The silence came upon the room much like the deafening music suddenly coming to a full stop. Smoke filled the air. The windows had shattered and there was glass everywhere. The vase, the one we had bought together at Crawford Market just a month ago, now lay in pieces across the carpet. The mirror along the doorway had cracked down the middle.
I looked in the mirror and then it struck me. I never used to be this way. I was a good man. When did I become like this? She was only just with me. Natasha and John were good kids too. When did it all change? When did I change? And now they were gone.
I think it was the day at the pub. Yes, I think that was it. At the pub. The beer was warmish that day, warmer than I like it. I had two actually. Then I walked out towards my car. Yes, that was it. The car. It was a red Toyota — the car that Dad used to drive and a hand-me down. I hadn’t earned enough to buy one
of my own.
I remember sitting in the driver’s seat for a long while, not sure where to go next. The only place that made sense was home, my home. I turned the key and started driving. Towards Goa. Getting out of Bombay was a pain as usual. The traffic was killing, and the honking… why do people honk so much? I have this theory that people here believe they are the sons of Moses. They honk and expect the traffic to part. The Bombay-Goa expressway opened up after about thirty minutes.
The mountains rose to the right with steep drops on the left. Thankfully there were no roadblocks or signs of a landslide this time. The air had gotten thinner now, and fresher. I loved the mountain air. That familiar sense of abandonment crept in. My heartbeat was slower now. The noise of the city had finally faded, and a quietness had taken its place. I was in familiar surroundings.
We were nearing Panchgani now. It had gotten chilly. The mountains had turned green. The sides of the road were lined with teak, banyan, and eucalyptus trees swaying gently in the wind. I pulled down the window and smelt the air; it was like a cologne that opened your senses. I stopped the car for some tea and chikkis I remembered and loved from childhood. It was good to be going home.
The house in Bandolim loomed in the distance. It was drawing closer now. The house looked smaller than when I saw it last. Perhaps age does that to you. Things and people that once loomed large start to look small, I thought. The way love once did.
The place was dusty and musty as I opened the door. The air was stale. My bed and my table were still there, covered in a thin film of dust. I went to the verandah and opened the door, letting in the sea air. It was blue outside, and the beaches were empty at this time of day. The beer shacks were quiet, the palm trees — my old friends from childhood — still swayed in the wind.
I went back to my bed, lay down, and picked up the book from where I had left off years ago.
Soon they would find the bodies. And take me away.Till then…rest.
----- Sanjiv Chaterjee
11.10.25
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