This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Only one black and yellow taxi was parked by the side of the road, in the lee of the tall building near the gate. The Taxi driver was catching up on his afternoon siesta in the back seat of the car with his feet jutting out like poles.
Enrique crooned over the radio in the taxi, “You can run...”
The driver’s snoring rose above his voice but I heard his words.
I felt my legs break into a trot and my heart throb with pain. A nerve in my head was beating like a thousand hammers. And I was sprinting down the lane, tears streaming down my cheeks.
I cared a fig about the onlookers. I was trying to escape.
I was trying to escape from a truth.
I was trying to run back to my home, sweet home!
It was a long run home and I didn’t want to stop.
I was running back to that home where my mum always waited in the window for me to return back from college.
I was dying to get back to that home where Mumma immediately brought that cool glass of water to me, at my arrival.
I was speeding towards that home where Mumma had a plate of wholesome, tasty food laid out on the table, waiting for me to gulp down.
I was trying to run away from the fast approaching, bleak future.
I wanted to get back to those happy days of the past.
I was trying to escape from this worrisome present!
All the way from hospital, to my home, I ran.
As I ran, I hoped that this was yet another nightmare.
Only this seemed to be much real than any I’d dreamt before!
As I ran, I hoped that this nightmare would end as soon as I reached home.
As I reached home I realized that everything had changed.
“…You can hide!” continued Enrique in his lilting voice, now in my mind!
I was trying to hide my tears as I broke the news to my next door neighbor who was worriedly waiting for us!
I’d failed to hide my tears and bawled like a baby in her arms.
“…but you can’t escape, my love!” felt like the final words of verdict.
He was indeed singing my life with his words.
Killing me softly with his song!
I had been running in the hope of an escape from the truth.
The truth that I would eventually have to accept!
The truth that my Mumma wasn’t at home anymore but was at the hospital I was running away from.
Her present was what I was trying to escape away from.
Both her kidneys had failed and she lay in coma. She was suspended between a bleak future and becoming my past. Her acute renal failure would eventually bring death to her doorstep, said the doctors.
And I couldn’t wait by her side, for its arrival!
I had come away to an empty house, where her saris were out on the clothesline, drying.
Teary eyed, I buried my face into their sweet smelling,warm folds.
This was my only escape route from the truth, into poignant memories of the past.
I found solace there.
I still do.
It’s easy to hit the "Esc" key on a computer keyboard and get out of the operation that you want to abort. One click and you are free from an error and can restart all over again, in the virtual world!
In the real world, it’s again very easy to wriggle out of responsibilities if you are an escapist. Shirk away from the shackles of attachment. Turn numb to emotions and other’s pain!
Memories can be shelved too.
Escapism is quite easy if you possess a twisted mind.
I suppose I don’t have that in me. For me,
Escape is impossible!
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