I'LL Do It Today

By Inchara S Adhikashreni

I unlocked the door with utmost care and sanitised the keys and my hands as I walked in. I ensured that the I had closed and latched the door before taking off my shoes and placing them straight on the rack, no tilts, no slips. All my other shoes were placed the same way. I gave a slight nod of satisfaction and sanitised my hands again. The 6 O’ clock train was whipping past the other side of the road when I came out of the bathroom, all washed and cleared of Bangalore’s dust and pollution on my keratinised organ. I could still hear the train. I stood at the bedroom window, wiping off any speck of dirt the moving train might have deposited on my window sill- of course, I always leave the window closed but you can never be too careful- and contemplated my life. I will do it today. It has been long overdue and there’s nothing left to do anymore. I must finish it off today. This can’t be delayed any longer.

I looked at the calendar. It was still just the 16th of March. Fifteen more days for the month to end. I had already paid the milkman and the newspaper agency for the whole month. I find it preposterous to pay money for advertisements and biased news that the papers have to offer and paying the agency extra at that! Besides, milk is just another mammal’s body secretion. Neither of these are worth fifteen days of extra daily wage. So, I had to push my plans till the end of this month. On the 31st, I’ll inform the agency and the milkman that I shall no longer need their mediocre services, thank you. Maybe I can give them a piece of my mind about cultivating a time sense too, since it won’t matter if the milkman gives me a cheap duplicate or the boy brings me a paper that has been stamped on. I should do it on 31st. Anything sooner would be dangerous. And by the1st of April, I shall be gone.

Now, I was slightly disappointed at the two weeks’ notice period I had handed myself but on the brighter side (and cleaner, as I prefer it) this gave me ample amount of time to chart my plan out obsequiously. Given the geographical proximity of the railway station, laying unawares on the track would be the best option. But it’s always good to have backups. So, I made a list on my phone.

1. Lay on the train tracks. Go at night to avoid being seen. Wear black. Search for a place away from the street lights.

Pros: Body won’t be found for a while. If lucky, it might not be recognised. House won’t stink.

Cons: Might be painful. Train might be delayed. Train might stop after seeing you there.

1. Fall off a tall building. Choose area away from neighbourhood where you won’t be recognised. Go at night to remain hidden. Choose a building under construction so that others are not disturbed.

Pros: House won’t be involved. Body might go unrecognised.

Cons: Construction sites might have at least some people at all times. Building must be very tall to ensure death.

1. Hang yourself from fan. Procure long, sturdy rope for the same. Use the bedroom fan to add a dramatic effect and delay being revealed by a few seconds after the main door is broken down. Reduce weight in the next fifteen days.

Pros: No moving out at odd hours, hence no suspicion aroused. No disturbance.

Cons: Fan might fall. House will stink. House will become a crime scene. Door will be broken down.

1. Cut yourself. Get kitchen knife sharpened from a reliable source. Do not use same to cut vegetables in order to preserve efficiency. Do it in the bathroom so at least some of the blood can drain out. Tie mouth so screams will be muffled.

Pros: Guaranteed death.

Cons: Will be messy. Extremely painful. House will become a dirty crime scene.

1. Take pills. Obtain the same from different medical shops in areas away from house.

Pros: Painless death (maybe).

Cons: Too risky. Might raise suspicions. No assurance of death.

Now that I had made a general plan, I could start my research. I figured that site inspections were mandatory in circumstances like these. I decided to start with the railway track tomorrow and continue my quest from there. At least this way I’ll see the tracks from close. I don’t prefer to travel in trains for obvious reasons- too many people, too much dirt, too many germs. So, this is my only chance to be on a track. Not in the train but under it. The thought was satisfying. I washed my hands and went in to make some khichadi.

As I thoroughly washed the rice and lentils, my mind started replaying moments of my monotonous life. I don’t know what exactly led to this point but I don’t remember being happy. Like, ever. I just existed until one day I didn’t want to. I’ve had a boring life. Maybe not as problematic as some stories I’ve heard but definitely not promising either. An abusive dad and a drunkard mom are not the ideal combination for parenting but of course, I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t turn out like either of them though. I only inherited the Y chromosome and OCD from my dad. I like to believe I only borrowed my mother’s womb but recent events point to other possibilities. I’ve been alone for most part of my life. I’ve tried to bring myself up differently from my parents. But in the process, I didn’t realise what I became though. Everyone kept telling me that I’m like neither of my parents but what I am like, no one knows. Sometimes, not even me. I just wake up each day, try to fit in this fast moving, unhygienic world around me and miserably fail. Every day. I just earn enough to maintain a standard life style, spend for the bare minimum and try not to hurt anyone even though I disagree with most of them. Until, I just had to stop. And that means I should give up on everything because I am neither rude like my dad nor inconsiderate like my mom. An acquaintance who had once observed my loneliness had taken the liberty of advising me to adopt a pet. It seemed reasonable back then but cats and dogs shed a lot of fur and deciding against it was not hard. So, I bought home a fish. A lone fighter, just like me. He had died two days later. The whistle of the cooker woke me up from my reverie and I went to turn the gas off, wiping the kitchen slab clean on my way.

The following night I went to the railway track for my site inspection. Three seconds into close proximity with the track and I had to abort plan A. The track stinks. since I was a railway novice, I had not considered the fact that the tracks are a rich source of human excreta and laying on the track would mean coming in contact with another man’s pee. For someone whose living hell was touching another man’s skin, it is beyond imagination what excreta can do. Living is a punishment, yes. But laying on the track is worse. I do not deserve that. I deleted plan A from my list.

The day after that, I caught a cab to a random location on google maps, sanitised the back seat and sat at the edge of the seat. Plan B would be tedious. The first day I couldn’t find anything that fit my description and thus had to continue looking for a couple of days in different areas. On the third day I found a relatively satisfying place from distant scrutiny. It was in a secluded area and was the tallest building in that region. Inconspicuous to a fault. I went closer to take a look. From up close it looked like the building was constructed over a dumpster. Filthy garbage reeked in all places making the place too disgusting even to die. Just then, a man who was taking a dump behind a heap materialised. He looked at me and said, “You don’t look like someone who would come here but anyway, you can go behind the building. It’s not very dirty there. It’s actually too clean for me.” He started laughing at his own words. I could not take it anymore. I do not want my body lying there. It’s bad enough that my puke is. Plan B aborted.

This meant that I could not go out anymore. I had to leave my body without leaving the house. It was now the 22nd of March. Of course, here I did not need a lot of preparation. But still, I decided to inspect the fan, just to make sure it would take my weight. I usually wipe the fans clean every once in a while, but I found a speck of dirt at the back of the conical holder. It was difficult to clean it from a chair so I had to dislodge the fan. No sooner had I dismantled the fan, than a plethoric amount of dust descended for the fan hole onto the spotless tiles beneath. This was worse than dying. It took me a good part of the night to clean the mess on the floor, the ceiling hole and put the fan back in its place. If I lived, I would move into a better place with just AC and no ceiling holes. I was mortified enough for a lifetime. To think all that dust was in my house!

I spent the next few days cleaning every nook and cranny of the house. All cupboards, shelves and sockets. Wardrobe doors were unhinged and all rags were put to use. I emptied two bottles of floor cleaners and sanitiser sprays. I washed all containers and utensils. I tried not to think about how people would handle my stuff after I’m gone. I briefly considered selling everything but that didn’t seem like a tangible idea. I still had to live till 31st and it was just 28th. It was 28th! All the cleaning had drained me of my physical and mental faculties. I didn’t have the conviction to dangle myself off the fan I had just cleaned for 3 days. Plan C aborted.

While cutting pomegranate a day later, a speck of red fluid splashed onto the kitchen counter. I immediately wiped it off. It was then that plan D struck me. If I were to cut myself and lay down in a pool of my own blood (the thought was disgusting enough), I was sure to die but who would clean up the mess I left behind??? The thought was too disconcerting to be left unattended. I made a small cut on my finger. A sudden pain shot up but my first thought was to cover the wound before a speck of blood could touch any surface. Plan D would not bode well with me.

My carefully curated list was reduced to just one suggestion now. It was the 30th and I had decisions to make. I looked long and hard at Plan E on my phone. The plan had a few loopholes. I would have to come up with symptoms and make sure I’m taking drugs that don’t need prescription. Of course, I could inflict a long-term death sentence by just starting to smoke but I wanted something that would work faster. The pills idea had a lot of room for uncertainty but it still seemed lucrative. I hesitated at the realisation that this involved talking to a few people. But after a while, I made up my mind.

On the morning of April 1st, the newspaper came home earlier than expected. The milk man rang the bell as he left my packets in the bowl outside. The morning train was a little late. I went to work on time. No one was surprised to see me. They didn’t have a reason to be. I don’t think they noticed me either, like most days. I wiped off the previous night’s dust from my table and laid the laptop neatly. I wiped the screen once with a tissue and sanitised my hand before starting work.

I didn’t do it. Not that I couldn’t muster the courage to. The plan had short comings but I could make it work. I stopped myself because at that instant, I saw myself turning into my mom. I saw her on the floor, unaware of her senses, not caring to breathe, not caring to live, for herself or for me. I remember the overdose of pills she had popped into her mouth. It was true I was nobody. But I was not my parents and that was a good place to start at.

By Inchara S Adhikashreni