while - it breaks the monotony. I don't know why he can't simply hold hands so we can look at the beauty of the world till nightfall until we are married and be like everyone else here," Shwetha sobbed inconsolably.

"Now, now," the arbitrator coughed gently and cleared his throat and waved his hand suggestively. "Boy, tell me what made you act strangely. All we ask is for you to behave normally, like a real Serpan. And you? You act primitively. Tell me why."

"Blame it on the Earthlings," Shwetha jumped in once again before I could say anything. I held up my hand and started talking.

"We observe Earthlings to see how unpredictable their lives are, how they traverse extremes in their life and how they are stupid most of the times. We are taught not to live like them so we may live peacefully. Our careers are chosen, our partners are chosen, our rations defined and everything we do is predetermined. We live alike, every one of us. We smile the same way, sit around and see sights the same way. We even cavort with each other the same way, it no longer matters whether we do it secretively or in the open." I paused to take a drink of water.

"There is no hatred. There are no wars. There is no famine. And, people aren't sad."

"We aren't happy either," I interjected. "We are only, hmm, not-unhappy. The others look at Earthlings with the notion of studying negative life-cases. I for one do not subscribe to such an approach. I choose to be discerning and open-minded. I don't..."

"Are you suggesting, sir, that our means for a guaranteed life of eternal happiness is flawed?" the arbitrator said, his brows furrowed and fists clenched. Veins appeared and stood out under his pale skin as his muscles tightened from the clenching.

"That's anger for you," I resumed. "Likewise, there is something called happiness. I am talking about real happiness, not the one that we have manufactured here. The Earthlings maybe flawed. They may squabble. They may go to war. But they are real. Their lives are real and they act like truly biological beings are supposed to."

"Save the lecture for someone else," the arbitrator slammed a fist on the table, "you are acting like a feral. Unless you agree to stop acting strangely and promise to return to the Serpan way, I will order you to be confined. And, Shwetha will be reassigned without notice."

"There is no Serpan way, arbitrator. I prefer living the life of an Earthling. I would like to be flawed and real. What is the joy in sitting hand in hand when it doesn't feel special? What is the fun in romancing to a timetable? Why should we kiss our partners as you want us to and consummate as you have defined in the books? Now if I may ask you, do you know what's wrong with this office?"

The arbitrator was taken aback. "There is nothing wrong except that it is dirty and the books are soiled. It is actually a sign of no one deviating from our idyllic lifestyle and causing trouble."

"See. That's the point. Something seemingly bad can actually mean something good. A world of conditioned minds that has an arbitrator's office that doesn't function, books that are meant to become food for moths and finally, an arbitrator who sees only one side. That is the Serpan way. I would rather be a feral and live than be a Serpan and merely survive."

"And what do you suppose we do with you, now that you think you are smarter?" the arbitrator seemed intent on finishing this unpleasant business so he could go home and hold his wife's hands.

"Extreme punishment per this book. Send me to the planet Earth, " I said.

"I will give you one last chance. Go back to your life and be normal. We will forget this happened. If you are insistent that you won't mend your ways, you will live life on a planet full of Earthlings, uncertainties, sadness and sickness. The choice is yours." The arbitrator leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes.

Shwetha glared at me.

"I said send me to Earth," I leaned towards the arbitrator. "I know it isn't perfect. It isn't a world of guaranteed peace, but at least I will laugh and cry for real when I laugh and cry. I would rather hold on to my sanity and experience real life than go through the purgatory of predestined boredom."

"I see your eyes shining. I don't know what that means," the arbitrator's voice shook as he walked me to the launchpad. "It's called a sense of relief. The eyes of Earthlings gleam when they are sure of what they are doing and they know it is going to do them good. And like them, I am going to star living," I said, walked into my pod and strapped myself in.

"Any last words?"

"It is humans by the way and not Earthlings." I waved the arbitrator goodbye as I shut the trapdoor close.

The last sights of Serpa were scenes of Shwetha browsing through a catalogue of suitors that played on my console before I switched to watching the Earth, leaving Serpa behind forever. I was going home.