"Suicide sometimes proceeds from cowardice, but not always; for cowardice sometimes prevents it; since as many live because they are afraid to die, as die because they are afraid to live”
- Charles C. Colton
This is the supposed end of my life. My physical existence. I am getting rid of everything. Every single wish, every single dream, everything that i earned, everything that I learnt. Everything. It ends here.
I have nothing to share. No one to share with. My children are a mere duty which I performed post marriage. My wife is good enough to take care of them. I am sure she will have a better life once I am gone.
I blame no one, but myself. And to certain extent life, for not giving me the courage to utilise the chances that came my way. I have no regrets. Just one, I wasn't brave enough.
Had I been brave I would have had enough reasons to live for. Enough people to live for.
Now that there are none, I am leaving behind everything and taking this plunge.
No one is to be held responsible for my suicide. NO ONE.
He wrote the missive and looked intently at the vast sea flowing under the bridge on which he was standing.
He heard incessant horns, mighty trucks passing by the highway, people yapping on phone. The crowd seemed to disappear slowly, as he tucked the letter in his bag, zipped it and kept it near his feet.
"Pratham Beta... your milk.. it's getting cold. Finish it up soon, come on", he heard his mother's voice.
"Getting late for school... Rush Pratham...", he heard Parag bhaiyya's voice.
"Beta, Don't forget the prasad", his grandmother's voice caught him.
"Where's my school diary, I need you to sign my leave card, Daddy", Pratham recollected.
"Daadi.. I'll return and have the prasad.. Chhodo naa", he pictured himself talking to his grandmother.
"Parag Bhaiyaa. 2 min.. bas aaya.. on my way..", he looked around as if someone was waiting for him indeed.
"Pratham.. Jaldi aa..", he heard his brother's voice.
"Come soon...", voices echoed.
He looked around, as a tear dropped. He wiped his cheeks, eyelids along with the drops of sweat on his forehead. He was not sure whether it was tension or jitters that he was getting before commiting suicide, or was it just the usual Mumbai weather.
His receding hairline clearly exposed the sweat which accumulated due to the humidity. He wiped his forehead again pushing back the minimum hair he had on his head. He looked at the vast sea. He gauged the distance, and wondered where did it exactly meet the Indian ocean.
He took a deep breath and realised that his mobile was in his pocket. He took it out. Looked at the wallpaper.
"Sania, Soham, am sorry!", he said as he threw the mobile on the road.
He climbed the bridge, took a deep breath and...
..to be contd.
Chapter 2: Retreat