Space
Proma Orchi।।
“You have such a beautiful pair of eyes. Sometimes I just want to scoop them out from their sockets with a fork.” muttered Rupu.
I glanced, very plaintively, at her. She was, undoubtedly, one of my favourite colleagues in that very woeful, grieve stricken workplace, if she had any personal favourites at all. Her manners of speech did not astonish me anymore, nor aroused any form of curiosity, mostly because she made such statements, frequently, about the persons she loved. Rather I throw her a remorse filled sympathetic look, as we lean down to tend and dress the bedsore of the patient we were attending.
Just like a dam that was infrastructurely inapt to contain the turbulence of the water stream, the two skinny and shabbily dressed security guard in front of the emergency room of our hospital was overwhelmed with the number of the patients queued before the gate. A deep sigh escaped from my chest, as I mentally tried to calculate the amount of effort I needed to put in before my shift was over. Fear was so easily palpable in the air, people-driven frenzy as the so-called “contamination” of the unknown disease spread, quiescently affecting a huge population.
Rupu hummed a little tune as she moved to attend her next patient while I, avoiding her eyes, throw a tentative yet hopeful stare at my cellphone screen. No notification. Not a single call. Rupu transfixed her eyes on me suddenly and blurted out,
“Yet no news of Asif, isn’t it?”
Yes, there was no news of Asif, my spouse. Just from the very moment he offered himself as a subject of a very confidential research project, our communication became less and less frequent. Sometimes he would send a small text, letting me know the fragmented bits and pieces of how he was doing well. I never knew his precise location, or where he was, which he actually defined as “classified information”. Sometimes he would call me just to cheer up my mood, which in most of the cases ended with both of us sobbing frantically.
Rupu made no attempt to console me, that is something she never does. Rather as our shift progressed to an end, she offered me to drop home to which I agreed generously. As her car slowly navigated through the desolate roads and narrowed down alleys, the melted beams of the setting sun created bizarre patterns in the tinted car window. Rupu mumbled incoherently,
” Your cheeks look so flushed and beautiful in the sunlight. Like an apple. I can’t control the temptation to bite!”
I vacantly stare at her, making no attempt to respond, rather throw an abrupt question,
“Rupu, do you have any idea about the research projects that Asif is into?”
She looked rather taken aback, even perplexed. I guessed she knew some information, being the daughter of a high official, and she was too obedient to me to hold any information she might know. She started to state almost in a hushed whisper,
“Well….(a pause), I have heard they test the aptitudes of the subjects, all aptitudes. Their ability to cope with different situations and circumstances. They are sometimes experimented in variations of temperature, in extreme hot or cold, maybe sometimes, they are crammed in a small room, given less space to sleep, or sometimes provided to sleep in small bunkers…that sort of…just to find out whether or not people from all socio-economic circumstance can cope the same…you know, with our limited resource that’s running out, these subjects could be an eye-opener with their coping capabilities”.
She paused. A long one. Then very hastily and diligently, she added,
” You know, Asif would do fine. He is a man with steel nerves, I tell you! And the project ends very soon, I guess. Please just don’t go worrying please!”
I acknowledged the fact about Asif and his firm determination but at the same time the information were far beyond my processing capabilities, so I helplessly mumbled,
“Cramped space? You mean small space?
How can even Asif sleep in cramped space? How would he even fit?”
For the first time, sorrow painfully reflected over her smooth face, as she and Asif both knew how claustrophobic I was. How I ordered a double-sized bed for us to sleep with our limbs sprawled or how I very dramatically avoided the elevator and insisted on taking the stairs! Rupu could realize the heavyweight befallen on me all of a sudden, and remorse grabbed her instantly. She made two or three light jokes to relieve the pressure and dropped me in front of my ghastly appearing home while I avoided bading her goodbye pretending to rummage my bag for the keys.
Pindrop silence inside my house. I didn’t expect any commotion as well. I almost jumped as my phone buzzed displaying Asif’s number. Very shakily, I received the call,
“Asif, How are you?”
“Just perfectly balanced, dear! And you?”
“I am just okay!”
Amongst the thousands of information that clouded my mind, all in this way or that relating to his well being, I could only visualize the bunker, the narrow bunker where I believed Asif failed to sleep at all.
“Do you sleep well Asif?” I asked shakily
A long pause. And then again that exuberant laugh. With another pause, he added,
“Well, if sleep is related to the amount of space I get to sprawl my limbs, then remember, my dear, earth gave us enough space to adequately fit into every place! Sometimes we consume more space than we need, don’t you think?”
I smiled, maybe after a century, or who knows, after a lifetime! Asif went on,
“What I should sing for you? Two lines perhaps? Imagine by John Lenon!”
As I gulped down the bolus of a tear forming in front of my Adam’s apple, I replied in a Rupu-like-condensed tone,
“You sing so well! I might bite your throat for singing so beautifully!”
