Ekakin

By Kavita Rekha Jain

Her world was quiet. Her world was wrapped in silence. For years, she didn't make the slightest noise.

 

Her pen travelled far and wide. She wrote stories and someone else earned the credit. She was a ghostwriter hiding inside a freezing cold attic. Attic was her asylum. It protected her from the world.

 

World was a big place. But her own world was very small. One day, she flipped the musty pages of an old diary and came face to face with the ghost of her fear.

 

Ekakin is a solitary journey through the dark tunnel of acute despair. It is an arduous passage through a cobweb of tangled emotions. Humiliation, hurt and helplessness hold the hands of love to open a window nailed from years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kavita Rekha Jain
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223698142

Book preview

Ekakin

SNAKES

It was happening for the third time in a week.

I was late again.

I was angry. I forgot to set the alarm. I couldn’t waste a single second. There was a big pile of books i needed to carry with me. The books were somewhere inside the cupboard. My mind was in chaos. The day was about to rise. It was the third time in a week when i was skipping breakfast. It was difficult to stay hungry. Lunch was hours away. I opened the cupboard. It’s contents fell on me with a loud thud. I suppressed a scream. I pushed everything inside the cupboard, collected the things i needed and rushed outside the room. I carried the slippers in my hands. They made noise when i ran with them on my feet.

It rained the whole night and the stairs were slippery. I looked at the sky. The rumbling clouds were making a lot of noise. It was going to be a rainy day. For a moment, i wondered if i could stay-back, fill myself with breakfast and pull some useful books out of the pile inside the cupboard. I could manage it. I actually turned towards the room, hesitated and then turned away. It wasn’t worth it. It was already morning. The sun was not visible yet but it was very much a new day.

Attic was the way it always was. It was cold. And it was quiet. It was also lovely. It was my friend. It had been my friend from years. I knew it missed me because i also missed it very much. I placed the heavy bag on the floor and stretched myself on the mat. I couldn’t afford to repeat mistakes. It was happening the third time in a week. I was disappointing myself. Rain was pattering against the tin roof. Clouds were heavy with complicated emotions. I wondered if i could return to my room and grab some breakfast for myself. Everyone was still asleep. They wouldn’t start their day for another one hour. I needed only five minutes to swallow the food. It was going to be a busy day. I couldn’t do so much work on an empty stomach. Not every morning was a rainy morning. I could use that morning to try an adventure. There were thirty stairs and then fourteen steps to my room. I could tiptoe to my room. I could manage that. There was warm tea in the thermos and a jumbo sandwich in the tiffin. I could eat fast and return to the attic. It was a long day ahead. I only needed a little courage. Rain was creating such a din. World couldn’t hear me that day. Lightning and thunder hit the sky with a vengeance.

My heart was beating fast. I didn’t remember the last time i had an adventure. I didn’t remember doing anything out of the way. I couldn’t help stopping for a moment and staring at the sky on my way down the stairs. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Rainy days were indeed awesome. I wanted to spend a few minutes more on the stairs and stare at the sky. But my prospects of eating the sumptuous breakfast were turning colder by the minute. I increased my pace and entered the room. The sandwich was delicious. I poured tea in the cup. I could feel it’s warmth spreading inside me. I realized i had been feeling very cold. The clock was ticking. I devoured the food and wondered about the books. I could take a book with me. There was so much that needed to be done.

I chose not to push my luck. I could carry the books the next day. It was not the time to feel greedy. I locked the room, ran up the stairs and closed the attic’s door behind me. I was back with a filled stomach. Attic seemed less cold now. Attic was my home inside home. Rain was falling. I could hear the raindrops. It was an open musical. Life was dancing to it’s tune. Human beings were awake. World was ready for another day. I was also ready to live another day. I was ready to start again from where i left the day before. I turned the pages and touched the last sentence i penned on paper. I could feel that moment. I ended a long and dreary day when i wrote those words.

My room downstairs seemed like a different world to me. It was only a few steps away. I remembered clinging to it tightly. Those few hours inside my room downstairs were precious for me. I ate freshly prepared dinner and slept in my bed. I talked and i watched television. I repeated some lies. I listened quietly most of the times. I missed those hours. I looked forward to living them everyday. Revisiting those hours in my head was like an addiction. I replayed that experience in my mind over and over again. I reminded myself that i was entering the forbidden alleys. I couldn’t break the deal. I couldn’t wander and get lost inside my head. It was simply not worth it.

I ended the nostalgic trip and returned to my books. Work was pending. I couldn’t ignore the deadline. Srilanka was the country i needed to research. I opened the book and magically, a whole world became alive. I started making notes. The climate, the location, the tourist spots and the myths were fascinating. Everything was important. Countries were like people. They behaved like people. They had a distinct personality, history and a unique culture. I could write for hours but i had to follow the maximum limit of two thousand words per article strictly. Srilanka was no longer a stranger to me. I had been reading about it from days. I had a feeling that it was keen to be my friend. I smiled and we shook hands. I could be a pleasant friend. I loved to know so much about different places and worlds. When i met a country, i had a feeling that i was meeting a stranger over a cup of coffee. Countries were my kind of people. I enjoyed their company a lot.

I was a ghostwriter. I wrote for others. Someone else was credited for the work i did. I preferred that scheme of things. I wrote in lieu of money. I saved that money for the rainy day. A rainy day in life was different from the days when it rained. It didn’t make noise but there was tremendous chaos inside it. I survived some very rainy days in life. I remembered them very well. I worked to earn the buck and saved it to keep myself going. Attic was where i took refuge. I cleaned it nearly everyday. Nobody visited it except me. It was home to some old objects. They were my co–passengers in a strange voyage. We held each other tightly. Life inside the attic was a roller coaster ride.

I marked the country i was researching on the map and began writing. I was writing for a travel blogger. He had seen the world. He had pictures to prove it. But he was busy with life. He needed someone to write for him secretly. He and his blog were popular. He gave me the pictures of the country he wanted to write about. My sister borrowed books about the country from her college library. I imagined the trip inside my head and knitted a story in words. I sent it to the blogger. He posted it in his blog. My name was never mentioned. That was the chief reason why i chose to be a ghost writer. It was important for me to remain invisible. I was afraid of light. I could only imagine sharing a cup of coffee with someone. Actually, sharing a cup of coffee with someone was a nightmare for me in real life. Writing quietly in the attic was my cup of tea.

Everyone believed that i was somewhere else. The attic was the only room on the third floor of the house. Nobody set foot there. My parents rented the second floor to a family. Our tenants were private people. They didn’t believe in trespassing. They were not interested in anyone. They were not interested in any other floor of the house other than the one they occupied. My family occupied the ground floor and the first floor. The third floor of the house didn’t exist for the world.

Everyone believed that i was at the college library. Everyone knew i was a nerd. I spent the whole day buried in books. When i told my parents that i wanted to leave home early in the morning to study in the library, they were more than fine with it. Nobody doubted my intention. Nobody felt the need to cross-check my routine. They trusted me. I visited the library years ago. Life was difficult during those days. I was fighting with so much on a daily basis. I used to travel in buses and walk on roads. I was not living a difficult life during that time. I was living a dangerous life. It took me a long time to realize that i could seek refuge inside the attic. But that was a very long story. It was longer than two thousand words. I couldn’t complete it in one go. It meandered in so many directions. I was exhausted each time i tried to tell that story to myself. In summers, when the harsh sun turned the attic in a furnace, i stopped writing and tried to remember my life before the day i opened the attic door.

I clearly remembered that day. It was a sad day. It was a strange day.

They wanted me to ‘keep going’. I was born in the family of go-getters. Everyone except me was a super-achiever in my family. We belonged together but it was difficult for me to keep up with their pace. Life became more than tough after school ended. Attic was nearer than the nearest bus stop. It was but natural for me to use it. I was always big on the profit part. Thirty stairs and fourteen steps were manageable. They were within my reach. Unknown to the world; i stayed under that tin roof and wrote a travelogue for hours for a famous blogger. I wrote some other things also but I hid them inside my bag. They were not meant for others. I lived inside the attic until it was dark outside. After dark, i tiptoed down the stairs, kept my things in my room and then i rushed downstairs and pressed the doorbell. My mother always opened the door. She welcomed me with warmth and love. She prepared my favourite snacks every evening. I watched television. Nobody found a fault with me. My parents thought that i was studying in the public library the whole day. I was a good kid.

My parents were waiting for me to cross an academic milestone. I spoke a hundred lies to them everyday. I told them that i was preparing myself to win the world. My younger sister stole my breakfast and lunch from the kitchen. She was my ally. I confided in her. She was the only one who knew the truth.

For as long i could remember, i was scared to be anywhere but at home. School was a traumatic place for me. I understood early in life that i needed to survive it. School was compulsory. Nobody wanted to think of an alternative. ‘Not going to school’ was not even considered an option. I could never feel at ease in school. I never belonged there. After school, i refused to let anybody take decisions for me. In college, i enrolled myself in a long-distance course. My decision turned out to be humiliating for my parents. They were questioned by everyone. My relatives were perplexed. They wanted to know the logic behind my decision. Nobody chose to stay at home if everything was fine with them. I was good in academics. All my arguments were labelled as excuse. Those years were traumatic. They did nothing to boost my confidence. I was paranoid of people and the outside world. People pointed fingers at me from as long as i remembered. I couldn’t trust anyone. I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder. I stopped attending social functions after school. I hated to be surrounded by people. Relatives and neighbours were curious about me. I was the odd one out. They always knew there was something wrong with me.

Finally, one day i confessed my fears to my sister. She agreed to help me. Every morning, long before anybody was awake; i carried my books and lunch box to the attic. I studied and worked in the attic throughout the day and returned home in the evening. My parents and my world believed that i was busy running the race of life. Nobody saw me for years. But that was okay with everyone. As long as i was running the right race, they didn’t mind if i was not around.

Sometimes i wondered why i was the way i was. Why was i so scared of things that didn’t bother anyone else? Why couldn’t i go outside and stay there for a few hours like everyone else? Life would have been so easy for me. Why was i so complex and strange? My sister was younger than me but she didn’t find anything troublesome. She enjoyed school and she loved to go shopping. The very prospect of leaving home and going outside was a matter of life and death for me. I didn’t feel safe anywhere else. It was difficult to imagine and plan a life with only my home in it. Life, home and the world were so intertwined with each other. The world didn’t entertain people who didn’t want to be a part of it. There was a long list of checkboxes. Each and every person was expected to tick all of them. I tried to make peace with the list but it never ended. It was a very demanding list. You were judged for your dressing style, hobbies, friends, social media likes, job appraisal and the parties you attended. I failed to tick the checkboxes. Without the ticks, i grew up to become a socially awkward person. I was not fine. The very thought of having a conversation with someone gave me shivers. I preferred to interact with people on phone and through e–mail. I was okay with life but life was not okay with me.

I wondered where i was heading in life when i took a break from work inside the attic on some brazen afternoons. I could only hope that one day life was going to make some sense and i will find a tiny place for myself in the world. I wasn’t lonely. I didn’t really need or crave for company. I was happy in my company. I had an equation with solitude. There was nothing poetic about it. Silence was a simple and comfortable company. It was easy to understand silence. Even as a child, i didn’t have a lot to say to the world. I was a quiet child. My parents told me that i was terribly shy as a child. I didn’t open up to strangers and almost never talked to anyone. I refused to be friends with anybody. I only interacted with the three immediate members of my family. My parents and my sister were whole my world.

There was a very long road inside my head. There was not a single street lamp on it. The darkness was so dense that despite walking on that road for years, i could never grow familiar with it. I walked on that road day and night. Sometimes, i ran on that road. I took a pause when i became breathless with the effort. Only very few people chose to walk on that road. I was alone there. I could see a tiny speck of light far, far away. I knew i needed to reach there. I followed that light every minute of my life. But i wasn’t even remotely near it. The light was way beyond my reach. I could never come close to it. I felt very cold and lonely while walking on the road. It was difficult to keep myself warm. My parents and my sister couldn’t see that road. They couldn’t be my companions. Everyday i cleaned the slate and started again. Everyday i wished to be near that speck of light.

There was a world beyond the planet we occupied. Sky was a never-ending sheet full of stars. Whenever life seemed impossible to me, i closed my eyes and visualized the sky inside my head. Earth was home to more than a million living beings. It was a relief to look at the big picture. It provided me an escape from the mundane. I could move from one day to another. I wanted to take a ride in an air balloon. I spent hours imagining myself inside a balloon. It could fly higher than the highest buildings. It could rise above the big mountains. I had a feeling that i will not feel scared during that ride. I wanted to learn horse-riding. I had a deep feeling of exhilaration whenever i saw a picture of someone riding a horse. I wanted to feel that emotion. I wanted to enjoy that ecstatic ride. I could enjoy life. I wanted to live life. I shared my feelings with my sister. I talked to my sister as much as i could. She knew all about me. She was the only person in the whole wide world who was a witness to my crazy life. I could not imagine a life without her as my sibling. She had always been kind to me. She understood that i was a different person. She understood that my emotional needs were different. She was born with a very unique wisdom. She listened to my woes without judging me. She was my only friend and associate. She answered the difficult questions. She managed the uncomfortable situations. I asked her what she thought about me. She smiled and hugged me tight. She always said that we didn’t need to think anything about people we loved. We only needed to keep loving them. I loved the way she loved me. I tried imitating her. But it wasn’t possible for me to become the person she was. In my travelogues, the narrator always travelled with a companion or found one along the way. She was my companion. She was my friend of the bosom.

I loved to read about places. I touched the boundaries on different maps for hours. World was a big place. It was full of mountains, forests and rivers. I saw them when i watched television. World was a magic box. It was an unbelievable place. It was made up of air, water, fire and earth. The amazing balance between these forces of nature was a miracle. My heart felt peaceful when i looked at the trees and the colourful flowers. Nature’s wisdom and creativity was a golden reservoir. While living in the attic, far, far away from the world; i dived deep inside the books and absorbed the information inside them like a sponge.

On some days when i was not feeling well, i thought about returning home a few hours earlier than usual. I wanted to go home. I missed home too much. I thought about going home early. But i never did it. I couldn’t take the risk of getting spotted near the attic. I couldn’t live anywhere else. I couldn’t draw anybody’s attention towards the attic. Attic didn’t exist for the world. It was a spare room on the terrace that always remained closed. There was a window inside it but it was heavily barred. A very thick layer of dust covered it. It was a closed space. Nobody was interested in