She rose customarily by about 7:30 AM everyday. Her brain seemed to think that’s the time it should wake her up. She knew it was asking for her company but she struggled to be good for it. It was terrifying to accept the loneliness and burden of becoming a human at this hour. So she did the easiest thing. If her husband was still in deep sleep she turned over to spoon him, nuzzled her nose into the nape of his neck and snored away like a pug for the next hour until the dreaded alarm on his phone almost gave her a heart attack.
By 10 AM she would be staring vacuously at her garden with a cup of warm water in her hand. How incredibly lucky was she to have a little sit out, the sound of water and fecund greenery all around her. It was everything she could have dreamt of after having stared at vultures and crows circle the sky for years in a city back in her homeland. The occasional birds chirped and pecked away in her garden yard. Over the last year, her work to supplement the solid unyielding earth with vegetable compost and the constant rains had brought in beautiful fat red earthworms. Worms tumbling over each other should you part the soil. A family of doves had claimed this lawn as their home. Her husband’s sock had been stolen to make a nest within the ‘raat ki raani’ bush. At other times, the doves lay like fat cats spreading out their wings on the lawn and taking in the sun. No predator, no noise, no humans to scare them away. And yet as she watched them, she wondered why she felt such a growing sense of uneasiness and worry within her own mind.
At about 11:30 she’s done with her eggs, fruit and coffee has been poured into a mug. That sets off a confidence to begin opening the laptop and tinkering away for a bit. A few weeks back she had the frenetic pace of a self-starter drawing up TO DO lists and making calls/enquiries to pitch the work of a company which she ‘consulted’ for but NOW a humdrum of nothingness has set in. No pay from Dec onwards. No conversations potentially converting to possibly good ideas to work on. NOTHING was moving forward. And so it came to be, she began to sit still.
At first the stillness reminded her of her failure. Her incompetence. Her inability to speak up and claim for herself what was rightfully hers. Then it began to quell the disconcerting voices that seemed like they were determined to bring her nothing but a sense of shame. In the afternoon in between spurts of writing and questioning her self worth, she had a sliver of confidence. In those moments, it seemed like the sun glistened on the waxy green bushes and jade green grass. Suddenly the doves relaxing on her lawn made her realise she’s incredibly lucky to have a roof on her head and a partner to support her. She felt like maybe this is what lonesome queens, princesses and women of station felt without authentic friendships or a circle of people who truly KNEW them behind the gossamer of their veils, their wealth and their rank. Then she reminded herself that she was spoiled and privileged to many others who could have it far worse in her situation. It was upto herself and no one else to make something of this life she had chosen a few years back far away from the limelight, noise and show business that validated her identity.
In the evenings she managed to get on her walking shoes. She revelled in chatty peppy conversations with the dog walkers, staring at the koi ponds along with the friendly poodles and then walking back home with a heavy yet humble heart. Another day was drawing to its end with the ceremony of dinner to be prepared and consumed. Another day of pretending that stillness wasn’t madness. Stillness wasn’t fuelling self hate or self doubt but instead stillness was to be distantly observed as just that. She’s now a woman in mourning. Mourning the loss of that self of hers which was garrulous, engaging, always moving into a new space or a new discussion with a newer set of people. She was now a woman who sits still.
