I have an alter-ego who loves the mess in my room. Who believes that my hormones would flow, just intact, even after the endless cups of coffee consumed, who believes that sex is the only way to nirvana, that driving through darkness fuels up amazing conversations, that mourning after death is the soul's way of sucking all the left-over drops of karma, whos believes that she has killed my dad when I was 16, that I have a body full of flaws. Who believes that she's going to die the next day morning.
She slips into the enormous amounts of a city-bus, stinking with the stench of sweat, smoke, different substances used to wash clothes, different talcum powders, perfumes, waxes sometimes, unwashed socks, paan, gutka all mixed together with a commotion of audio effects for a background score, trying not to remember that only years ago, she never travelled out of the comfort of an air-conditioned car.
She listens patiently to people, understands their problems, tries to be a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend and a good girlfriend, burying all the pain that's bubbling beneath the surface that needs to break free. She falls asleep every night, with tear-filled eyes, trying to tell herself that she is not alone. That the empty flat is one of the wisest decisions that she has made. She lives on bandi-chai and machine coffee, munching on a some custom-made junk solutions in between that keep her going. But deep inside she knows that she owns a stomach full of worms and a few killed babies. She suspects that she has Cervical cancer and that she's dying. She wishes to.
Because the day I've trailed away, my alter-ego has taken over. She badly needs a holiday. She prays for a lifetime hike to be granted. She wants to dream. She wants to fly. She wants to lie on the beach , with waves touching her feet and idly count the stars. She wants an unlimited supply of popcorn without havibg to earn it. She wants to drop dead while shopping. She wants to smile, like really smile. She wants to talk without thinking of the consequences. She wants to walk without expectations. She wants to be me.
