Desultory Attempts at a Fractious Mind

“Its mortifying, isn’t it?”

I looked up. A man, no older than 30, was smiling down upon me.

“Not being able to write?”

“You got no idea.” I replied. “I am sorry, but do we know each other?”

I am not much of a people person. I do not enjoy interacting with ones that I already know, so when a stranger approaches me and tries to make small talk, I generally try to eschew out of the conversation. But this guy pegged me down as a writer, so a little curious as to how I knew the guy, I continued the conversation.

“What do I look like to you? Of course I know you and I am pretty disheartened that you didn’t remember me. You’re the writer bloke, aren’t you? Kailash, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes. But I am so sorry, I just cant seem to place you.”

“No worries, mate. I am Shiva. I was next to you on the plane from Dubai to Kathmandu last month.”

I definitely was on the plane from Dubai to Kathmandu last month but just couldn’t remember him.

“I am sorry bro, but I am joining you.”, he said pulling a chair out. Don’t people have eetiquette nowadays? “I am waiting for a friend and it seems as though he’ll be running late. I hope you don’t mind.”

Sometimes you just have no choice but to go with the flow.

“Yeah, sure pal. I don’t mind at all.”

 I did mind.

“So, how did you break your arm?” asked the guy and I just couldn’t believe how imprudent he was trying to be.

“ Apparently, I fell down a couple of flight of stairs.”

“Apparently?”

“Yes. I had a concussion as well, so I don’t remember falling down though.”

“So, how are yo.. Wait a minute.. – Didi, 2 cup coffee please”,he bellowed at the owner, “how are you writing nowadays?”

“I am not writing anything new right now. The dedication and amount of time I’d have to give towards it would be phenomenal anyways, and typing it down with a broken arm would take me four times that dedication and time, so for now, I am just writing down excerpts from here and there to try and regain my original speed. Once I catch up, then I will think about it.”

“That seems cool. Why don’t you practice right now? I mean, just type down whatever we talk about, it’ll help you regain your speed and we’d have quite a conversation.”

“I was about to do that when you interrupted my chain of thoughts.” I just didn’t know how to be gregarious. I know, as a writer, these things should come naturally to me but I just seem to lack certain “typical” writer traits.

Not many people are genuinely hurt by my quips but the guy seemed crestfallen. He seemed to have lost all his charisma and I couldn’t be sure but I thought I saw his eyes water up. Strange guy, I tell you.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll do it” and I grabbed hold of my laptop.

“Wow! I am useful, aren’t I?” the ebullient side of the guy popped up again. “What I am going to do is I’ll tell a story, you type down that story as fast as you can. I am not going to repeat the story. And after I tell mine, its your turn.”

“Fine! Fine!” The rules on this little game of  his made it seem like an exam.

“I am going to tell you about my ex-wife. Its quite a touchy story so try not to cry.”

“So, you were married? Seems highly unlikely.”

“Shh.. don’t you make fun of something so sacred as marriage.”He taunted me.

“Would you please start with the story?”

“We met at a bar. One of my friends had just been dumped, this was back in Dubai, so naturally, we took him for a drink. There I met her, she was a writer, just like you. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy for me to woo her. I knew what I wanted in life but she was unsure, you know how girls usually are. Needless to say, it was a long time before we started going out and even longer by the time she was comfortable with it. But her parents, in Nepal, were unhappy about it. Someone had told on her, as a result, she was called back home for having disgraced her family name in a foreign country” –

“Dai, coffee.”

The Didi interrupted us. She gingerly placed the two cups of coffee on the table and took away two empty cups. I didn’t remember having anything.Strange, I thought to myself.

 The minor interruption by the Didi didn’t bother him and immediately continued with the story. It seemed personal for him now. No matter, how hackneyed the story seemed, there was no stopping the flow now.

“Okay, so where was I? Yeah. That was almost two years after we had met, so naturally, our bond had strengthened quite a bit and by the grace of the Internet, we still were together. We used to conversate almost everyday, only missing one or two days a week. But a month after returning back, she disappears. I can’t find her anywhere online, can’t reach her on the phone, I even tried the home landline phone, mind you, all the way from Dubai, still I couldn’t reach her. So, I had a friend of mine look into it. The friend called me back the following morning and I was on the plane back to Nepal by that evening.

What had happened was that, my ex-wife and her family had an accident and all of them had died. She had survived but didn’t have anyone else in her family, so I came down here as one. He, sorry, I meant she fought hard and came out victorious. We both had lost everyone we knew, so it seemed silly to stay in Nepal and you know how Nepal is regarding a “non-cultural” marriage. So, we moved to the US, got married, settled down in the true sense. We both had earned quite a lot of money, so with some local help there, we opened a small cafe. We were happy, well only for a few years.

Two years after the accident, she started experiencing memory losses. She had blackouts from time to time, didn’t remember where she kept stuffs and doing things and forgetting about them later on. As time went by, her condition worsened. The doctors pointed the reason out to the accident but couldn’t help any further. I could have diagnosed that much. Not only she had problem making new memories, she was also losing the older ones. Eventually, she stopped recognizing me and I tell you, that hurt like hell. As difficult as it was for me, I couldn’t imagine how difficult it might have been for her. At first she knew she was missing time, she knew something was askew but as time went on she went on regressing. That is why I called her my ex wife. She is technically my wife but what do you call somebody who doesn’t even remember you exist?”

The guy’s eyes swelled up with tears. The effort this guy puts in must be tremendous.

“So, how is she now?”

“Now? I have to stay with her, she needs me but how do I stay with her, she doesn’t even recognize me. Sometimes I pretend I am an old friend of hers she’s forgotten about or sometimes I am the son of a neighbor she once had, she doesn’t remember much in hindsight so I can use the same excuse again and again. I invite her to my place to stay, sometimes she accepts and we go to the apartment or I just walk her home and lead her to the apartment.”

“Why not just institutionalize her?” I asked an ignorant question, never being in love myself.

“Because there are moments in certain days when she’s the most herself and I enjoy talking to her during those moments. Sometimes, it is hours before she loses any memory and that gives me hope. And what if she starts remembering and I am not there with her? What happens then? I need her as much as she needs me and isn’t that the basis of a healthy relationship?”

The story had officially ended. The guy got up and briskly walked towards the restroom. It felt weird calling him “the guy” now but his name was so generic, I had already forgotten it. I saved the file and shut my laptop. None of us had touched the coffee. Clumsily I tried to pick it up and as a result, I spilled the tea all over a copy of The New York Times. Why was a copy of The New York Times in this café?

“So, you ready to tell your story then?”

I looked up. A man, no older than 30, was smiling down upon me.

“I am sorry, but do we know each other?”

THE END

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If anyone wants any clarification regarding this story, please feel free to contact me at @itsmemanjil.