Message in the Bottle.

  She sat by the window sipping her morning coffee. The sunlight streamed through the room filling it with a warm glow. Normally, she’d have made coffee for two and waited at this exact place for him to wake up. And when he did, they both would savour the drink in silence. But today the bed was empty and so was his cup. Six months into their relationship, she got used to him not being at home on weekdays. His job demanded extra work hours and he loved whatever he was doing. It was his dream job, he had told her once. She still remembers the way his eyes twinkled when he showed her the offer letter. He used to return from work by the time she slept and was long gone even before her alarm rang. At times he used to leave a message that he was stuck with a project and won’t be able to come home. Through all of this, she didn’t complain to him nor pouted that he had no time for her. Every morning while he was home, sleeping like a child, she would religiously make him coff...

 When this particular incident happened almost two months ago on a rainy August afternoon I knew I had to write about it. Not because it was of any historic importance or its equivalent but it was then I realised that it will remain as a core memory. If not anything at least I wanted this to be recorded somewhere so that I can re-read it multiple times and live through it all over again for the rest of my life.  A story of how I believed again. It was raining cats and dogs here in Eluru and I didn't get to see the sun for 3 odd days in a row. For earning my living (and occasionally sourdoughs and French baguettes from Theobroma) I work as a Deputy Branch Manager at one of the branches of a public sector bank. That day I was feeling rather irritable and meh, thanks to the weather. Work was getting piled up on my desk and everything was moving at a slow pace. All I wanted to do was go back home, tuck myself in bed and read something. Or watch a movie. Or just sleep all day long....

Here is my heart, shrouded in thick cloaks and fortified behind tall walls. It now sleeps in the lap of darkness snug and sheltered from the unknown. The palace of ice is its home and everything around it is frozen, damp, impenetrable. Not even the warmest sunshine could get this far and deep into the realm of murky waters. The muscles have hardened with age, the blood barely makes it in and out of the doors. As brittle as glass it had become, afraid that it will shatter into pieces in someone's hands. Never leave this place, it kept chanting these words for years now, content with the cold. But did it really want to stay here all its life fearing and shunning everything outside its cavern? Here you are, explorer of the distant worlds and seeker of treasures that are worth more than gold. Your strange maps have somehow revealed my whereabouts that were kept secret all this while. What made you take this path, I wonder, you could've gone anywhere but you...

To Whoever is reading this, I sat in front of the desktop, with the keyboard in my lap, and stared at the blank screen for 45 minutes. I'm afraid it will always remain blank. I type a sentence and then hit the backspace, erasing everything. Type. Erase. Repeat. Type. Erase. Repeat. Type. Erase. Repeat. My fingertips are bleeding now. Smearing the thick red blood on the keys. But I can't feel the pain. There's something else that is weighing me down. Something real heavy crushing my chest. It is called 'words' I believe.  Have you ever felt this? This unsettling sensation of trying to get words out of you but they get stuck in your throat, choking you. It's almost making me breathless here. So many voices inside my head are screaming for attention, calling out to me to listen to them. And not one of them wants to listen to me. I want to tell them things, I know how to speak, I have a voice. But it is muted.  Breathe. I have to keep reminding mys...