# Do read the two previous posts in this series. Oh and how many times do I need to tell you? It's fiction, dei. :D
The sea brushed itself against the boulders and destroyed itself into a white spray fountain. The salty, water-laden winds made a mess of Raghu's hairs. He was sitting on top of one of those random boulders at Kovalam. The sun was dissolving in the sky, spreading itself into an orange haze. The divorce procedure had been completed. He would get to see Nihal, once in a week, as per the court ruling. So, that was that. His idealism and her pragmatism had finally decided to quit after what seemed like a lifetime of struggle.
He did not exactly know whether Isha would marry again. She would probably do what was best for Nihal. And at that particular point of time, neither of them knew what that meant. A young couple clambered up the boulder that he was sitting on like bees attracted to each other and the honeyed horizon, gently buzzing into his thought processes without meaning to. His thoughts took a brief pause to survey them and then drifted onto relationships and solitude. There were so many questions that he had to answer so that he could move forward. And, there were others he were simply curious about.
For instance, now what? Indians tended to treat divorce as an anathema. Something to be done, when the relationship bordered on abusive or when the extra-marital quietly intruded. Theirs was simply dysfunctional. Of course, there might have been some guy somewhere. But, it was more often than not true that in case of relationships, a character can enter only when there is a vacant space. He wondered how that vacant space got created. Not that it helped, of course. But, his mind always wandered. This time though, he purposefully brought it back. Now, what? How do you move forward from a dysfunctional relationship? A court order would take care about the legalities. But, what about their psyche and their son's? Would he eventually fall for someone else again(Ooh. Anathema. Anathema)? That was something difficult for him to imagine. For one, he firmly believed that relationships took time to build. One of the many reasons why he never understood mechanical arranged Indian marriages, which was equivalent to playing Russian roulette. The secondary research never increased your probabilities enough.
Time might heal things. But, it did take someone genuinely out-of-the-world to replace Isha. He wondered whether he was suffering from a modified version of Stockholm syndrome. The last few months had been very difficult. Yet, looking back, everything just seemed to glow. But, he wondered whether it was just the fact that Isha was one of the very few girls who genuinely got him and now since that narrative was over, it was difficult for him to push himself back into the market. Not to mention the fact that at mid-30's, he was balding, happily obese and still tended to run around like a wild goose when it came to career. He smiled to himself. Too pessimistic. Of course, finding somebody again was not something easy. His psyche itself wouldn't allow him to make any active effort. However, he resolved not to let not to shut himself out. Love is not rocket science. If that one-in-a-million person or who he thought was somebody like that came again, he would give it a fair shot just like he did with Isha. Otherwise, solitude would be fine. Fuck society. He knew that no relationship of his could dissolve his bonds towards Isha and Nihal. He would always be there for them.
He took a cigarette out and lit it. The bright red spot gallantly stood and opposed the encroaching darkness which was munching on the orangy sky. The rhythmic sound of the waves made him think about solitude. He knew that there was a high probability that he would have to go solo. He would definitely have to make a bucket list. As Camus once said, one must imagine Sisyphus happy. True that, nothing had exactly gone his way. Most of his career dreams had crashed out pretty badly. His one source of solace, his marriage, had also miserably failed. By every definition of the society in which he lived, he was a loser. However, to become a bitter old man was unbecoming. He had to learn to shake off his fears and nightmares and launch himself back onto the ceaseless struggle to do what he believed was meaningful. He had to pursue happiness and meaning, even though it would have every chance of ending up meaningless. Because, even if the end was a failure, the journey would always be meaningful.
Looking back at his marriage, he knew that it was exactly that. Meaningful. Because even in the dying stages, there were those moments of extreme happiness and intimacy. Yes, he must imagine Sisyphus happy. He took the last drag, threw the butt onto the sea and got up. He wondered how the world look at a "failure" like him, philosophising about a brave new world and messing up his already his messy life. It was in these moments that he loved being human. These weird moments where he could back at life, the highs and lows, with a tinge of haloed nostalgia and be thankful. He turned his head and saw the young couple going back to the nearby parking lot. Their intertwined footprints were etched on the sands. But, the incoming waves were slowly eroding the prints. A clean slate. Suddenly, the sea winds began to blow at full force, before dying out, to herald the arrival of night. His eyes, nose and lips grinned through his salty-moist spectacles.
