I
my partner and I sit down at the dining table one evening with a drink in our hands, motivated glares, and an ambitious 1000-piece puzzle box in front of us. we unbox and begin sorting through the pieces. within 15 minutes, i realize how terribly tired i am. a wave of disappointment passes over me. i’m already feeling defeated by the puzzle.
i’m so tired.
i spend the next hour feigning interest, zoning in and out as i try to fit different pieces together. i stare at the printed picture and then look back at the puzzle pieces, again and again. i try to sort the pieces according to their colours. the blues, greens, browns start to merge into one. i pick up a piece and can’t tell if it should go into the Blue Pile or the Brown Pile.
i’m so tired.
eventually, after i feel i have tried my best to participate in an activity despite my disinterest, i formally give up.
i’m so tired, i think. i’m tired, i say out loud. i go sit in a corner of the room and witness another person’s joy.
II
when i was a child, my maternal grandfather would call me up every other day after i returned from school. he would be curious to know about my studies, my friends, my life. often, i would return after a long day of doing badly at math and end up crying on the phone with him. sometimes, i’d even call him up with complains about my parents.
i am much older now, and so is he. somehow the habit has stuck. the calls are now scheduled for sundays. a weekly catch up where he updates me on his old age woes and i pester him with my (filtered) life updates and fleeting concerns.
with every passing sunday, i become increasingly aware of his age. one sunday, he tells about his neighbourhood friend whose funeral he had just attended in the morning; the sunday after that, his voice sounds strained, he’s about to head to the dentist; the next sunday, he tells me he’s diagnosed with Parkinson’s.
III
5.30 pm
i open the fridge to grab some milk and notice an opened pack of Dairy Milk Fruit n Nut. of course, i think to myself. it’s the only chocolate my mother eats.
i take longer than usual to make chai. at first, i can’t find the ginger. once i do find the ginger, i realize there’s no way to grate it. so i grab a knife and chop it into the tiniest pieces possible. it’s not the same, but it’ll do. scarcity isn’t always a bad thing, just like abundance isn’t always a good thing. i strain my tea into a cup but it only fills half of it. the cups here are bigger and it feels odd to hold them in my tiny hands.
5.45 pm
a cup of chai in my hand, i proceed to the balcony and realize that there’s nothing to sit on. i grab the red stool from the bedroom and lightly perch on it. the cup feels warm and comforting in my hands as i take in my surrounding.
my silent observations are interrupted by a familiar beeping sound. i know exactly what it is. i get up and look down: it’s my mom coming out of her car. suddenly, i feel like i’m thrown back in time. in my childlike excitement, i call for her attention. she looks up and smiles. i lift my hand up to wave but suddenly i’m embarrassed. am i 14 again? a part of me really wishes i was, actually.
IV
i’ve been at my dentist’s reception for only five minutes but i’m already shivering. is it the AC? i zip up my hoodie and wait for my name to be called. my hands are a little shaky and i’m thinking of where i’ll keep my handbag once i place myself on the dentist’s chair.
an old lady, with an unsteady walk, exits the dentist’s cabin. grey hair, a faded maroon salwar suit, a bundled up dupatta in her hand. she is approached by a younger woman, probably her daughter, who gently touches her elbow with two fingers - as if to say, i’m here. the receptionist is about to address the old woman but then moves her head toward’s the daughter; she rattles off the post-surgery care instructions without a second’s pause.
suddenly, i feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. i start making a mental note of the receptionist’s instructions just in case i’m not in a condition to properly understand them after my procedure.
i’m not feeling cold anymore; i’m feeling mild panic. i want to sit. i need to sit. i can’t keep up with the receptionist’s words. i pull out my phone and see the time: 1.33 pm. i take a long breath and look up at the old woman and her daughter again. the daughter’s hand is stretched outwards, she’s collecting a printed sheet of paper and a small blue ice pack from the receptionist. the top of the sheet says “INSTRUCTION” in the ugliest serif font i’ve ever seen. relief passes through my body.
the dentist calls my name, i enter his cabin and smile.
Reading this feels like going through different chapters of a cozy book. Amazing read as always 💯