by Ruchi Kokcha
I saw what I should not have seen. The burden of that moment’s guilt was to be carried all my life. I closed the door and tiptoed back to my room, locking it from the inside. I threw myself face down on my bed, burying my face in my pillow. I felt like crying out loud, but my eyes did not release even a single tear. Had I cried that night I would have felt better. I might have gotten rid of it. But nothing of the sort happened. I did not cry. Instead, the sight of him kept obstructing my vision. When I closed my eyes I saw him again. I could not sleep. His image was imprinted on my mind. Ugly thoughts started to creep in. I wanted to shoo them away but they would not leave. I wished I could slice off the part of my mind from where his image kept springing up, torturing me, mocking me in every way possible. It spread within my mind like a contagious disease, leaving none of my faculties in their right form.
The vision of him engulfed my mind completely. I could think of nothing else, see nothing else, desire nothing else. It travelled within me from top to bottom, from my mind, to my heart and then to my nether parts. I fell in love with my own father, but not the way daughters love their dads. He assumed a dual role in my life, that of Da-d and also of a Da-rling. I started calling him ‘Da’.
Initially, I felt a lot of guilt. I hated myself for thinking about him in this way, but I had no control over what my mind made me think and dream. I kept thinking of him, I dreamt of being with him. I was bound to him in my mind. I could not find any escape from this entrapment except suicide. Twice I tried to kill myself. But I was not brave enough to go all the way. I stopped one step short and saved myself each time.
I felt like my mind had been bifurcated into two: sane and insane. But these sane and insane parts were not as social norms would maintain. They were antithetical to the social yardstick. What was sane to me was insanity to the world outside my mind, and what was insane to me was their sanity. My insane mind wanted me to be free of my desire. But my sane mind was another world. It knew no restrictions. It kept me tied to what I had seen. It motivated me to live and attain my heart’s desire. Had I listened to my insane mind I would have died a long time ago. My sanity, their madness, kept me alive. However, the contradictions were too many to be solved. I thought it would be better to clean the slate once and for all. That day I locked myself into my own self, my closeted world.
For the world outside, a closet is a place to hide, to conceal one’s shame, one’s guilt, to live two lives, but for me it was not just a refuge but a permanent abode. It created within itself an entire universe—thousands of realities, one beyond the other, just like the infinite number of reflections in two parallel mirrors. There was so much to choose from.
Day after day I immersed myself more and more in this vast space. Sometimes it was a green pasture in spring, a million buds blossoming simultaneously, perfect for the flaneur in me, ready for a roll on the green carpet. Sometimes the dark-grey Rocky Mountains challenged me to climb up and touch the stars or climb down and drink from the molten silver elixir that passed by in the valley. At other times clouds would spread across the dark blue sky, not letting the weak orange sun look at me lying in the golden harvest of the field. Every day there was a different place to explore within this closet. I hardly had the time to eat or engage in other chores.
I fed myself on two things: memory and imagination, on impressions already made in my mind and on the ventures my mind took beyond those impressions. I saw him once and it was imprinted on my mind forever, just like the engravings on the Harappan seals that speak even today. This one impression resulted in the inception of a greater faculty within me, my imagination. Not just perceiving and seeing through the obvious, but creating what was not obvious to the common eye. I realized how powerful my mind was; I began to acknowledge its true worth. I would talk to him endlessly, walk hand in hand with him, reciting to him the poetry I wrote with him as my muse, or just watch him unblinkingly for hours. My closet was shared by an apparition, his apparition. Only his touch could bring his self into my world. I began to wonder how I could attain Midas’s touch.
10
The touch of a hand on Avik’s shoulder made him shudder. He turned around to find Sonu signalling to him that it was time for him to leave. Neither Ananki nor Avik had noticed the passage of time. The cold food on the plate kept just beside the bars indicated that Sonu had come down with a tray of food for Ananki, but both of them had been oblivious to his presence. However, it was time for Avik to leave Ananki and her story.
As Avik turned to follow the attendant, Ananki stood up and looked him in the eye.
‘Will you come again?’ she asked.
‘I will,’ he replied.
As he walked towards the stairs, he wondered if he would really come back to listen to a girl who had not just crossed every limit but had also labelled her transgression as love.
Parents’ love for their child is one of the purest forms of affection. There is nothing more sanctified than a parent-child bond. The selfless love of parents for their offspring is often quoted as an example of how love should be; such is the nature of this bond. And there stood this girl, who calls herself a daughter, but thinks about her own father in such an unethical way, Avik ruminated as he began climbing up the stairs. Suddenly, something struck him and he rushed back to her.
Panting for breath he blurted out, ‘Did your mother find out about your feelings?’
Hearing this Ananki retreated towards the dark wall, picked up her piece of charcoal and started writing on it, leaving him standing there with no answer.
It is not easy to solve the maze of her self.
Not only would he would have to sink into her depths but his descent would have to be bit by bit, like the slow-moving sun sinking into the sea, colouring the blue with its red gloss. But then some colours are immune to others, black, for instance. No matter how hard one tries, one cannot change black into another colour completely, and only a hue can be attained after much effort.
I want to see that hue within her. Until then I will have to deal with the colour of the charcoal with which she fills up these walls, Avik contemplated, staring at her agile body.
He ran up the stairs and rushed through the corridor towards the exit. All he wanted to do was climb into his bed and bury his head in his pillow.
Her story had disturbed him deeply. Never in his life had he felt so giddy. Driving back home was not easy. His head was heavy, his vision blurred, his body drenched in sweat. He wanted to go to his mother’s place and rest, but decided it would be best not to trouble her.
As soon as he entered his apartment, he rushed straight to the bathroom, puking thrice in ten minutes. It was as if his body was rejecting what his mind had received. Avik could not accept what he had heard from Ananki. But neither could he ignore her. His mind felt as if it had been stretched taut between two extremes, sanity and madness, so as to tear apart its very essence.
He lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling numb. It seemed as if every feeling had been vomited out of him. A strange sense of being in a void overtook him.
Ananki’s love shakes the very foundations of the love on which the world thrives. Her love is blasphemy to the world outside her closet. Is she suffering because of it? Is her madness a form of excruciation or does it give carte blanche, a cover underneath which she can act according to her own discretion, begetting her own set of rules that govern her existence in her closeted world?
He struggled not to think about her.
He was tired of her. She had invaded his consciousness for such a long time. He wanted to break free of her, of the black curls that seem to constantly coil around his neck. He wanted to rip them apart and save himself.
Without thinking, he started stuffing his belongings into his suitcase. He wanted to leave the entire mess behind him and go back to Mumbai, to the place that had given him refuge in the bleakest of times.
I feel as if nothing of my own is left within me. No matter how hard I try to get rid of thoughts of
her, I cannot. She has penetrated deep within my self. I can feel her right beneath my skin, within this blue-black vein that carries the dark, impure blood; she flows within this network without knowing any barriers. I wish I could rip my veins open and set her free.
In desperation, he lay on the carpet and howled in torment. He was thirsting for someone whom he could talk to about the conflict within him. He wanted to connect with someone who could understand his state and at the same time help him come to terms with what he now knew.
He got up and went out onto the balcony in the hope of connecting with someone, something. The crowd in the street was oblivious to him. There was no sight of the moon; the stars seem to throw spears to complete his annihilation. He ran back inside and fell on the floor, as if all of his vital juices had been sucked out. He closed his eyes. Everything went silent as if the entire cosmos had died.
He woke up to find that the sun had risen twice in his absence. He could barely get up to fetch the jug of water lying on the bedside table. His head was heavy, his body pale and weak. He emptied the contents of the jug to replenish the fluids he had lost the other night. Ananki’s story still revolved in his mind. He realized that he had made a great mistake by not telling Dr Neerja about what he had learnt. He decided to call her as soon as he stepped out to get something to eat.
Meanwhile, he pondered if it was really possible for a daughter to develop such feelings for her own father. He had heard stories of incest, of molestation by relatives, of the most gruesome crimes committed in a family, but this was completely new to him. He wondered if the entire story was the product of a mad mind’s imagination. After all, by her own admission, her family and Radha had heard her talking to herself. Was she suffering from schizophrenia or were her feelings real? What if they were real, as real as his own existence? The thought was scary.
She loved her father, her own father. To love one’s father, not as children love their parents, but as a partner, as an emotional and sexual companion, was something beyond the realm of love.
There is no doubt that she is suffering from a severe psychological problem, some sort of madness. She is mad and she is where she is because of her madness. He tried to calm his mind by labelling her as a madwoman whose mind could not recognize the essence of parenthood, who mistook a father’s care and affection as something else and harboured desire for him.
Only some months ago Sahay had published a story about a father molesting his own daughter. The story was read by a wide audience who reacted to it strongly.
Strange things happen and it’s important for journalists to probe into the strangeness of life without passing their own judgment. A journalist’s eye should view the picture in its entirety and not just from a single dimension.
After getting back home, he decided to do some research into how common cases like Ananki’s were. He found many cases where the father had either sexually abused his daughter or was sexually attracted to her. But it was rare that a daughter felt for her biological father as a sexual companion, and it was rarer that she dared to express such a desire in public.
However, he did find something of interest. An anonymous girl had posted about her feelings for her father on a help forum, asking for ways to deal with her growing sexual attraction for her father. She was in love with her own father but did not have the courage to tell anyone, except by sharing it anonymously on an Internet forum.
She had given a detailed account of her dreams and fantasies of him as her sexual partner. She would often masturbate while fantasizing about him. She felt so strongly for him that she had decided never to get married to any other man. In the world outside, he held a position of reverence, while within the space of her room he was her lover, a companion for life. In the comments section, some people had labelled her a ‘whore’ while others called her ‘mad’.
Avik wondered how much of herself a woman hid, out of fear of societal norms that did not allow her to be what she was and share what she felt inside. He was reminded of his mother’s words, ‘When the maker of this infinite universe, Lord Brahma Himself, could not understand the workings of a woman’s heart, how can we expect lesser men to understand them?’ Perhaps she was right, he thought. The true story of a woman’s mind goes with her to her grave. He was after one such story, and perhaps that story too was after him.
Avik knew he needed Khyati. Without her help, he could not move further into the labyrinth of Ananki’s self.
He knew she would be upset with him for not calling her back after the kiss, but he also knew that it would not be too difficult for him to pacify her. He had always taken her for granted, and she had always granted him a part of her self after every reconciliation, only he was oblivious to it. Khyati had always been his backup plan, just like this time.
He immediately picked up his phone to call her and as always he got a prompt answer from the other side.
‘Hey, I know I have been really busy but then you know that when it comes to being with someone, it’s only you I can think of. Where are you right now?’ Avik tried to sound as cheerful as possible.
‘At home.’
He could detect the shrill note in her otherwise soft voice. He knew she was pretending to be fine when she was not.
If she is upset with me, why doesn’t she just tell it to me straight?
‘I am going to pick you up in half an hour. Be ready,’ he told her, waiting anxiously for her response.
She could not say anything except, ‘Okay.’
At least she did not decline, he sighed in relief.
Khyati’s infatuation had crossed the realm of attraction and entered that of love, which was why she could not say no to him. It was the hope of a future with Avik that made this otherwise self-respecting girl bear numerous rejections from him.
Love can make us act strangely at times. The more out of reach a person is, the more we desire them. She had soothed her bleeding heart when she had found out that Avik was dating Trisha, but ever since he had returned to Delhi and had told her that there was no one special in his life, the desire to be with him had once again found wings.
She wore her heart on her sleeve, even though she knew Avik did not feel the same way about her, that he called her only when he needed her help for his case, that there was no other interest in his life right now other than a madwoman in a cell.
As always, she did her best to look good. He was right on time. The three started to map the roads of Delhi: Avik, Khyati and the silence between them.
‘You want to go for a beer or just food?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘We can go to our old spot if you like.’
‘No. Just food,’ she replied, looking out of the window at the road that was speeding by.
The sadness in her heart made her careful, which came across as the indifference that Avik had sensed as soon as she sat in the car. It made him uneasy. He felt repentant. He stopped the car and reached for her hand, startling her. She did not want to break down in front of him. He looked at her with the sorry face that had always made her heart melt.
‘What is it, Khyati?’ Avik asked.
‘What? It’s nothing. I’m fine. Really,’ she replied coldly, still not looking at him.
‘I don’t think you are fine. Something is bothering you. Please tell me what it is. I beg of you.’ Avik held her chin and tried to turn her face towards him.
Khyati remained silent.
‘I am sorry, Khyati. I should not have done it,’ he blurted, half confused himself as to what he was referring to, the kiss or his indifferent behaviour.
‘Done what, Avik? What did you do that you are so sorry for now?’ she replied sarcastically.
‘I should not have kissed you. I am sorry for it,’ he said.
There it was, the truth that hit her even harder than the silence between them. She pressed her lips together in desperation.
‘It’s okay, Avik. You don’t need to be sorry for that. It’s another thing if you are sorry for treating me li
ke your personal assistant for this stupid case, in spite of the fact that I have gone out of my way to help you, more than a friend would.’
There, she had said it; he was more than a friend for her.
‘Khyati, please forgive me for being the jerk that I am. I know that I have hurt you many times in the past few days, but it was not my intention,’ Avik pleaded, still trying to make her look at him.
His seeking forgiveness again and again made her angrier. She did not want his apology but his love.
‘Avik.’ She finally turned towards him. ‘The problem is, you are so focused on your goal that you forget everything else and trample over the people who are actually trying to help you.’
A sense of guilt overcame him as he wondered if what she had said was true.
Did I really hurt her that much?
‘Khyati, you are my friend and will always remain so. But at this point in my life I am not ready for another relationship. Although I recently sensed your feelings for me, I cannot reciprocate them, not because you are not worth it, but because I am not ready.’
Khyati listened to him without a word but with eyes full and cheeks wet. She had known how he felt about her all this while, but hearing it from him was more hurtful than she had thought it would be.
