Inertia

He knew he could read faster-he always did. For the millionth time in the past ten minutes he muttered the fatality of his mistake-his promise. Had it not been for that one moment of emotional subdue, he would have never given in. She would have rephrased it and attributed it to sensibility. Logic did not always appeal to his senses- certainly not when it did not suit him.

He read it all over again. Too much brightness seemed to suck the colour out of the words- he was so used to the haze around him. The diffused light always held out to him the right quantum of brightness- its ambience readily offering him the perfect string of words. Interior designers and their sense of illumination never had made so much sense to him as it did now- they really were the mascots of brilliance.

He’d been reading the same line for the past hour. Amidst heaving recurrently, flipping and tossing the pen and twitching his fingers, he’d managed to grasp a few words … it really was not the light- the last few days he had read with the brightness around him-probably it was just the day!

“He’d predicted, much before it had occurred, but nobody had paid heed to it”- this was a sentence simple enough to have been absorbed by him an hour back. ‘When else could you predict if not before?’, he mused. If the guy had predicted and someone had taken heed of it, how could his prediction have been true? And how then could have anyone known if his future predictions were worth taking notice of? He chuckled to himself at the stark realisation- the day was not all that bad!

The clock was racing ahead- perhaps trying to keep pace with the times! He had to finish the fifteen page article in the next three hours. His eyes intently gazed at each word while his brain desperately tried to make sense out of them, the moment he would collate the words to form a vaguely familiar noise, they sunk into the abyss. He needed a break- he needed just one gush of that fresh aroma.

He quietly wandered out of his cabin into the cafeteria. Suddenly, he felt completely out of place- he, in fact, always did. Though he’d never had one in the past several years, with the exception of the last few days, coffee was not a bad idea to settle in for. She loved coffee.

The vapour danced in the self-contained air: it was too much of an extravaganza for a drink that gave so little satisfaction. The word struck him with a daunting force. Satisfaction was what he had experienced years ago in the café down the lane- the first time, his egoistic inertia had resisted the oncoming air; the second time, having found his breath in the same good old tandem, he’d realised his vision of satisfaction.

There was no dearth of advice on offer. He got them in various tones, moods and expressions. He knew it all- every school-going kid did. He’d simplified it- everything and everybody had strained it down to one thing-you’ll die. Some endeavoured to clarify the process- a painful death. He’d decided to cross the bridge when he would get there. She despised that statement.

The idea was simple- everyone died. If everyone knew of their prospective illness two days in advance, leave letters would have had a whole different saga to narrate. But then, what of it? The unpredictability of death was a traditional idea. He liked to manoeuvre his way- that would ensure a sufficient cause if he were to meet his end the way they suggested. And then, wasn’t that supposed to make him work more efficiently- the very thought of a tomorrow you would never see? She was never content with innovative arguments. But that’s how women are – non-receptive to innovation except if that meant an improvement in their shopping points. Too bad for him – he was at the receiving end!

He really did not like the grip of the mug- an obese container that held tasteless murky liquid. How elegant it was to hold the sleek piece- the feel of it was comforting. People called this brown froth refreshing- taste buds, the religious followers of Sade, loved making a guinea pig out of their counterparts. He’d had enough of it! The first day that he’d forced himself into the cafeteria and emptied the coffee, he had held a conviction deep within- familiarity, even if it be a product of force, would transform his conception of taste. He’d gulped down ten cups in ten hours- too poor for a contrast with his alternate occupation. She had suggested gum- it hurt his self-respect to engage his mouth all day long with extraneous substances that directed the course of the former.

He stormed into his cabin. Two hours and fourteen pages- he needed just an hour in the normal course- his eyes wavered between the locker and the sheet of papers. A solemn sense of responsibility set in- he had to have more crosses in there! He had a life beyond himself and he had to justify that cause. He quickly gathered himself – emotions were not things to be swayed away with, they were instances which you had to take along in your stride.

Reason v Emotion, he clarified. He had to earn to bear the responsibility and if he did not finish this, he might end up not doing exactly that. Everyone agreed- if not, he knew for sure- his working capacity had stooped. So, the deal was struck- a calendar with too many crosses might just malign the whole ambience. He swiftly rose and inserted the key that opened the locker with a familiar creek- musical, in fact. He had no option- she had ransacked his locker leaving just one in a solitary pack. She had proclaimed it to be the ‘test of fire for his will-power’, something he had been immensely proud of. At the moment that did not even figure in the least of his worries.

At the back of his mind he’d almost guessed it: the flap held her last attempt at negating the renege, it read- ‘Dad, Thank you! This is indeed the most befitting reward trust could anticipate’. He felt a momentary twinge. He could steer clear through this, after all this was just another inscription on the palimpsest!

As he turned to flick his lighter the six crosses smirked at his feeble will. “Six days… Good Lord!”. The last time he’d had Marlboro, it was not a bad option- in fact, he recollected suddenly- it was the best.