Shadows In The Closet

Part 1

‘Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new…’ Mikhail read as he scrolled down his smart phone screen. Quotes transported Mikhail Eli into a completely different world; he loved reading those written by others and he loved writing his own. He smiled to himself as he remembered a quote by Oprah Winfrey, ‘Here’s what my love affair with quotations has taught me: the more you focus on words that uplift you, the more you embody the ideas contained in those words.’

Mikhail couldn’t wait to get home. The local train was barely crawling and after what had seemed like ages the familiar feminine voice blared out of the compartment speaker, ‘Malad’; music to his ears.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the air as it ruffled his hair and caressed his face. The serpentine Mumbai local slowed down at the station. Keeping one foot on board and tightly clenching the metal rod he looked ahead contemplating his next move. He squinted and contorted his face breathing deeply as he sensed the soles of his red Converse shoes grate against the granular finish of the station platform. Placing his left palm on his sling bag he let go of the metal rod jogging for a few seconds before coming to a halt which synchronised with that of the rusted gents’ compartment.

It was ten in the night and life had just begun; that is Mumbai; a city that never sleeps. Mikhail fell in love with the place within a month of staying in it and had never looked back since. He believed that love was a one way road with out any U-turns. Even with Maya it was the same. They weren’t dating but they both knew they weren’t ‘just friends’.

He turned the big silver key to the right as he pushed the veneered door ahead. The silence cushioned within the four walls of the living room was broken by a ring tone. He threw his bag on the couch and hit the green key on the key pad. “Hey you,” said Mikhail. She loved the baritone voice that greeted her each night. “How you sugar?” she inquired endearingly. “Stop calling me that,” he fought back. “Long long days yaar. I’m dead tired.” Plonking himself onto the grey couch he stretched to drive away his fatigue in vain. A short spell of silence ensued and Maya sensed what was coming. “Want to talk tomorrow,” she asked dreading the reply. “Hm-mm no it’s fine,” he said but she knew she’d lost him for yet another night.

Maya still remembered the first time she had spoken to him. It had been a bizarre online type chat. She had added him on Facebook thinking he was the brother of one of her college friends. “What!” he had exclaimed. “I’m Mikhail, we were together in high school remember?” Maya’s stomach had churned; it had been scary to realise that she had been talking to someone she apparently knew but couldn’t remember knowing. “Bloody chipku despo,” she had thought to herself. “I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve any more and I’m not going to let some random jerk woo me, sway my heart and then turn around and say Maya it’s not going to work.” She believed all men were the same or at least she hadn’t met someone who was different. After a week of random type chats he had asked her for her number. Being relatively new to the city Maya had preferred to remain apprehensive of his intentions and so had thought it wise not to ask for his. That said she had given Mikhail hers; strange, but that was Maya, an emotional fool and advocate of benefit of doubt. Surprisingly the subsequent weekend call had been magical from the moment he had said hey. She had sensed a deep connection in their first serious type-chat but hadn’t paid much attention to it. Talking to Mikhail was like looking into a mirror. They were different on quite a few levels, like mirror images are different in terms of right and left; but then they are mirror images, they did have a common ground.

“Why so quiet?” Mikhail asked stifling a yawn. “Nothing, just,” she replied coldly. “Chalo, I’ll get back to my book. Bye.” Maya hung up as she picked the blue book near her pillow. An indulgent reader, Maya loved her books. She read anything that she could relate to given her life circumstances and this book had come to her at such a right time. ‘A Woman’s Worth’, a self help title of sorts having feminist undertones and Maya, a bra-burning feminist lapped up every letter in the book. She turned a leaf and stopped as she reached the end of the page. Taking a deep breath she thought of how her experiences in life had transformed her from the girl that she was to the woman that she had now become; at least was in the process of becoming. The emotional journey in the recent past had been instrumental in this metamorphosis of her character and her eyes gleamed as she stared at nothing thinking of all that this experience had been worth.

‘A princess is a girl who knows that she will get there, who is on her way perhaps but is not there yet. She has power but she does not yet wield it responsibly. She is indulgent and frivolous. She cries but not yet noble tears. She stomps her feet and does not know how to contain her pain or use it creatively.

A queen is wise. She has earned her serenity, not having it bestowed on her but having passed her tests. She has suffered and grown more beautiful because of it. She has proven she can hold her kingdom together. She has become its vision. She cares deeply about something bigger than herself. She rules with authentic power.’

Author Marianne Williamson was Maya’s newfound diva and she smiled as she found herself getting lost in her world of words for yet another night. After what had seemed like ages she jolted forward half asleep. Her foot hit the laptop next to her and she woke up with a start. It had been that dream again. Maya always dreamed that she was falling down; falling down a flight of stairs because she missed a step or falling down a mountain or just tripping and falling down. Nothing really explained those dreams despite her constant efforts to remember them, analyse them and try and link them to any memory in her conscious or subconscious mind.

‘She was walking with him, hand in hand, and he had slid his right foot in her path on purpose. Playful that he was he had intended for her to trip but not fall down; he had held her as she jolted forward.’

Maya’s eyes welled up as she remembered her dream which brought back memories so painfull and yet so beautiful. Life had moved on ever since the episode though it had been more of a ‘force quit’ situation. Maya believed that she had made her side of the effort, though passive to progress but there was always a swarm of thoughts that tortured her soul. It was as though she was swimming upstream. She was trying to move at her best pace but the strong currents were moving at the same pace rendering her stationary. She always found herself at the starting line and the very thought of it had begun to frustrate her; rather scare her. Would things ever change?

******

“Strange how we make our choices,” said Philamea sipping on her cuppa. Philamea was Maya’s soul mate. They weren’t sisters by birth though both of them believed that destiny had caused their paths to intercept making them sisters by heart. “On the one hand there is a man who is willing to give you the world. It may take a while, nevertheless you know for a fact that he cares. On the other hand there is a man who doesn’t really care. What are you doing Maya?” The rain was pouring outside and Maya’s gaze was fixed on a tiny water droplet that slid from top to bottom on the glass wall that they were sitting next to. Coffee shops were a haven for Maya especially the one below her home. Maya turned her head to face a couple, in the corner of the shop, fighting over cappuccino and croissants. A tall and lanky girl passed by their table holding her red umbrella close to her as she tried to rid her hair of the rain water with her right hand. Philamea picked up the silver spoon on the saucer and tinkled it against her broad mouthed coffee cup. Maya smiled as she looked at her. “What are you doing Maya?” she repeated her question. “If it’s right then it’s right Phil,” said Maya. “I need to be convinced about what I’m doing and nothing is going to happen until then. After all every purpose under heaven has a time doesn’t it?” A phone ring interrupted their conversation. Bold and blinking, the name flashed across the 4.3 inch screen of the smart phone on their table, ‘Mikhail’.