Anirudh's Story | Chapter 2: Dry Day Friday
Home, sweet home. What rubbish. Anyone who lives as a paying guest in the Bombay suburbs will tell you there is very little you can do to make it seem like home. Bombay: the big bad city, made everyone around you a potential murderer and P/Gs bore the brunt of it by putting up with all sorts of rules. 11 p.m. deadlines. No alcohol. No smoking. No loud music. No guests. No modifications to the room. You're just left with a bed, an iPod, and a few good books.
Anirudh knew this was the life he would have to lead when he moved to Bombay. He grew up in the South of India, in the garden city of Bangalore. Until he was 15, his life revolved around school, MTV Most Wanted and the exploits of the Indian cricket team. He hadn't touched a ciggarette or even held a bottle of beer. So life without it didn't seem like such a big deal.
Shortly before his 16th birthday, he arrived in Bombay. He had an average build, and was barely 5'7" tall with skin on the darker side of brown. His face was one you'd forget instantly. His eyes were an acceptable shade of brown and his jet black hair was neatly oiled and parted to the left.
Now, at 22 years he had gained a few inches in height, and stood at an impressive 6'1". Of course, you wouldn't have ever known he was that tall, because he'd slouch into his own little invisible shell. Without anyone ever worrying about his meals, he'd grown accustomed to eating only when necessary, and the result was quite evident. His skinny frame and slouched back, only maginfied the apparent look of pain on his face. His skin clung to his jaws, and his eyes had sunk deep into their sockets. He'd grown his hair straight back into a pony-tail and added a goatee to complete the look.
His appearence wasn't the only thing that had changed. Anirudh now drank at least thrice a week. That's why today seemed like the worst day in a long time. It was dry day Friday, and he needed a drink today, like never before. His cellphone was ringing. He knew who it was.
"Hello"
"Hi"
"What do you want Nisha?"
"Can we talk? We need to talk"
"Fuck off. You mean you need to talk and I need to listen. I saw everything, and you know it. Are you just calling to rub it in?"
"Whatever Anirudh, you need to grow up"
And then she hung up. She always hung up without saying Bye. He hated it. That's why she did it.
He probably should have let her explain. But he didn't want to hear it. He just wanted to imagine the worst and be depressed. There was a certain romance about being depressed. Sort of like a self-fulfilling prophecy, if he wanted to feel 6 feet under, he would make sure it'd happen. And besides, alocohol always seems so much more satisfying when you're depressed. Almost like a warm hug.
It was dry-day Friday and it was pouring outside.
And all Anirudh wanted was a warm hug.
Anirudh knew this was the life he would have to lead when he moved to Bombay. He grew up in the South of India, in the garden city of Bangalore. Until he was 15, his life revolved around school, MTV Most Wanted and the exploits of the Indian cricket team. He hadn't touched a ciggarette or even held a bottle of beer. So life without it didn't seem like such a big deal.
Shortly before his 16th birthday, he arrived in Bombay. He had an average build, and was barely 5'7" tall with skin on the darker side of brown. His face was one you'd forget instantly. His eyes were an acceptable shade of brown and his jet black hair was neatly oiled and parted to the left.
Now, at 22 years he had gained a few inches in height, and stood at an impressive 6'1". Of course, you wouldn't have ever known he was that tall, because he'd slouch into his own little invisible shell. Without anyone ever worrying about his meals, he'd grown accustomed to eating only when necessary, and the result was quite evident. His skinny frame and slouched back, only maginfied the apparent look of pain on his face. His skin clung to his jaws, and his eyes had sunk deep into their sockets. He'd grown his hair straight back into a pony-tail and added a goatee to complete the look.
His appearence wasn't the only thing that had changed. Anirudh now drank at least thrice a week. That's why today seemed like the worst day in a long time. It was dry day Friday, and he needed a drink today, like never before. His cellphone was ringing. He knew who it was.
"Hello"
"Hi"
"What do you want Nisha?"
"Can we talk? We need to talk"
"Fuck off. You mean you need to talk and I need to listen. I saw everything, and you know it. Are you just calling to rub it in?"
"Whatever Anirudh, you need to grow up"
And then she hung up. She always hung up without saying Bye. He hated it. That's why she did it.
He probably should have let her explain. But he didn't want to hear it. He just wanted to imagine the worst and be depressed. There was a certain romance about being depressed. Sort of like a self-fulfilling prophecy, if he wanted to feel 6 feet under, he would make sure it'd happen. And besides, alocohol always seems so much more satisfying when you're depressed. Almost like a warm hug.
It was dry-day Friday and it was pouring outside.
And all Anirudh wanted was a warm hug.
written by Nonedone
3 Comments:
I like the detail added to the seemingly insignificant things we look past in our day to day affairs. good stuff.
egghead: Thank you! My own life is filled with a passion for seemingly insignificant things!
cinna: No no, no rehab. This story is not about booze.
finally...
you and i, return to seemingly forgotten blogs
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