I have always considered myself to be a loner, (or even aloner, than
other people, that works too). It's not really a badge that I've worn
with pride on my sleeve, but something I've been secretly proud of. Yet there was a point in my life when I used to dread loneliness. I remember, being the older child, I was forced to sleep alone at night by my 'modernized' parents (especially my mother) who wished to cultivate a sense of independence in me. Well it's not as cruel as it sounds, except that in those days, I used to cry every night, feeling afraid of the dark when often my grandma came to my rescue and used to secretly lie in bed with me till I fell asleep. Till the time my sister grew up, I used to sleep alone, and I don't know at which point I discovered the liberties I could enjoy when I slept alone. I used to stay up till late (an abominable thing to do for a school kid), dance around the room, talk to myself and to imaginary characters, write my diary, read books under the light of table lamps, and when I grew up further, masturbate. I don't know when the darkness grew into me and when loneliness turned into a much coveted aloneness. It probably contributed to me, a child with a penchant for incessant chatter and labelled 'talkative' in her pre-primary report card, becoming a soft-spoken, reserved, introverted teenager. I started to love being alone. Nothing, not a room full of people, could ever touch my aloneness. What is aloneness, after all? It is a heightened consciousness of the self, a realization of the love for the self, love which entails anger, hatred, passion, sorrow, grief and every emotion known and unknown to mankind.
I had Riki, our spitz, who passed away when I was in class 3. Not realizing what death was, I felt sad that my live plaything had died, but felt no deeper sorrow. It was in class 10 that Coco, our labrador, made her grand entry into our lives. And it was then, perhaps, that someone invaded my aloneness. Her company was sought after, I used to seek her out in moments of distress and anxiety, sit quietly beside her and vent my feelings to her, and it seemed that she shared my pain by being the silent listener. She was somewhat like me, a silent friend, not doing much to allay my sorrow, but giving the much needed shoulder to cry on. She would sit with me for hours in our balcony, as I would stroke her and say all that I had to say. I think she could not take it anymore after a few years, all the pain, the sorrow, the miserableness of the world, and left us in 2011, when she was six years old.Even in her last days, when she could hardly walk, she attempted to get the newspaper from downstairs, and refused to pee anywhere but in the toilet. Coffee, the golden retriever, was different. He came a day after Coco left us. Mischievious, intelligent and hyperactive from the beginning, he was the naughty little brother I never had. He was not the type to sit and listen to my rants for hours; he would inevitably do some mischief or perform some antic that was bound to make me forget my problems and run after him, laughing, despite myself. He never learnt; he peed in the dining room, ate from the dustbin, barked his heart off at strangers and at every unsual noise. He was like my younger sister, a lot of fun and an attention seeker. I don't know why he had to go, why he had to leave us so prematurely, from an illness abruptly contracted and lasting for a week. Looking at the superactive dog, who never even took a slow step, walking exhaustedly with drooping eyes, and not protesting when I stripped on the muzzle was heartbreaking. It was as if the kid had suddenly grown up, and worse still, it was pain that made him grow up. I don't know why he had to leave us two weeks ago, when he was only four years eight months old, and that too after extreme suffering and pain. I am still trying to make sense of the meaninglessness of the injustice and cruelty that life metes out to us. Till then, I have realized, these two were not the invaders, but rather the companions of my aloneness. Now, my aloneness has become lonely.
I had Riki, our spitz, who passed away when I was in class 3. Not realizing what death was, I felt sad that my live plaything had died, but felt no deeper sorrow. It was in class 10 that Coco, our labrador, made her grand entry into our lives. And it was then, perhaps, that someone invaded my aloneness. Her company was sought after, I used to seek her out in moments of distress and anxiety, sit quietly beside her and vent my feelings to her, and it seemed that she shared my pain by being the silent listener. She was somewhat like me, a silent friend, not doing much to allay my sorrow, but giving the much needed shoulder to cry on. She would sit with me for hours in our balcony, as I would stroke her and say all that I had to say. I think she could not take it anymore after a few years, all the pain, the sorrow, the miserableness of the world, and left us in 2011, when she was six years old.Even in her last days, when she could hardly walk, she attempted to get the newspaper from downstairs, and refused to pee anywhere but in the toilet. Coffee, the golden retriever, was different. He came a day after Coco left us. Mischievious, intelligent and hyperactive from the beginning, he was the naughty little brother I never had. He was not the type to sit and listen to my rants for hours; he would inevitably do some mischief or perform some antic that was bound to make me forget my problems and run after him, laughing, despite myself. He never learnt; he peed in the dining room, ate from the dustbin, barked his heart off at strangers and at every unsual noise. He was like my younger sister, a lot of fun and an attention seeker. I don't know why he had to go, why he had to leave us so prematurely, from an illness abruptly contracted and lasting for a week. Looking at the superactive dog, who never even took a slow step, walking exhaustedly with drooping eyes, and not protesting when I stripped on the muzzle was heartbreaking. It was as if the kid had suddenly grown up, and worse still, it was pain that made him grow up. I don't know why he had to leave us two weeks ago, when he was only four years eight months old, and that too after extreme suffering and pain. I am still trying to make sense of the meaninglessness of the injustice and cruelty that life metes out to us. Till then, I have realized, these two were not the invaders, but rather the companions of my aloneness. Now, my aloneness has become lonely.
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