The Liberation of Sisyphus

I drift up the mahogany stairs, the colour of freshly brewed tea. I slide along the pristine floors until I come upon a room. Her room. Our room. Once. She sits there, typing away confidently on her laptop. I listen to the pleasant, evocative sound of the keys for a minute, and head into the room. I look around. Same old routine. Each day I hope is the last. Each day I bid goodbye to her, to this room, to our memories here, only to wake up again in the same place. She knows. She ignores. As usual, I orchestrate our daily routine.

“Arya”, I call out. She turns her head, her lovely raven-black hair swishing. A shard of affection pierces my heart, as does a smaller shard of hatred.

“Let me go. Please.”

Arya turns her head away. I slide closer to her, to see her face. As usual, I see a tear rolling down her cheek. She shakes her head. I see her swallow painfully.

“I can’t!” she cries out. More tears spill down her cheeks. I sigh and leave.

***

Our living room is beautiful—to me. It’s like a time capsule. Here is where I consoled her when her mom passed. Here is where we set down our newly adopted cat from the pet carrier. Here is where we sat and read books together. Here is where we watched dumb movies and went into laughing hysterics. And here… Here is where everything changed forever. I jerk away from that spot; I can’t bear to look at it for long. It hurts. Distracting myself, I gaze upon the photo frame set on the shelves and the coffee table.

This one shows our ten-day trip to Europe. Such lovebirds we were back then. That one shows our wedding day. I gaze upon it with mixed feelings. Half of me melts with love, seeing my wife decked up royally, like a sixteenth-century Indian princess. Another part of me sours upon seeing her face. Again, I jerk away.

How many years has it been since I’ve felt grass between my toes? How many years since I’ve felt rain tickle my cheeks? My throat hurts as a sob gets stuck in there. I loved this house once. I was proud of it when I first brought Arya here. Now this house reaches for my throat with wooden fingers. It strangles me. And I am defenceless. At first I let the house clutch me because of my love for her. Now my love dwindles as the days pass. I can scarcely tell one day from the next. Time flows here like water in a whirlpool. Randomly, quickly, consumingly. Arya has pulled the curtains over all the windows in her attempt to keep me from longing for the outside. For the after. She knows I cannot touch them. When did this love grow toxic as a bog?

***

I hear the creak of the stairs as Arya comes down. She can barely look me in the eyes anymore. The first day, we talked merrily. We thought me being here, me having more time was good. The second day, we had fun. But somewhere along the way… we became like those couples on TV who don’t talk. At first, the flowers of love continued to grow in my heart. Then, they began to wither and curl up.

I follow her around the kitchen as she makes herself tea. I don’t drink. I let my eyes wander around the kitchen. Arya works at the art museum around the corner. She was elated when I first revealed the kitchen backsplash—it showed the marriage of Shiva and Parvati in the traditional Kalamkari style. Arya sure is a stickler for Indian art. I almost chuckle at the thought, but my body doesn’t comply. It’s been years since I’ve smiled. Chuckling is like asking me to juggle lit diyas.

Arya turns around languidly, and her fingers accidentally touch the hot pot the tea is steeping in. She flinches and hisses. Years ago, I would have tried to help. Now I can’t bring myself to. I watch her reservedly. I watch as she looks at my unmoved face. I watch as hurt blooms across her features. I’m too hollow to care. This house has carved out everything that made me human.

I watch Arya sit down at the table and sip her tea. As usual, she has placed a second mug in front of her. As usual, no one drinks it. I observe her face. Each day I hope I’m looking at her for the last time. But then each day I wake up to find myself watching Arya typing away, watching her make tea, watching her read, eat, draw, sleep… I push these thoughts away and notice Arya staring at me. We stare for a while until the silence grows heavy. The silence drapes around our shoulders and pulls us down. Until Arya shatters it.

“What?” she asks.

“How long must I wait?”

Arya is quiet. I wait. “Until I can let go,” she says.

“And? When will you let go?”

She’s quiet again.

“When?!” I scream. A tear slides down my face. This is new. In the hundreds of times we’ve been through this, the waterworks have never begun for me. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Arya is crying now.

“Me? To you?! Do you have any idea what you have put me through? Do you even realise how fervently I wait? Do you understand how torturous this is? No, of course you don’t. ‘But I love you’ is all those lips know how to say.”

Arya covers her face with her hands. I hear whimpers. Her back quivers as she sobs.

I sigh in frustration and leave the room, climbing the stairs to the bedroom. Memories lie in every nook and cranny in this house, like artefacts waiting to be discovered. Step number fifteen. This is where Arya broke the news to me. This is where she placed my hand on her stomach and nodded knowingly. Step number seventeen. This is where we sat when our dreams of parenthood were destroyed. This is where I sat and rubbed her back and held her tight. I never wanted to be a father. But… Arya looked exuberant when she told me and I couldn’t bear to crush her like that. So I went along with it. Until it ended, anyway. I wonder what our child would think of Arya now, had it lived.

***

I look down at myself. I’m still dressed in the clothes from that day. The loose shirt that could be opened quickly in case of a medical emergency. The thin shorts that were comfortable in my distressed, sick state. The only difference is I’m considerably paler. Of course I am.

I head into the bedroom and see it as Arya left it. Her laptop open to some sort of records from her museum. Paper and pens scattered round. A little doodle of… Wait… That’s me. A little doodle of me in the margin of her notebook. I kind of want to take a pen and write some sort of threatening message. I’m so frustrated and empty and agitated here that any sort of entertainment will do. But I know I can’t. I found that out pretty quickly. I stand in the corner of the room, unsure, for there’s not much I can do here.

Arya walks in.

“Done crying? Great. You can free me now,” I say.

“Why are you so mean? Do you even remember us? Us back then?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s all I can think about.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure that’s why you can’t wait to leave.” She flung her hands in the air.

I sigh heavily. “Look. Us back then is just a wisp of a memory. We’ll carry it with us our whole lives. It will stay with us somewhere within. That’s it. We’re not meant to cling to it forever. Can you look at us right now and honestly say we’re happy? Why do you deny the fact that we might be happy if you just let go?”

“I don’t want to lose you, okay?! I can’t bear to think of it! The thought terrifies me. We got together young. I knew nothing of the world. I depended on you to guide me. Now you’re just shoving me out of the nest when my wings haven’t fully grown yet?”

“Oh my God! Arya, your wings are fine! You just can’t see them. You have to trust yourself. Who knows, maybe you’ll find someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else!”

I clutch my head in my hands and leave. Arya is a stubborn horse.

***

I wake up the next day and we go through the same routine. Again. I beg, she says no, she makes tea for two, we fight. It’s beginning to mess with my brain. Somewhere along the way, we fell into a routine full of hate and misunderstandings. This routine repeats again and again and again. The whirlpool. The maelstrom.

One day, a long while later, I am heading down the stairs as usual. Arya has pulled the curtains apart. Just a sliver. Small enough for one of her eyes to peek through. A breeze slips through, caressing my face. I briefly glimpse the outside world. It feels like my heart exploded. I slump down near the stairs and big, fat, tears erupt. They stream down my face as my anguish crumples me, leaving me breathless with misery. I’ve had enough. I feel like Sisyphus, doomed forever. I let it all out. A decade’s worth of torture pours out of me.

I wipe my eyes and take a minute to calm myself. My breath is coming in hitches.

Arya is looking at me, sorrow written on her face. She crouches by me and reaches out, but then pulls back before she touches my face, remembering that it’s pointless.

“Have I hurt you this much?” she asks slowly. I stay silent. There is no acceptable answer to such a question. Instead, I look at her. Creases between her eyebrows. Eyes shining with tears. She cares, I realise. It’s hidden deep within, but she does. Suddenly I don’t want to go anymore. I realise how much I miss Arya. The Arya I knew, I mean. The Arya from all those years ago. Part of me wants to stay and mend our relationship. Half of me thinks we can work it out. Maybe we can find each other again. But the other half of me knows. We will never be happy like this. I take a shuddering breath and say what I must say.

“Arya. It’s time to let go. You know this. I know this. I’ve accepted it. Now you must, too.”

Arya’s cheeks shimmer as tears flow down them.

“Are you happy? Living like this? Tell me the truth, Arya.”

She remained silent. At least she didn’t burst out with a “yes!” She was more open, now, to considering both sides. Then she spoke, softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. But… I realise this is not us. When we thought we had time, I didn’t realise the consequences back then. You found out much sooner than I did and suffered through them for me. Because of me.” She began hitting her head on the wall in despair.

“Arya, stop. I’m not blaming you. You loved me. I loved you. I don’t know if we do anymore. But what I do know is we’re never going to be at peace like this. This… This entire situation is… It’s not going to last. We’re going to destroy each other someday.

“Arya, we’re only hurting each other. Whatever love we had for each other, all those years ago, it’s not the same anymore. It’s time we accept it together.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You’ll figure it out yourself. Trust yourself to have that strength. Arya, do you love me?”

“Yes,” she says through tears.

“Then let me go.”

She buries her face in her hands.

“Let me go, Arya. Do it for our love.”

Slowly, she peels her hands away and looks at me.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

She closes her eyes. She’s visibly calmer now, though her breath is still shaky.

I reach my hand towards her cheek and my translucent hand passes through her skin. I hold it by her cheek anyway.

“Goodbye, Arya.”

“Goodbye, Aniruddh.”

I feel lightheaded all of a sudden. I realise I’m floating. I float through the walls of the house, up and away, until I’m miles above the house. I look around and see the outside world for the first time in a decade. I take in the green of the pastures, the grey of the roads, the rainbow of the houses. Who knows? I might never see this view again. I float higher and higher until I’m in the clouds. And then I disintegrate. Hindus believe the soul journeys for 13 days before settling. I took ten years. But I got there. In the end. I did.