The headaches follow a random pattern. Sometimes, an entire day would pass without one while on others, I would constantly feel a ringing voice in my ear, a burning sensation in my eyes, bright light disintegrating into even brighter colors, hitting me at all angles. At such times, I either closed my eyes or just kept looking at her to find solace. Her calm, peaceful eyes being an exact anti-thesis to my troubled ones. Sometimes, the headaches continued through the night and it was impossible to sleep. On such nights, she would just hold my hand and play with it, matching the length of our fingers, trying to decipher some patterns in the lines of my palm, filing my nails, sometimes painting them; crazy girl! I don’t know much about cosmic or the Karmic connection but as she fell asleep, her hand still tightly gripping my thumb, the feeling of oneness I felt was/is/will remain unparalleled, we shared an unknown unspoken bond. Slowly, as my condition improved, I realized she always went somewhere around noon only to return in the evenings. But what amazed me the most was how she was always there whenever I felt lonely, whenever I needed her. I remember going to Goa in India during some earlier college life. While the beaches were alive with thousands of people during the daytime, at night they bore a deserted look. And it was then that the waves, making a thunderous noise, like a passionate lover who could no longer be restrained, moved towards the land, kissing it and enveloping its emptiness with its warmth. It sounds a little crass but she was the wave which drenched the parched me in her love’s sweet nectar. Someone is knocking at the door. I hear some loud noises. Someone is shouting, someone is running around. My nerves are going to explode. I fall asleep.
I am lying on the floor. The house is dead silent like a graveyard. I can hear my own heart pulsating confirming that I am still alive. Suddenly, the silence is broken by a shrilling voice, someone shouting, shouting for help. Again silence. I am hallucinating. The noises are all inside my head. I press my forehead with my hands. There is something sticky on my hands. Suddenly, I realize I am lying in a pool of blood. I get up, only to fall down again, my rickety legs entangled in her hair. I turn her body to look who she is. The maid. Again someone shouting. I can no longer stand it.
I’ve just got up. I feel very fresh today. There is no one else in my room but I can hear some tinkering noises coming from the kitchen. The maid must be at work. I look around. There is a diary by my bedside. Oh, the diary. I started reading it last night. Its her personal diary, I mean Jane’s. Mostly science stuff. But here and there she reminiscences about her past. I shouldn’t be reading it but I don’t have anything else to do until she comes back. Oh, how I miss her. “You got to be kidding me”, that is how most people react when I tell them that I am a biophysicist. “But you are just 35, so hot and umm….so cool. You gotta be freaking kidding me”. But the first thing he said to me was, “Excuse me, but you are at the wrong table”. Hehe. It was the spring of 2005. I strain hard to remember that beautiful spring. I can see some hazy images. I am wearing a pink cowboy hat and driving a fancy sports car. I think I am going crazy again. I close the diary.
Yesterday she spent the entire day with me. Her presence never fails to cheer me up. We played a stupid game where we clapped each other’s hands all day long. She said something about some diary. I don’t remember it now. I call the maid and ask for the diary but all she keeps saying is imaginary words like pills, experiment….another frustrated single mother living in some ghetto….I feel pity for her. Jane comes back in the evening and we again play the clap clap thing. She leaves in an hour. After she is gone, I notice a diary on my bed. We were both attending a conference on DNA replacement in Michigan State University. I saw him sipping coffee by himself after a lecture where he talked about the future of DNA treatment methods. By the way, by he I mean the head of Biotechnological Research at MIT, nobel laureate Michael Jones. Michael Jones, hmm, so I am called Michael. I like it. Despite the relatively cold initial response I got, I kept bugging him. Obviously, we scientists are reclusive people and hate to socialize but then I am the cool scien. Hehe. What I liked the most about him in that first meeting (something that I still love about him) was the sincere look on his face as he read some research paper and at the same time looking up at me with a cute smile everytime I told him how much I loved him. Love, nah, it was more of adulation. But then I am always attracted towards intelligent people, and older men, WOW! Hehe. I kept on talking and talking while he just said a word here or there in between and I was left speechless. Only for a moment though. I sure am a chatterbox. I get up and look at myself in the mirror. A smile comes on my face. Nobel laureate, scientist, I readjust my stance. I told you I had an inkling that I was a mathematician in some earlier life. I straighten my collars. I am on cloud nine. You know why, cuz she loves me too. I see myself wearing a pink hat in the mirror. Sounds of a fight between Jane and the maid. Oh, I didn’t know she was home. Home, well yes, I don’t have any memories associated with this place but I have started to think of it as my home. After all, home is where Jane is. But why is she shouting? I again feel dizzy and fall down on the ground.
P.S. With invaluable inputs from Munnu.