Disenchanted

 She knew she would have to step out of the house someday, why did today have to be that day, she rued loudly, in her mind. It had only been a month since Menon had walked out of her life, it hadn't been enough time for her to get over the shame of abandonment. She did not miss him, nor did she want him back, but the suddenness with which he had exited her life had left her stunned; it had been done with surgical precision, cold and neat, with no loose ends to fret over. In their time together, there had been no drama, no heated exchanges and no moments of passion - they had existed together, barely lived. Her memory of their time together was the constant feeling she had, of being suffocated, by a soft, silken pillow, something that would eventually put her to sleep before smothering her by its officious civility. Eventually she had been no different than that packet of meat that had remained frozen in their refrigerator, in plain sight, yet forgotten, and their relationship had ultimately shared the same fate of being tossed into the garbage can in one sudden swoop.

Hidden behind the recess in her window she watched the world zip past outside, everyone forever in a hurry, running towards something, stressed, harassed, oblivious of their aliveness, ungrateful of the miraculous gift of life bestowed upon them. Hadn't she been one of them, focused on her 'hustle', destined like the hamster to always dance to someone else's tune, striving for that pot of gold at the end of some rainbow. It hadn't been anyone's fault, no one had set out to cheat her, she sighed. She had herself, drifted away from her consciousness, the choices she had made had kept pulling her ever deeper into the churning morass of 'productive' society. She had been fortunate though, hadn't she, her wakeup call had had been the blazing trumpet of Menon's disappearance from her life, had that not happened she would have ended up like the toad in a pan of slowly heating water.

But now, she perked up, trying to force herself out of her morbidity, the sun was setting, soon it would be dark, perfect for her to slip out; everyone would be cozying up in front of their mindless bingeing on televisions or laptops. She stood there, waiting patiently, silencing her mind, watching the street clear after the flurry of increased traffic from people bound homewards, mindless honking, and the dusty atmosphere of irateness dissipate gradually. Eventually, she could hear only the lazy rustling of palm leaves and the stars started to shyly play hide and seek. The next five minutes went by without her knowing, her body still remembered how to get ready and out for she soon found herself at the entrance of the lighted garden. Looking at it uncertainly, she reminded herself - "One step at a time", as she eased into her slow walk, looking down at her shoes, her trusted old sneakers. People passed her by as she continued on the walkway, eyes fixated on the ground to avoid making eye contact, her earphones plugged in but silent, only to signal she wouldn't respond to people calling out to her either. A regular to the park, she had not been visible for more than a month, yet no one had called out to her - not even the security guard whom she had given all of Menon's left-over clothes - of such impeccable quality and taste that it had caused the man to reel over in ebullient gratitude and now he had his face turned away from her. She had wanted to be left alone, but her becoming invisible this quickly hurt deeply.

She noticed a new path had been cleared with fresh tiles laid out and took up the trail, her regular path had only about five people but to her it was a crowd. How long she had run for that evening, she could not recall, puzzlingly she did not feel any soreness in her muscles. She had been a runner before the break, even so she could not claim this level of fitness. Not wanting to regret her over-enthusiasm the next day she did some stretches and seeing a stone bench sat down to cool off. This new trail had not seemed to help for she still felt neither tired nor rejuvenated. Maybe she needed to get back to her morning runs as before. "One step at a time", she reminded herself as she found herself panicking at the thought of getting out during the day.

 She could not have been alone for long before someone came up the path leisurely strolling as they spoke loudly into their phone. The man was likely one of the painters who had been painting their apartment complex walls, she deduced based on his overalls. Maybe it would be good practice for her to try and strike up a conversation with him. She had been garrulous decades ago, she squirmed at the thought of the gibberish she had spouted in the name of 'conversation', Menon had taught her the power of silence, of using few but powerful words. Her friend circle had disappeared soon after that, "good riddance" Menon had approved of the change. 

Why had someone as astute, as awe-inspiringly brilliant as Professor Menon stooped down to marry her, she had often asked herself in their marriage of four years. A few months back, during a dinner party, when she had sat obtusely through the complex discussion on world affairs and had hesitatingly stated an overly simplified viewpoint, she had noticed Menon freeze, going red in the face. On the drive back, he had maintained an aloofness that scared her more than if he had yelled at her. And that's when she had asked him the question about why had he asked her, then a student of his, to marry him. He had looked at her for a long time before shrugging, "Opposites attract". The humiliation had stung, she felt tears well up but had hastily swallowed those away, Menon detested overt displays of emotion, calling them childish. Each day she had changed - a bit here, a bit there, until there came a day when she looked into the mirror, she saw Menon and not her goofy face, she had finally truly become worthy of being his wife, someone he could take out to meet his colleagues without dying of embarrassment. A few weeks later, after dinner, he had calmly conveyed to her stunned face that she should expect the divorce papers soon. As usual he had been gravitas personified, cool, precise, and masterful, His eyes glittered through his specs as they seared right through hers, cold as ever, she had not even blinked, he would not have any of that emotional outburst, she knew. Had it been her hair? she could not help blabbering incoherently "I was going to get it cut this weekend", it had been a lie and he had just smirked at her, reverting to correcting the exam papers. 

Her running and her hair had been the only things Menon had been unable to get her to change. Just like her mother, she had been blessed with thick waist long hair. While everyone had admired her Jezebel locks, Menon had hated it. No educated girl should allow herself to have hair as long as this he had told her, "for heaven's sake, you look like a farmer's wife" he had grimaced through tight lips, yes, she had wavered, but had not been able to get the bob Menon had so badly wanted her to get, instead, she had started to put her hair into a tight bun ever since, anything to avoid Menon noticing it or commenting on it. 

Something tore through her as she realized that her hair was still in a bun, he was still in control, "No!" she yelled out furiously. The guttural howl that shook the leaves around her seemed to have come from somewhere behind her, stunned, she looked around to find the painter guy on his knees, whimpering. Had she been the one who made that thunderous noise? Embarrassed, she stood up to find her hair had come lose. She shook it letting it fall over her face, liking its texture, its smell. She had forgotten how her open hair felt, she was never putting her hair back in a bun, she promised herself. The man had turned white, whimpering with fear. Guiltily, she extended a reassuring hand out to him but he cried out, finally scampering to his feet and running away. She smiled, ashamedly at the surge of power she felt at scaring the man. She hated herself.

The next day, she woke up to a massive headache, how long had she been asleep! Looking on languorously at the setting sun, it seemed she had slept through the entire day, had her run been that tiring, she thought, noticing she still had her running clothes on. With  no recollection of getting back to the apartment, she concluded the run must have been very emotionally draining, maybe she'd wait to get back to running.  Gazing out from her sofa, she could see the familiar rush of people and cars, everyone was either with someone or trying to get home to be with someone. Her loneliness hit her hard between the ribs, there was no one thinking of her, wanting to be rush home to her, she swallowed painfully. She was still clutching her knees trying to reduce the hollowness within her chest, when a sound alerted her - the front door was opening. Her mouth went dry as she looked about her, no one had the keys to the place except Menon and her. And then she heard his voice. She wasn't ready to meet him, not like this, she scrambled to her feet, panicking. She ducked into the closet, closing it lightly just as the voice came closer, he was almost into her room!. She heard the voice fade in and out as he walked about the front room, it most definitely was Menon's but he sounded different, apologetic, humble, scared even. 

"....it's five years now, this was my first flat...would love to get back here..." apparently his companion had not agreed for he continued his groveling, trying weekly to convince them. And then she heard the second voice, it was sharp, static, deep but distinctly female, "get rid of it, it stinks of middle class". That seemed to have ended the discussion. She had to see who it was that had Menon shut up. Quietly, she stepped out of the closet and peeked around the door, Menon was running his finger over the coffee table, fondly even, while the woman, with her back to her was standing huddled up in the center, afraid as though to get contaminated, of what, she thought. There was something familiar about her - she had the short wavy hair of one of the students that Menon had tutored, deciding to know more she stepped through into the drawing room. Menon looked up at her, expressionlessly, almost as if he was seeing past her, she almost gasped aloud, noticing how much he had aged in the past month. He had been her Professor in college, almost a decade older but had always had youthful vigour about him that had been a huge hit with his students, including her. His companion turned to look as he exited the room, and just like Menon, ignored her completely. She was used to being a wallflower when with Menon but being someone of no consequence even to this young thing, was humiliating. This female version of the youthful Menon was unaware of the treacherous phase of life she had entered into, feeble or not, Menon was dangerous. She stepped forward, into the girl's line of sight hissing "Why are you here?" The girl seemed to look away, hugging herself tighter, then suddenly she yelled out "Menon, we've got to leave....Now!"

Menon came racing out, "Anything's the matter honey". "Don't honey me you!" she snapped, "this house gives me the chills.... you can't expect me to move in where she died.." "Baby, it's been five years, this is prime property..." he cooed, completely ignoring her confused face. Who were they talking about, who had died there - Menon and she had bought this newly constructed apartment just a year back. The way Menon was looking at the young girl reminded her of how she had looked at him, what a fool he looked like, she giggled but then stopped fearing he would hear her, But he did, both of them clutched hands gawking at her, were they fearful of her! She burst out laughing, their fearful faces looked comic! One of the windows flung open blowing a strong breeze through her open hair, ignoring the thought that she'd be struggling to comb her hair the next day, she twirled it around, loving the feeling of how her hair swirled around her. She was glad Menon and his new young thing got to see it. As the girl shrieked, both of them tumbled towards the door, she bent over howling with laughter, The girl's purse and the keys they had used to get in lay strewn about on the floor as they fled, they had even left the door open. Outside, in the corridor, a painter, the same man she had seen in the walkway sat washing his paint brushes. He looked up, startled at the exiting couple, then he  peered into the house and seemed to see her - he seemed to be the only one who would actually acknowledge her presence. She moved towards him to reassure him but he too screamed and fled, upsetting his paint can all over the granite floor. 

So, it seemed her newfound superpower was to drive people away, that was indeed hilarious. She had never laughed so much and never for so long. Still howling with laughter, she made her way through the empty corridors. Reveling in the wind blowing through her hair, she headed towards the walkway, she was not going to hide inside the walls anymore, she had found her voice and she would never stop laughing.