De-Addiction

The ceiling fan whirs noisily overhead.

My mind is unnaturally calm.

 

Having heard me come in, Ma is coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her saree’s pallu.

I had been away for six hours. She knows it has been done.

She just wants to confirm. “You did not do it, right? Please tell me you did not.”

I simply look at her, throw my dupatta on the sofa and go to the balcony.

I do not want to explain. Or listen to her. I want calm. I want to be soothed. I want the moon and his countless star wives – band-aids to the gashes on my heart.