Whisky, Women and World

Chapter 7

Simran named herself after a famous Indian actress in tribute to her beauty. She had a rough and coarse voice that was often heard echoing through the walls. Her face was always adorned with a healthy pink blush of makeup and she had an exquisite sense of style dominated by glittering silk sarees that accentuated her thick waist. Her wrists were always covered with plastic bangles that made a delightful clinking sound every time she walked into a room.

I lay my back down on the floor, propped my legs up on the bed and rested my head on my arms. Simran quickly moved around the house, trying to open all the windows and let in any breeze. The fan was broken and put aside, leaving us to swelter in thirty-eight degree heat that burned our skin. She talked to herself, ranting about everyone and everything. It was a habit she had; she always did it. Then, suddenly, her attention shifted towards me. She sat down close to my face and grabbed my hand, tenderly wiping away the blood that had collected there. Her movements were gentle, almost soothing, as she cleaned away the evidence of whatever had happened. Her actions and soft words comforted me strangely.

"Why did you hit him? Do you know the boy?"

I smirked and said "How do you expect me to know a boy who is eighteen and drives such an expensive car?"

When she finished wiping the blood from my fingernails, out of habit, she loosen the drawstrings of my pajamas. I immediately stopped her, not wanting her to go further.

She felt a deep sense of humiliation as she kicked my waist and stood up. Her gaze then fell to the floor, where my shoes lay. Scanning them, she noticed the words "Fuck" on the left shoe and "You" on the right shoe, both embroidered or inked on the sole. Her eyes widened with amazement and curiosity as she opened the sack where I kept all my old shoes. To her surprise, the pattern was the same. She giggled as she ran her fingers over each character.

"You walk around the streets wearing these shoes? Why do you have this printed on all of them?" She couldn't contain her excitement as it bubbled up inside her, and before she knew it, she laughed from deep within her stomach.

I couldn't take my eyes off the broken fan pipe hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by a mess of wires. The ceiling was damp from water, and the cement was turning a sickly green color, and its texture had become rough. It felt like a symbol of my life, in shambles. I stayed there for a while, lost in my thoughts, staring at the ceiling until I finally snapped out of it.

"My mother used to tell us stories when we were kids that people of our caste were not allowed to wear footwear. We were abused, beaten and molested for putting on one. I decided then that when I grow up I will wear shoes of different colors and curse all those privileged bastards with pride."

Simran wandered through my room, scanning my other possessions, and paying particular attention to the watch. She commented that she had seen similar, more expensive watches on her clients. Then, she picked up one of my awards from the shelf. I didn't appreciate her prying into my life and getting too personal. I spoke up weakly, without energy, but sternly told her to put the award back. She scrutinized every item in my possession without uttering a word—my awards, stack of drafts, wardrobe, and all that occupied that lifeless space. Then, she leaped onto my bed, and I extended my legs to the floor, stretching myself out.

"Are you rich?" She asked, her eyes fixed on the same portion of the ceiling where mine had been. Her contemplation was equally intense, as if she were attempting to see through the white plaster above us.

"I am a writer." I replied, expressionless.

Her question instantly brought me back to my past. For a few seconds, it felt like a nightmare. Memories of the darkness and despair that had plagued me for so long flooded my mind. I was filled with dread. A memory where I felt broken as I walked through the empty street, tears streaming down my face as I remembered the events that had transpired. Just twenty six years ago, my family tried to marry me off to a fourteen-year-old girl, something I refused. They tried to convince me that my dreams of a career in cinema were a sin. Instead, I should conform to societal norms and values forced upon us in the name of culture and religion.

And so, I ran away from my village, sobbing and wheezing, striving to make a life for myself and follow my dreams. I knew it would be difficult, but I was determined to break free from the shackles of my family and society and create a life of my own. I was ready to face whatever challenges came my way and build a future for myself. The day I decided I wanted a different life was the day my war against myself began. Two decades later, I felt like I had ended up doing things that I had always tried to run away from.

"What is life like for you?" she asked her next question.

"Have you ever thought about killing yourself?"

I didn't feel like answering her, so I dodged it and shot back a completely inappropriate question. I slowly raised myself from the floor and brought my legs close to my chest to rest my back against the bed.

"We all do. In this cruel world, everyone thinks about killing himself. But we don't have the courage to do it."

Her legs dangled over my side. We both sat mesmerized by the sight of the clear blue sky through the square-shaped window. It seemed like a framed painting, almost as if we were looking at it from a museum. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and I could tell she felt the same. The sky seemed to stretch on forever, and I zoned out to that serene moment, feeling peace and calm wash over me. The tranquility engulfed me, making me feel like we were the only ones in this world.

I could feel the rough texture of Simran's saree on my shoulders, and it was like a wave of nostalgia. I was again taken back to the days when I lay on my mother's lap, and she caressed me with her tender love. Thinking about that moment, I slowly leaned my head onto Simran's lap and was surprised to feel her gently stroking my hair and beard. A single tear trickled down my temple, as I was overwhelmed by pure emotion in that moment.

"What if you get a chance to end your life? Will you do it?" I broke the silence between us.

After thinking for a while, she said, "No, I have reached a point where I only see the beautiful occurrences of this universe. Have you ever gazed at the night sky? When you stretch your neck and gaze at the sky, you face several questions. As a response, a few stars may flicker. You are captivated by how abundant this universe is. Is there life on those stars? In the night, does someone stretch their neck and think of me at any of those stars just like I do from here? Will we see anyone from other planets? If so, have you imagined how they would look? Or what if there was a universe that accepts someone like me? A man who loves to experience a woman's body but must sell it to survive in this cruel world?"

She gracefully extended her arms, reaching towards the heavens, inviting the sky and all its beauty to come to her. She waved her hands rhythmically, her movements like a dance, as if she wanted to capture the sky in her hands. And she said, "However, in the end, I think we're just a tiny drama in this massive space."

"But how can life be meaningful if you fail at what you are passionate about? What is life if you don't get to live with the person you love? What is life when you lose control of yourself and become a foreigner in your own soul? And what is life if there is no hope?"

The words poured out of me as another evening sun broke through the horizon, its orange rays spilling into our room with warmth and light. I pressed my cheek gently against her knees and rubbed the tears flowing down my face. We stayed there in silence, the air between us thickening. I lay on her lap, her hands dancing to some unheard hum, her other hand gently caressing me like I was still a child. I could feel the warmth radiating from her hands, a comfort and assurance I needed in that moment. Life felt peaceful and safe, a stillness in the midst of chaos. I closed my eyes and let silence and her touch embrace me. In this tiny room with everything nature could offer, we were two broken souls seeking solace.

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