I saw him cry today. This morning. He cried like a baby, sobbing uncontrollably. He cried, and kept repeating something, which I couldn’t understand then.
His tears were choking his voice.
Later on, I gathered what he was repeating to himself – “I can’t do this anymore, I just can’t do this anymore. I am just so tired”.
Six days have elapsed since that ill-fated day on which life had gone all topsy-turvy for our protagonist. Lets call him “Young Heart”. But, he hadn’t wept a single tear since that day.
He had tried to be brave. He had tried to keep his chin up. He had gathered his worn-out tools once again, from the debris of his shattered dreams. He had already started his journey to the future. Without looking back, for a moment.
He himself was taken aback by his steely resilience. Life had moved on since that ill fated day.
Or had it???
If you ask me, I’ll vehemently assert, “No! Since when did moving on become so easy?” I believe the only reason Young Heart had not broken down is that he had none who was ready to listen to his scared, tired, and defeated side. Young Heart was a strong guy, or so was the perception.
Young Heart was a lonely soul. He had a girlfriend, who was almost like his heartbeat. But, that girlfriend, whom I shall refer to as “Sweet little girl from Redland”, had seperated ways, two months back. So, the only close ones left were his folks at home, Papa Bear and Mama Bear. But, he couldn’t even dream of breaking down in front of them. His folks were nervous people, whose only hope was Young Heart. He certainly could’t make them insecure by showing his weak side to them. He was the strong pillar of the family, and wanted to remain so.
This morning, he had gone to a nearby hillock, for his regular early morning workout session with few of his close friends. Fun, laughter, and some early morning fresh air. Soon, the clouds started to gather , and the sky showed ominous signs.
In the next fifteen minutes, there was thunder, lighting, gusty winds and torrential rainfall. They ran for shelter, but it was a hillock and houses were few and far in between. They took shelter under the thatched roof of a local Shiva temple.
But our protagonist stood in the rain, with arms outstretched, face pointed heavenwards and screamed, “Wash away my pain, wash away my fear, my fatigue”. The rain drowned his voice, and his friends (who were inside the make-shift shelter) couldn’t make out what was happening. He kept screaming, and getting wet, and then, in a flash, he ran to the temple where his friends were waiting.
Before they could decipher the course of events, he hugged his friend, Prosenjit, and broke down completely. They were all taken aback, and tried to console him. They all gathered around him, someone clutched his palm tightly to comfort him, someone patted his back. . . but he kept weeping. He was very, very broken, and this friendly shoulder, on which he could rest his head, was something he was not willing to let go very easily. Until atleast he had wept his heart out. . . It was raining, and the tear drops fell to the ground.
My eyes were also moist. I was also wet. He was me. And I was him -Young heart. . .