Alone, Unhinged
Braving the lockdown alone
Ludicrous dreams plague me like dancing demons. Sexual, bewildering, terrifying and at times, hilarious. I’m hunting for a serial killer on a train full of corpses. I shacked up with an amicable Uber driver; mistaking him for my husband.
I wake up asking bizarre questions ~ When did they allow hookah on Shataabdi? Did we get married in matching thongs?
But the nights I see him get shot; I wake up and I stay up. Did he get shot? Did he get shot?
Shut up, that was a dream, I snap, pulling out my mobile to check his Last Seen on Whatsapp. False reassurances matter.
Outwardly, I feel calm. No, really, I’ve spend good time on that question ~ How does quarantine affect you? How do you feel about it?
You don’t know but mostly you appear calm, my chest calls back.
Stranded in the puddle of a king size bedsheet I’m failing to iron; I find my thoughts at the feet of the countless village women who have no help with their chores. My maid calls me every other day. She has too much free time, and her Xanax dosage has upped since it all began — living with five children is driving her crazy. I can’t tell if I’m jealous or alarmed.
I’m cooking haphazard meals, a personal act of defiance. Breakfast at night. Lunch at 8 am.
Time swings in extremes, like some angry pendulum; like the wagging finger of an angry mother. Mornings are packed with frenzied activity — shopping, dishes, meals, laundry. Then there are lulls of lazy afternoons that spill into the evening, until it’s time to open the wine.
I ask myself, how much television can you watch? Unending; it echoes back. I’m scared I’ll take Samadhi in front of the television. Then, the Next Episode timer fills up like a sneaky hourglass, and I forget about everything else.
The husband (the real one, not the Uber driver?) asks me twice a week, “Wanna get that coke?”
I grind my teeth into the phone. “I only drink Diet Coke.”
The third week I chugged Coke over my vodka, every last drop of it. Then, I closed my eyes and imagined the look on his face. The twitching of his mouth, corner of the eye glance. My cheeks flamed, and I was glad he couldn’t see me.
I’m wearing mascara for the daily video calls. I hate video calls. These video calls, I started with the hope they’ll help but the ones I’ve been having don’t make a dent. But I know why I have them — you’ve got to do something for human interaction.
I don’t pace from room to room. I’m running from wall to wall, it’s called the Lockdown Run. Lockdown. Run! I painted a dragon with no fangs — all of its fire pooled in one luminous, rapacious eye.
There are so many things I’m doing, but there are still so many things I haven’t done. When the thought drives me crazy, I try not to think of the future.
*A dedication to the lonely souls who are braving it out on their own.
