She did not plan to commit suicide. It’s just that she wasn’t interested in living anymore that day. It wasn’t even a fight. They never really fought. At least not the way she had seen her parents fight. Divya and Krishna just argued. Not the way adults do. But like kids. The kind of pointless banter that kids sometimes indulge in always knowing that they’ll be friends at the end. At first she had enjoyed it. Like a challenge. It was fun. But then it began turning sour. Not biter. Just sour. It sapped her desire to live. At times when they fought, the argument reached places she just never imagined it would and wanted it to end. Swiftly silently. She couldn’t bear for it to be messy. Even at home she hated a mess. Another reason for their arguments.


That morning had been perfect. They had got up early, eaten breakfast together at the hotel’s coffee shop. Just like she wanted. Then they returned to their room and lazed in bed till noon. Just like he wanted. Each was content like two kids who had had their share of cake. Then they walked along the beach enjoying the way the surf kissed their feet. Later when the tide began coming in higher they clutched hands. It gave them a sense of security that comes from being together, for really neither could swim.

They crossed a small skeletal boat with a torn red rag fluttering above. A large log of wood had broken off the boat and was drifting in the waters nearby. They pulled it onshore and sat on it. Neither spoke. The moment seemed perfect to her. The silence between them was light, it brought them together, they shared it. As a child she had feared long silences between her parents. She read them as signs of a terrible fight. Hiding in the bathroom, she would pray furiously to God to prevent the fight. In return she would bathe with cold water in winters. Or stand on one leg for the length of a prayer. Sometimes it worked often it did not.

He bought them a bottle of sweet port wine from a run down shack. She watched him as he poured the drink in tiny paper cups. “Why didn’t you buy beer? You hate wine but you bought it for me. I trouble you so much” she said. He smiled. He loved it when she made a fuss about the small things he did. It made them big.

“This doesn’t trouble me.” he said, raising a toast. Then on a whim he added, “ You know what really troubles me?” “Tell me” she said. “This habit of yours to pull things really out of context. You do it every time we fight” he said. She smiled and made a face at him.

That’s when it all began.

“And what else” she asked as she readjusted to sit with her back towards him. “Well the second thing is…” slowly she drew him into telling her more and more.

He couldn’t see her face. For if he had, he would have stopped sooner. Seven faults. Like seven sins. She felt condemned even though he wasn’t really passing a judgment.

It wasn’t what he said; she was just taken aback by the intensity of the feelings behind them. She never knew these things existed or that they were so deep-rooted.

As a child she had always hoped or rather believed that her marriage wouldn’t have problems like her parent’s marriage. Sure they’d have fights, quarrels, arguments but nothing so deep. With such far-reaching effects. Nothing that made their marriage seem like a prison with each one being the other’s cage.

Yet it had happened. Or so she felt.

She had inherited something she never wanted - her parent’s marriage.

With that realization she slid off the rock and lay on the sands. The water was coming closer now. He was a bit disturbed by the silence. He expected her to protest, defend or better still launch a full-scale attack listing his faults. In fact, he even asked, “ And what do you dislike about me?” She smiled wistfully, “Nothing”

He was taken aback. “But there must be something?” Again she just shook her head.
His shoulders slumped. He almost felt a bit cheated. After all, if she too had said something about him, they would have been even. But not now. It wasn’t fair.

She sipped silently till she finished most of the wine. Then she asked him to get another bottle. He was glad to go. She hadn’t spoken a word. The silence was almost foreboding.

The sweet wine and sun conspired together. She was feeling numb. Though not comfortably numb as the song went. She closed her eyes to remember the song. Was it Dire straits? Someone had said the song was for her. It was very very long ago.

She drifted in and out of this state of being and unbeing. The warmth of the water languorously swept over her. It covered her like a rippling blanket. For a few moments she was wrapped in this almost unbearable lightness of being. She felt free. Then she realized, the tide had carried her to the sea. She could shout or call for help but something stopped her. It seemed altogether too much of an effort.


She caught a glimpse of him coming back and almost called out, raising her arms. But then she stopped.