My mother always makes sure to pray in the evening, no matter what. The ghanti and the incense sticks, do it exist to keep us sane?
I reach my elbows as I am looking at my laptop screen, glued for hours. Something bit me, and my nail-bit fingers amble around to find the bump. In a swift motion, I crush it. I pinch it and bring it to my face. It’s an ant. There are ants on my table. Lined up to claim their share of bread crumbs. I guess this one lost the queue or got too greedy and hoped to find something near my mouth. I hear the sound of ghanti from neighbors. Looking out the window evening has set in. The table sits right next to the window, so if I am working, I would dreamily look out for inspiration and romanticize the clouds and the trees. Instead I am here watching the third movie of the day.
I don’t even want to sigh. I am not even tired of the throatful of guilt anymore. It is the 3rd week and I still haven't done anything I wanted to get done. I have just stopped trying, so instead, I gulp down dry bread and coffee. Or any food I find to clear my throat.
The evening tolling ghanti is supposed to ward off evil, my mom used to say while I ran around her as a kid while she did her puja. I would take it from her and ring it around the house myself, excited to contribute in kicking out the devils. Now they just remind me that a day has come to an end. Another missed opportunity, another failure. Even though I stopped looking at the clock, the ghanti surely reaches my senses and gongs against my throat.
I need more bread since there is still more of the movie left. I push back my chair and knock into a cup and saucer. I pick them all up and go to the kitchen. My mom is here slaving away to make dinner. I don’t think she ever needed to check the time. Since we would wail for food before she could forget.
So, with my pile of dry bread, I am back to my teen comedy. In the movie, a girl is waiting for a ride. “Its been 10 minutes, are you coming?” she asks over the phone. It is quite funny because it has been only two seconds. Why does the movie refuse to show her waiting, walking real-time? It's redundant, my film teacher had said when I put too many scenes of the character walking in a short film once. Life is redundant. Movies don’t have our plotless lives; they are busy running to their climax and finding a sweet ending. I wish I could skip past the lockdown or college and get to my climax. Instead every night I jerk off with dead eyes at night because I am not tired enough to fall asleep.
I wonder where will my mom want to skip time to? Her days are dotted with cooking and cleaning. If someone made a movie on her, they would make her lose her mind or something like the movie ‘Bad Mom’. But she isn’t unhappy. She is happy being a gear in a system, following a routine, helping the entire family lead their lives. I hope she is happy.
It is a little easier when you fall into a schedule. You have something to look forward to, a sweet climax. Not the movie kind, they are not living, they are stories written by possibly other plotless-lived people. I now go to the kitchen again and ask my mother to allow me to help her cook. “I don’t have that much time to handle you in the kitchen, go watch your movie!”
Ah, I guess I have to find my own thing. So here I am writing, my task for every day. Right when everyone does their evening aarti, I sit down and do my own with pen and paper. I slept a little better. Meanwhile, my mom stopped making breakfast. I guess she understood in her own way and was willing to share her routine with us.
Comments