A suffocating pang of despair constricted his throat. His gaze fell apathetically upon the table. The cache of tranquilizers in the medicine box revolted him. He'd abstained from them today, as they induced a numbing lethargy, akin to a sedated frog.
His gaze pierced through the window bars, transfixed by the tree - that haunting, ominous tree - which had claimed a life and condemned Animesh to a lifelong battle with depression.
A knock disrupted his turbulent thoughts. Sunita, his maid, entered the hall, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Dada, how many times must I remind you to clear the hall of trash before I arrive?" Gethi, his stray cat with piercing greenish-black eyes, growled at her.
"I'll do it next time, Sunita; I'm not feeling well today," Animesh replied. Sunita's ire transformed into solicitude.
"What's wrong, dada? Are you okay?" "How often must I remind you to let go of that incident? It's been a year. Please break free from it. It wasn't your fault." She offered, "Shall I prepare something for you? Or perhaps oil your hair?"
Sunita grew restless, seeking ways to comfort the isolated man, yet uncertain how to provide solace. "Nothing, Sunita di." Animesh appeared rude. Sunita's countenance darkened once more, her anger reigniting like embers fanned by a gust of wind.
"That old man could have saved the boy," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible yet laced with venom. "Couldn't he have mustered the strength to call upon the neighbors?" The whispered words carried on the air, piercing Animesh's eardrums and stirring within him a maelstrom of emotions.
As Animesh watched Sunita work, he was struck by her efficiency. She completed a multitude of tasks in a mere thirty minutes, effortlessly cleaning the dishes, mopping the floor, and bringing order to the previously cluttered space.
Animesh couldn't help but reflect on his own limitations, particularly his struggles with attention and focus - a challenge he had come to understand as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).
While living with ADHD presented its difficulties, Animesh found that the labels and definitions often proved more troublesome than the condition itself. It was a peculiar paradox: navigating life with ADHD was manageable, naming it made it more difficult.
"How many rotis would you like, dada?" Sunita asked. "Two, please," Animesh replied, adding, "and one for Gethi, as well." Gethi let out a soft growl, as if acknowledging the mention.
As Sunita departed, Animesh was left to grapple with a multitude of pressing thoughts that swirled relentlessly in his mind. His restlessness escalated, prompting him to attempt a series of deliberate, calming breaths.
However, despite his efforts, the growing sense of irritation continued to intensify. Seeking a respite from his turbulent emotions, Animesh paced slowly around the room.
Yet, he inevitably found himself drawn back to the window, his gaze drifting outward as his mind remained mired in a cycle of frustration and discontent. The tree's branches seemed to reach out, transporting him back to a pivotal moment in his past.
A memory, etched in vivid detail, resurfaced in his mind's eye. He saw a 14-year-old boy, his youthful form struggling to secure a rope to a sturdy branch. Animesh's recollection was hauntingly clear: he had watched, transfixed and guilt-free, as the boy prepared to take his own life.
The weight of his inaction bore down on him; he could have intervened, but instead, he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes glued to the unfolding tragedy. Every agonizing moment was seared into his memory.
The boy was swaying in the wind like a silver leaf from the tree, probably rotten. Animesh had witnessed the scene, and the guilt still lingered. Was he a sadist? The question crossed his mind: Is he inflicting pain on Gethi for his own enjoyment? His existence was shattered by the thought. He had told everyone, from the psychiatrist to Sunita, that he could have saved the boy, but was too perplexed by the suddenness of it. Everyone said not to feel guilty about it, it wasn't his fault. But he knew in his conscience that he was guilty of not saving the boy's life.
His gaze pierced through the window bars, transfixed by the tree - that haunting, ominous tree - which had claimed a life and condemned Animesh to a lifelong battle with depression.
A knock disrupted his turbulent thoughts. Sunita, his maid, entered the hall, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Dada, how many times must I remind you to clear the hall of trash before I arrive?" Gethi, his stray cat with piercing greenish-black eyes, growled at her.
"I'll do it next time, Sunita; I'm not feeling well today," Animesh replied. Sunita's ire transformed into solicitude.
"What's wrong, dada? Are you okay?" "How often must I remind you to let go of that incident? It's been a year. Please break free from it. It wasn't your fault." She offered, "Shall I prepare something for you? Or perhaps oil your hair?"
Sunita grew restless, seeking ways to comfort the isolated man, yet uncertain how to provide solace. "Nothing, Sunita di." Animesh appeared rude. Sunita's countenance darkened once more, her anger reigniting like embers fanned by a gust of wind.
"That old man could have saved the boy," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible yet laced with venom. "Couldn't he have mustered the strength to call upon the neighbors?" The whispered words carried on the air, piercing Animesh's eardrums and stirring within him a maelstrom of emotions.
As Animesh watched Sunita work, he was struck by her efficiency. She completed a multitude of tasks in a mere thirty minutes, effortlessly cleaning the dishes, mopping the floor, and bringing order to the previously cluttered space.
Animesh couldn't help but reflect on his own limitations, particularly his struggles with attention and focus - a challenge he had come to understand as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).
While living with ADHD presented its difficulties, Animesh found that the labels and definitions often proved more troublesome than the condition itself. It was a peculiar paradox: navigating life with ADHD was manageable, naming it made it more difficult.
"How many rotis would you like, dada?" Sunita asked. "Two, please," Animesh replied, adding, "and one for Gethi, as well." Gethi let out a soft growl, as if acknowledging the mention.
As Sunita departed, Animesh was left to grapple with a multitude of pressing thoughts that swirled relentlessly in his mind. His restlessness escalated, prompting him to attempt a series of deliberate, calming breaths.
However, despite his efforts, the growing sense of irritation continued to intensify. Seeking a respite from his turbulent emotions, Animesh paced slowly around the room.
Yet, he inevitably found himself drawn back to the window, his gaze drifting outward as his mind remained mired in a cycle of frustration and discontent. The tree's branches seemed to reach out, transporting him back to a pivotal moment in his past.
A memory, etched in vivid detail, resurfaced in his mind's eye. He saw a 14-year-old boy, his youthful form struggling to secure a rope to a sturdy branch. Animesh's recollection was hauntingly clear: he had watched, transfixed and guilt-free, as the boy prepared to take his own life.
The weight of his inaction bore down on him; he could have intervened, but instead, he remained rooted to the spot, his eyes glued to the unfolding tragedy. Every agonizing moment was seared into his memory.
The boy was swaying in the wind like a silver leaf from the tree, probably rotten. Animesh had witnessed the scene, and the guilt still lingered. Was he a sadist? The question crossed his mind: Is he inflicting pain on Gethi for his own enjoyment? His existence was shattered by the thought. He had told everyone, from the psychiatrist to Sunita, that he could have saved the boy, but was too perplexed by the suddenness of it. Everyone said not to feel guilty about it, it wasn't his fault. But he knew in his conscience that he was guilty of not saving the boy's life.
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