This is a preview of a book I've been working on for ... well, since forever. Its nearing completion, though there is still a lot - and I really mean a lot - of fine tuning before I can consider it finished. Hope you enjoy this excerpt from the beginning on the book. Cheers!
Zilch stood there in silence. He always found
this most comforting melody in the sound of nothingness. All noises apparently
cease to exist; no jarring reminders of a life rushing on – a car gone out of
control, plummeting down a steep descent, towards that inevitable cliff of
uncertainty. Silence infused itself with the illusory comfort of escapism; like
a drug-induced hallucination; an escape from the drudgery of endless
machinations borne out of grand, unfulfilled plans. He was well aware of this
illusion – he had taught himself to be clever enough for that.
The noises never really
stop – and yet, in his imagination, they respectfully maintain their distance,
remaining just outside the periphery of his perception. The noises,
chaotic characters in his mind’s playground, would be in awe of his grandeur, fearful
of disrupting his sacred sanctum. It was as arrogant a thought as he was
capable of and he was well aware of that. But he chose to be arrogant in the
privacy of his mind – a compensation for his lack of an imposing persona and the
utter lack of imagination or maybe simply indifference of his parents when they
named him ‘Zilch’. They had named him, ‘nothing’.
Staring
at the not-so-distant-yet-out-of-earshot crackling pyre lighting up the dusk
horizon, a plethora of random thoughts and gripping emotions fighting for
control of his mind, Zilch felt a tang of loneliness. There wasn’t really any
pain – just this burning sensation of not wanting to let go; a cry desperately
trying to liberate itself from the depths of his being, getting unnecessarily
stifled by this false bravado and seeming indifference.
It didn’t help that he
was unsure as to what had triggered this sudden bout of existential dilemmas. And
it certainly did not help that Zany wasn’t with him. She always read life so
much simpler; one of the myriad reasons why he loved her – even if not in the
most conventional of ways. Then again theirs was never a conventional ‘relationship’,
at least going by what they told themselves all the while. Her absence, this
will take some getting used to, he thought. He had never been good at dealing
with the past – the convenient, even if ill-adjusted solution to him had always
been to forget; and boy, could he forget! A blank page has limitless possibilities,
he would tell himself. If only that were true; if only unacknowledged meant ‘dealt-with’.
Nonetheless he was good
at putting on a show, if not by choice, at least by nature. He would play this
reluctant participant in an abstract drama, reading out sporadic lines with an
air of disenchantment; his, a fringe role just beyond the glare of the center
stage and yet, very much visible like a frame that deftly manages to hold a
painting in place without overstating its own presence. That, this was a hollow
act, there was no denying – at least in his mind; he despised superficiality,
the hypocrisy within and all around, the insincerity with which fellow
pseudo-intellectuals would laud his gravitas. But it also afforded him space to
develop his thoughts; to build his own world away from the spotlight of public
scrutiny.
Yet Zilch, in all his ‘wisdom’
had his sacrifices, his acknowledged casualty was spontaneity. Zany, on the other
hand … Now that was a girl who knew how to put on a show! She was brilliance – she
could read the audience like no one else he knew; taking them on a journey
through lands they had never been to, making them experience new sights, sounds
and tugging at their emotions like only a fool can. Imaginative, with unbridled
passion, a free-flow of mirth, welling forth from her depths like a mountain
stream determined to find its way through immovable boulders. She was the
fool, the court jester. And she was not there this time around.
So it is that Zilch found
himself, standing alone, contemplating, negotiating his way around this dual
sense of loss – of a story undiscovered and a story riddled with uncertainty.
For the matter at hand, was the passing of his neighbor, old Ms. Martha. She
had no relatives that he or any of the other neighbors knew of; her husband had
passed away before anyone could remember and at least Zilch had never seen
anyone visit since he had moved in next door. Well, that is anyone barring a
suit that came around twice every month in a mysterious black SUV; a lawyer, a
Government agent, who knows – but he came only play out this arduous ritual
every single time, for as long as anyone watching could remember. The car would
pull up in her driveway; he would wait a few minutes before stepping out, knock
on her door, then wait with this air of impatience as she took her time – first
opening the door just a crack, a short conversation; then she would come out,
exchange a few more words, he’d pass on an envelope or two. All the while they
would both throw suspicious and furtive glances at anyone passing by; toning
down the decibel of their conversation or just going silent till they were
confident in their isolation. And then abruptly he would leave, she would go
back inside without even a glance back; no goodbyes, no warmth in their short
exchange.
It was more than once
that Zilch had come across this ritual; not always by accident either. He had
only spoken to Ms. Martha a few times in all these years; mostly exchanging
pleasantries, sometimes helping out with mundane matters. She had been warm to
him and he had responded likewise. But he had always wondered about her guarded
secret – he had never asked her about it and wasn’t enough of a nosy neighbor
to bother about her personal matters. Yet for years curiosity had scratched at
his waking mind. And now, he realized, he will probably never know.
Her passing wasn’t his
personal loss. She had always been a mystery – now a mystery that will remain unsolved
forever. A drama waiting to unfold – a book you always planned to read and
never get around to; a place you always wanted to visit, only to discover it
exists no more; a phantom experience – the one that you almost had, but now
never will.
It was this nagging
thought, this frustration of an undiscovered story that ate at him, with a
ferocity he had never felt before. What had she been all about? Why had he
waited so long, only to regret this missed opportunity of unearthing grand
tales and unrecorded adventures? And why was this bothering him so much, when
the loss of a stranger seemed to over-power the conspicuous absence of his
dearest friend in a manner he had never experienced before? Between an
unsolvable problem and a situation that a simple phone-call could fix, why was
he stuck on the former? Zilch had all the answers, and yet none.
