THIS SONG GOES ON & ON

TANAY VERMA

Copyright © Tanay Verma All Rights Reserved. This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. While every effort has been made to avoid any mistake or omission, this publication is being sold on the condition and understanding that neither the author nor the publishers or printers would be liable in any manner to any person by reason of any mistake or omission in this publication or for any action taken or omitted to be taken or advice rendered or accepted on the basis of this work. For any defect in printing or binding the publishers will be liable only to replace the defective copy by another copy of this work then available.

Contents Acknowledgements

v

1. Hurry Up, I Have To Die

1

2. To Nowhere

17

3. Heaven Falls From The Sky

46

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Acknowledgements This song is dedicated to my subconscious.

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I Hurry up, I have to die I am not certain how long have we been walking, how long has it been since we left the station. The road appears to be endless from here, and the forest on either side of it dense and unknown. Dusk is around the corner, and intertwining branches of ferns and deodar trees cover the road, blocking the fading sunlight. Vivaan and I are a few feet behind the convoy. All our workmates including the base leaders are walking ahead of us on the long road, talking, whispering, laughing. Their backs are toward us, their faces unseen, but I can make out the back of Ahna. The ends of her hair are lost in the depths of her black denim jacket. She is not far from here, from me. I can escalate my pace and get to her, to hold her hand. “Arjit told me it is the third time he’s going to see the light,” Vivaan says.

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“I don’t believe it,” I say. “Arjit does not seem like the guy who would come here, travel, walk in these forests to see the light.” “What if he has seen it?” He asks. “It doesn’t…” I try to look for the large head of Arjit in the swarm of people ahead of us. “I don’t get it. How can all of these people be allowed to see the light anyway? I mean, they all believe the light belongs to their category of people. I mean, I heard the guys from F base arguing about how it was their forefathers from their community who were called up in the sky from the light. They didn’t even see this happen. It’s all stories told by their fathers who heard these stories from their fathers,” “Yeah, I know, believing made-up stories is stupid and all, but let them have their own reason for going on. And, anyway, they won’t even hear us if we told them otherwise,” Vishal sir, the Head of the workplace, and Mandar, the guy who follows Vishal sir everywhere, have taken a turn towards the pathway to the right that leads deeper into the forest. Vishal sir has his eyes on the ground while Mandar is looking around like a bored kid on an educational tour. People follow them, making their way at the pace of their respective groups. Vivaan and I are the last ones to walk on the pathway decorated with crunched leaves and plastic wrappers, broken twigs and half-formed footprints. The second tree on the right has a wooden plank pinned on its trunk with a nail in the top middle, and on it ‘Don’t get lost’ is written in bold. “Okay, so, according to you, was there anyone who was called up to the sky, and if yes, then who?” I ask Vivaan, making sure the guys walking ahead of us are lost in their own insignificant conversation. I have heard countless ●2●

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stories, read numerous news articles on the portal about how discussions about the light and who it belongs to sometimes lead to physical confrontations and even deadly attacks. “That doesn’t matter,” he readily answers. “It is as unimportant as who poops first in the morning. It is a fascinating sight, an emblem of the existence of magic, and people should only consider it as such.” I cock my head sidewards to witness all three of the moons aligned. The moons, inches apart from each other on the melancholic sky cloaked by fog, appear as white balls of cotton. “But, if I have to pick one, or maybe two,” Vivaan scratches one of his eyebrows. “I think it should be that scientist who proved how everything came to be and gave equations for dimensions and all. Or maybe that playwright who literally shaped all the stories that came afterwards,” “You know you snatched the words right out of my brain,” I take a swift glance at him, at his wavy, patchy beard, and crooked nose. “But, still, whoever was called up, if someone was, it in no way affects us,” I have a couple of counterarguments floating around in my head, however, knowing every argument will inevitably lead to the same conclusion, I keep silent. The rising cold makes my knees shiver as I walk. I rub my palms together in a failed effort to generate some heat before putting on the hoodie over my head. The group right ahead of us is laughing loudly over something one of them just said. The joke had to be unfunny and trivial, and still, they are pulsating the calm environment. ●3●

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“Dude, why aren’t you with her?” Vivaan points towards Ahna. She is talking nonstop, while Deepak nods and winks at her and gives her a slight push of the elbow in between. Maybe she is telling him about her day at the workplace, or about some stray animal she spotted on the way to the workplace, or about the new project she has been thinking of for weeks, or about the last trip she went on. Maybe. I am not certain, it could be anything, for I am not the one she is telling that to. “Do you think she wants to be with me? It has been hours since we left the station, and she hasn’t talked with me once,” “Alright,” he gazes deep into the distance, somewhere between the rows of trees. “I don’t know, it’s just weird. You guys are partners. But it never seems like you are,” “I know,” I look away from her. “She says she wants us to be the real partners, but she has never been with me for a whole day. She would rather talk to all these guys. But, it’s okay, maybe they’re more interesting than I am,” “Maybe,” “Fuck off,” As we move further, the trees get gradually taller, elevating the grandeur of the forest, the intenseness of the dark. Mandar already has his flashlight switched on, gripped in his tiny hand, focusing it on the ground a few inches before Vishal sir’s feet. A white speck in the expanse of dark grabs my attention by the throat. It is illuminating on one of the trees on the left. A few more steps, and the white speck metamorphoses into a figure with asymmetrical petals. It is a white flower hanging from a loose branch on a tree. Vivaan too is mesmerized by the rebellion the flower ●4●

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exhibits just by existing. I step closer to it, pondering how come no one before us noticed the flower, and if they did, how come they did not stop to let in its substantial delicacy. It has around three to four long petals encompassing the shorter ones, and an even longer white pistil sticking out from the middle. I reach out with my hand but stop an inch away, being afraid I might kill the flower if I touch it. We resume walking, for the rest of the people have moved on, have left us behind. From here, we can only see the beams of light flickering, dancing in the dark. Vivaan and I too pick our flashlights out from the kangaroo pockets on our hoodies and switch them on. I point my flashlight forward but look upward to gawk at the moons. The fog, as prolific and pompous as it is, has almost hidden the moons under its trappings. “You know, people even worship them,” Vivaan says. “The moons,” “I know,” I chuckle. “I mean, they’re just celestial bodies that circle around us due to gravity. They are just there with no inherent meaning,” Vivaan slams the flashlight on his forehead, switching it off. “It’s just like the light,” another white flower blossoms on a comparatively broader tree far from the trail we are on. “That’s why none of these people will ever be called up,” “Oh, so, you mean to say, ‘cause you don’t pray, you will be called up by the light?” Vivaan switches the flashlight back on. I shake my head in utter dismay at the lack of control over the words that flow out of my throat. It has been in my thoughts for months or more now, but I have never said it out loud. Although Vivaan is the most understanding and ●5●

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free person I know, but I am not sure if even he will understand my conception of my own destiny. But I have been silent for too long, listening to my thoughts for too long, sleepwalking from home to workplace, from people to people for too long. I can give it a try. “Not because I don’t pray or I have no faith. Just because I will be called up,” I say, carefully placing every word after the other. “So, you’re saying, you are the chosen one?” Vivaan asks, tilting his head to look at me with suspicion in his eyes. “Yes, I am saying exactly that,” A weird amalgam of tickling and weightiness rises within me just as I say that. “Okay,” he nods. A sudden rush of light blinds me. I close my eyes and take the cover of my hand, mumbling, “what the fuck!?” “Where have you guys been?” It is a familiar voice. An authoritative voice I am familiar with. I feel the light slide off from my face. I move my hand and open my eyes to see Preeti ma’am, the second manager at the workplace, standing before us with her arms crossed around her waist and both her eyebrows unevenly raised. I look at Vivaan, pleading with him through extended sighs to take cover. “Uh, his, um, his specs fell, so we were looking for them,” Vivaan says. Of all the excuses in the world, he comes up with that. I should have taken the lead. I could have. I really need to work on my social skills, especially with regard to older people and people with categorical hierarchical power. “Anyway, I must inform you that all the jobbers have to come at eight in the morning and leave at five in the evening. Not one minute late or early. Starting from ●6●

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tomorrow. Got it?” She waits for a fraction of a second and turns around to catch up with her peers before we could open our mouths. “This is so fucked up,” I shake my head while exhaling deep breaths. “Yeah,” “Fuck this!” I kick a rock that was sitting cautiously near my feet. “How can they… What? Fuck! All of these managers and leaders come after ten, and they ask us to be there at eight. How is that fair? And they leave before four. And we’ll have to be there till five or we will be marked absent. How is that fair? And, through and through, day after day, we have to take their shit to add on top of that. They had some issue at their homes, some argument with someone, some other problem, so they’ll have a bad mood and take it out on us. What the fuck?” “Okay, calm down, dude,” Vivaan says, patting my shoulder before resuming walking. “It has always been like that,” “I know, but that doesn’t make it any right.” I am aware of the fact that I am not a proficient jobber at the workplace. I would cause a blunder every other day and do something that affects other departments every other week. I am not sociable either. Jobbers and even leaders of my department and of others have tried for days and have given up on trying to make an acquaintance out of me. I purposely sit on the last chair, keep my head lowered and legs spread under the table during the whole day. Vivaan works on the top floor, so we get to meet only during lunchtime. Ahna works in another building, and she always forgets to eat lunch with me or even meet me. She always has something going on. Throughout our partnership of ●7●

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months, she would tell me she does not get free time during the job hours, not even during the lunchtime. Not even ten minutes. Not once. But the worst part is whenever I go to her workspace, she would be talking with someone, some guy. She would have some free time. The other day, this old staff man made a joke about how no one knows me and I know no one in the entire building when I have been working there for three years. Everyone laughed at the joke. I am aware of the fact that I am alone in a place packed with people, stories, ideas, and things. But I want to be alone there, and their continual implementation of elaborate schemes to further exploit their jobbers is one of the major reasons contributing to that. “Hey,” Vivaan shakes my contemplations away. “Look,” he motions his head towards a string of white flowers on a number of trees on the right. People ahead of us are also mesmerized by these ethereal flowers now. With each step into the forest, another tree reveals itself with more bewitching flowers blooming on it than the one before. While I gaze at the beauty, a vigorous rush of breeze sails over my skin. The breeze is so domineering, it plucks the flowers from the branches and throws them around. The flowers float around for a while before settling on the ground. I reach out with my hand, and this time grab one of the flowers before it could hit the bottom. Its petals are frail, curling inwards as my skin touches it. I look up ahead, and Ahna is holding a flower in her hand too, showing it to Mihir. All the half-done stories that live in the spaces between my thoughts, all the half-done stories of her that she will never know about are whirring and slamming against each ●8●

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other, compelling me to shut my eyes and look for her inside. But I have been looking inside for far too long, I have been in my head for far too long. My eyes hurt, and my chest has been hurting for far too long. I cannot keep my eyes open, and I cannot shut them again. I cannot keep breathing for long enough. I need to come alive, I need to get to the other side, I need to be called up by the light. “Come on,” Vivaan says, getting me back in the forest. Vishal sir and Mandar instruct everyone in hushed voices, motion their hands in grandiose movements, and then turn right to a smaller pathway. The rest of the convoy follows them into the depths of the forest, into the dark, into the unknown. I wonder if they know the right way. For from here it seems these man-made pathways carved in dirt, grass, mud, and worms contribute to an intricate maze that keeps on opening and ending within itself. Perhaps the way to the light was simple, as most things should have been, could have been, and then people came along and made it complicated. The pathway, in contrast to the speculations running wild in my head, ends in a clearing designed with cut logs of trees placed on either side of tables. The tables are put along the margins of the clearing. People take seats on the logs, rest their elbows and flashlights on the wooden tables, talking and settling. Vivaan and I take the only vacant table left that by chance is the smallest one. A young guy, probably of my age, emerges from behind a tree on the other end of the clearing, holding a bunch of leather files in his hands. He places one file on each table, clutching the end of his black tee-shirt. He approaches our table last, flipping the last file open and shut, and our eyes meet and linger on to the other for a dragged-on moment – a moment that should ●9●