“Did you speak to him yet?” Naina ignores the voice she adores otherwise. The windows are closed tight even when the breeze is light and calm.
So she decides to answer, after 10 seconds. It is almost impossible to ignore when Maya asks a question.
“No”
“You need to, today.” the coffee mug slips from her hand, crashing into pieces. Maya stares at it with a look of disgruntle.
“I need to what? Have a talk with my dad?” Naina stretched her already long arm under the table to grab the broken piece—the one Maya did not notice close to the table leg.
“Yes. For the sake of your sanity. Please do.”
The broken pieces of the mug fall into one place this time jumbled and all over each other, yet, together in a trash can.
Naina notices Maya’s smudged kajal and wipes the corner of her eye, kissing her gently. The smile says it all. The bag Naina bought for Maya on her last trip to Patiala is her new go-to bag. Only God knows how she manages to keep her things in such good condition. The top shelf of both their closets is filled with Maya’s bags and the rest of the house with Naina’s paintings.
Maya locks the door behind her, she is extremely diligent about locking the doors. Naina turns to look for her phone. And now the house is quiet again.
The phone rings in another empty house far away from where Naina lives.
In this house a dog barks twice and then whines back into his spot; undetermined and tired. The long walk in the morning was enough for the day.
After the third ring, Naina moves the phone away from her ear, staring at it, waiting for it to go off. She is doing this only for Maya. A deep, long breath brings her out of reality, and she hears him speak loudly.
“Hellooo!”
“So, I understand that much that the tunnel is coming to an end. And it is no longer completely dark anymore. There are hues of grey and a few other colors i am unsure of that I see sometimes. I can make out the concrete and rocks the tunnel is made of. Sometimes I even get the feel of soft leaves when I am really struggling to find a grip. When I consciously rub my hands around on the edges of whatever wall I can get hold of, a gentle coolness always calms me down..
“You still get red cheeks and heated ears when you are stressed?” His voice sounds older than the last time.
“What do u mean, still? It is who I am. I can never hide my emotions. They are always on my face.” Naina wonders if she should introduce him to Maya.
“That was the case with me as well, so I guess you get that from me. But tell me more about this tunnel.” He sounds seated and comfortable holding a cup of coffee—his favorite French press.
“It is sticky and extremely slimy at times, especially when I am trying to get through a situation that keeps pulling me down. It pops up every now and then—the sticky part. Then once, I almost cut myself right between the skin of my index and middle finger with a sharp edge. Yet it is slimy. So as I was telling you, the tunnel isn’t as dark anymore. I can see something, make out shapes, and even prepare myself if a strange apparition emerges out of nowhere.
“So what is the problem?”
“When will I get out of the tunnel? I want something else. This is too much and pathetically long. It serves me no purpose.”
“How can you decide that? You just explained the tunnel is not dark anymore. That could only mean you are nearing the end. So why are you getting restless so close to the end?”
“I dont know.”
“Think harder.”
“I dont want to I am exhausted.” her hand like it has a mind of it own slides open the window. As soon as Naina touches the breeze, she murmurs, “I am scared.”
“Scared of an apparition?” The dog is in deep sleep by now.
“No!”
“Then?”
“What might be at the end of the tunnel!”
“Light.”
“What?”
“There is a new beginning at the end of the tunnel. Another chance to restart, regenerate and try all over again. Something new or not that is your choice.”
“What if I am not ready?”
“There is a right time for everything. Readiness is a choice you can make. But when the time is right, that tunnel is ending.”
“ love you, papa”
“I love you, too.”
The call ends.
Naina puts the phone down and picks up her sketchbook.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 