Did you know that Kerala has the highest suicide rate in the country?
"Kerala, the country's first fully literate state, has the highest number of suicides. Some 32 people commit suicide in Kerala every day." - http://www.rediff.com/news/2004/apr/15spec.htm
I don't find that altogether surprising, considering that it is called God's Own Country. We all know that people who are on back slapping terms with the Big Man in the Sky , has a propensity to kill themselves; most of the time taking a whole lot of unwilling people with them for company.
I killed God sometime back.
Strapped her to a chair in a dark room, with an unshaded light bulb hanging above her.
I then sat across him and worked on its face with my fist.
One thing I have to say about God, its dignified in its silence. I could also sense the danger of being caught up in that dignity I had attributed to her. It was like beating my reflection with all my wannabe traits. He was everything I thought I could be or would be. Now.
Now, I see him more clearly.
He is just a reflection.
I untied her hands and placed the knife into her hands.
It was something my brother had given me as a gift.A fold able bayonet that also served as a handheld fighting knife. Beautiful thing.
He held the knife in both his hands. Looking at at. As if weighing it. Then she looked at me.
I sat back in my chair and lite my cigarette. I inhaled deeply its arid fumes. Filling my lungs. Then I blew it out. Straight into Gods eyes.
There were tears in her eyes.
There were tears in mine too. But hers was because of the smoke.
I told it to finish it.
Her eyes pleaded with mine.
A corner. A spot. You will hardly know Iam there.
I told no.
Recall the times when you needed me. The times I have been there. Guiding you, comforting you, answering you?
I got up to pour myself a drink. These emotional stuffs always tire me.
Lies , I said, without turning back, you were never there, I believed you were there, I hoped you were there, but you were not there,I gave you the credits for all things good and took upon myself the blame for all things bad in my life,I created you from my ever present loneliness, shaped you, gave my breath to you... I was always alone.
I took a sip of my sour mash whiskey.
With the glass in my hand , I returned to my chair. I dragged it closer to her. I looked at it , up close, eye to eye; then I whispered:
She tilted her head back, brought the knife to her neck and with a graceful swipe, cut its throat.
I pushed back the chair.Finished my drink. Then I picked the lite cigarette from the makeshift ashtray which in its previous life was a Horlicks Cap. I leaned on the table and smoked , watching the death of god, feeling lighter.
I had destroyed Its home within me long ago. The cursed dwelling of hers whose walls were made up of scriptures dreamed up and written by dead people. Today I killed its King.
Now Iam alone. Truly alone. No more invisible crutches for a man who has two legs. I have never been more free. I have never been so lost. I have never been so alone. Yet I know that, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I left god there. Dead. Sitting on a chair with its head thrown back, blood coloring the front of her white T-shirt red. I had picked up the knife, wiped the blade clean on his t-shirt , folded it and tucked it into my pant pockets.
I turned 40. A nice age. Good round figure. Easy on the tongue. A great age for new beginnings. From here on its the start of my sheddings. The age of loss begins.