The mid-day sun is scorching hot even though it is the month of January. Towards the northern part of the country, people are experiencing winter. There is no winter here. December and January are two months when you don’t mind the hot sun. There is a slight chill in the atmosphere that cools down the heat, making it pleasant.

I continue on my way back home. I am keeping an eye out for any kind of movement or activity that signals the presence of someone. There are more dogs on the road than previously. They might be hungry. I pass Ulloor Junction uninterestingly. Nothing has changed from my morning ride. Everything is exactly as it is. It kind of feels very weird. We are so used to seeing things change in a fraction of a second that stillness seems very odd and out of the box. We have gotten used to our everyday lives so much that these changes are an inherent part of them. We too are changing with it as time passes on. We all are in a constant state of change. It validates the thought that change is the only constant. Currently, I find myself in a situation contradicting it. I know this is not true. There are changes happening at a microscopic level that is unknown to us. Everything that I have seen today will have changed in a few days or weeks. If these vehicles continue to stay here they will be subjected to the forces of Mother Nature from which there is no escape. We are constantly being bombarded by the forces of nature. There is no escaping it. Hence change is inevitable. It would be best to embrace it and go with it.

I think of the couple of philosophy books that I have read. Deep down in them, they are also trying to convey this same message. To go with the flow. The river is the best example of this. It symbolizes a state of flow that is ever-changing yet sticking true to its course. I liked the way the river was compared to life in Herman Hesse’s book Siddhartha. I read it after I started to work, having revived my reading habits. It is a powerful book. I have always thought of reading it once more. But I am a person who does not like to revisit the books I have read. I see them lying on my bookshelf, inviting me over to go through them once again and maybe understand them a little bit more from the previous reading. But I shrug the feeling off and go on to pick a new book. I broke this when I picked up The Ocean at the end of the Lane once again. It is a brilliant book written by Neil Gaiman. After reading this, the book left such a lasting impact on me that I instantly became a fan of his writing. I started reading all that he had written. I came across his body of work and it blew my mind. He is the creator of the iconic comic Sandman. I was into comics in my childhood. It never survived post-that time period. I went through the reviews of the comic and got really intrigued by it. I got my hands on the comics and got to reading them.

In my opinion, Sandman is the best comic ever written. The story, the characters, the undertones, and themes, the graphics (a huge round of applause to the artists who gave life to the story through their myriad style and colors), the fresh take on our myths and folklore and its seamless integration into our lives makes it exhilarating and a joy to read. I was feeling the emotions just as the creators wanted to. I was wholly absorbed in their world and didn’t want to come back. I used to read them at my workplace. My colleagues did ask questions whenever they saw me glued for hours. I keep recommending it to all those I can. It might be a bit difficult to find them in libraries. One of my friends found them in the Toronto city library. He clicked pictures of them and sent them to me saying he stumbled upon this in the library and was utterly hooked on it. Seeing them reminded him of how I used to talk about it. I was happy to know that he too would now enjoy a marvelous piece of art. Sandman is a work of art. It transcends the boundaries of being a comic. Anyone who has read it will feel it coming back to them throughout their life in bits and pieces. I have had occasions where I have felt as if I am experiencing a part of the story in real-time. That's the impact it has on its readers.

I soon got to reading his other works. He has a unique knack of telling a story. The fantasy elements he uses don't seem out of the box. They seamlessly merge with your everyday life. They are stories that can happen to you one fine day. Once you get absorbed in it you might even go to the extent of wishing that something of this sort happens to you soon. The world he creates helps you escape your everyday life and explore the endless possibilities that exist if you just open your minds and be receptive to the magic present in your everyday lives.

I want to be a storyteller myself. I want to tell stories that captivate people and keep them hooked to the words building the story. I want them to feel what I feel, go through all the emotions that have been put out, and experience the joy of listening to a good story. Stories have played an important part in our evolution. Without stories, we would have been lost. This world would have been a dull place to live. Stories connect you. They take you to places beyond your imagination. They show you things that you thought never existed and make you experience emotions and feelings that you never thought you had. It makes us explore ourselves, question our reality, and marvel at the wonders that surround us. It gives us a fresh perspective, an alternate view of common things, and helps us realize that there is more to what meets the eye.

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I have stories to tell. In fact, we all have. From the moment we are born, we are acquiring all kinds of stories throughout our lifetime. Some come forward to share them. Others dismiss them or choose to ignore them. Either way, we are all experiencing them at every point in our life. The smartphone that we carry now is a window to witness all these stories. It might be a reason why Instagram named their newest feature stories. In fact, they are stories. Stories of people being told through a digital medium. When you go live with a video of snow falling on your yard, you are telling your story as it unfolds. When you post a picture of a sunset in the mountains, you share a story that you have lived. Our lives are stories unfolding.

As I drive, my story is unfolding. I am not happy at the turn of events that has put me in this situation. I even can’t grasp the enormity of what has happened or comprehend it in any suitable manner. All I know is that people have vanished into thin air while I am left out. I suddenly feel like the odd one out. I wish I too had vanished with them. Maybe they all have disappeared to some other world. I don’t know.

The stories we come across all have happy endings. I liked this in my childhood. As I grew older and came to my teenage years, I realized that stories need not end with a happy-ever-after banner. That is not how the majority of the stories actually end. The end can be anything. It can be sad, disastrous, peaceful, etc. I found myself liking the stories that didn’t conform to popular culture. I felt a deeper connection to the ones that had real endings. The ones happening on a day-to-day basis with the people on this planet.

The purpose of a story is not to put forward a happy ending or a sad one. Its purpose is just to say it. It should not have a bias of its own. If it is the life story of a person then the final ending comes with his death. After that, his story ceases to exist. Now if we decide to terminate it somewhere between when he was able to finally crack the code and build his machine thus saving mankind from a certain threat, it would be a happy ending. But the story still unfolds. We have just taken a frame out of the reel. The story ends when the reel runs out.

I am not dead. This much I know. My story doesn’t end here. This is a part of my story. It might not be the best one but still, it is my story. I don’t know how long it will last. I can always decide to end it, marking the end of this story as well. Till that day the story will go on faithfully.

Maybe this is how the universe works. Through Big Bang, we have a start. The story of the universe began in that instant. It will end when the universe finally dies out.

I enter the side road towards my home from Pongumoodu Junction. Before I took the turn I slowed down and look straight ahead. I see a car crashed into the wall, having jumped into the pavement. It lies almost perpendicular to the road. On the other side is the petrol pump. The crash could have happened as the car was coming out of the pump. I decide not to have a look at it. It can wait.

The drive through the colony road was silent in all manner. A dog started to bark from one of the houses. I have never heard it bark previously. I slow down and look at the gate. I can’t see the dog. It must be chained or in his cage. He must be hungry. I shrugged the thought and continued on my way.

I reach our apartment entry. I park my scooter in the usual spot and get out. I look at the house adjacent to where I have parked the scooter. Her cousin stays here with her family. She too joined for her PG at the same time as my wife. She chose a different college. My wife had told me that they would be looking for houses together. It would be great to get adjacent ones. I agreed to this. With my kind of work, it was great to have someone close to you living near. If any need arises one can always ask for help. It also helps to get comfortable with the new surroundings. They have been great friends from their school days. She is married and has a daughter. Her mother has come over to look after her granddaughter owing to her busy college schedule.

Whenever I leave in the morning to drop her off, their windows would be open and curtains pushed aside. Sometimes we see her mother and greet her as we leave. Sometimes when we come back, we see her daughter playing around. We would walk over to the window and call out. She gives us a beautiful smile. She waves me bye-bye every time she sees me. I wave back at her with the same enthusiasm as a child. That is how we communicate. She calls out Annas' name sometimes. It is good to listen to her calling out her name in her sweet tone.

Today the windows are closed. The curtains are still draped. I can hear nothing from inside it. I walk towards the kitchen, hoping to find aunty busy with her daily work. The kitchen window is closed. There is no sound of utensils inside it. Silence prevails. They too have vanished along with the lot. I sign with a heavy heart.

I open the scooter seat, take out the walkie-talkies, and put them away in the bag. I walk towards the staircase. There is a small reception desk near it. A manager sits here. He looks after the paperwork and maintenance work that happens in the apartments. He usually arrives by ten in the morning. The seat is empty. I walk beyond the chair and enter the premises where our caretaker lives. He has a small room here. The door is locked. I look through the window. His bed is empty. I walk back towards the staircase and climb up the two floors with heavy steps. I reach the door and open it. As I enter I feel weird and sunken. She would have been right behind me on any other day. I shut the door, offload the bag and sink onto the floor. I feel so lonely.