I drive straight ahead from the intersection, keeping to the road. On my left is the Connemara Market. It is a really old market. It is followed by one of the earliest shopping complexes in the city - Saphalyam Complex. They have a colonial feel to them.

The market lies within closed bounds. It welcomes you with a fading wall and an arch displaying its name proudly. Having been in Trivandrum for all these years, I got to visit the market for the first time couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know what to expect. It is a regular market, just like any other. The tall walls that surround it gives an impression of mystery and secrecy. There is nothing of that sort. The wall is pretty old and tall. It adds to the charm and how the market is presented to its audience. We bought groceries, veggies, and fish for the week.

Saphalyam complex is a shopping center. Before the advent of branded clothes and dresses, people came here to buy clothes. They catered to your every need, whether it be fancy ones to regular day-to-day use. There were shops selling toys and accessories, plants, electronics, and household items, almost all that was not available in the market. Together they formed a complete shopping destination. I have come here during my college days to pay my fees in the help center on the top floor. My father has mentioned it in the stories of his time in Trivandrum.

It hasn’t changed much with time. The shops might have changed hands. New restaurants and fast food joints have opened along with impromptu shops during the festive season. Apart from this, they retain the lackluster look that has become synonymous with them.

A place that is supposed to be teeming with people must be deserted now. The shops are closed. The makeshift ones outside the building premises are covered with tarpaulin and secured tight. The pavement that is usually filled with hawkers and street vendors is empty. A few dogs are coming out onto the pavement from the complex. Even a hartal day doesn't feel so empty.

I ask myself - why am I doing this? The answer is simple - to find out someone who has survived this phenomenon and reverse it. Or to do something to restore it back to how it was before. That’s it. But it is not that simple.

In my current mental state, I am looking for someone to be with me as I deal with the ordeal. I don't think I can hold on alone for a long time. It is slowly eating me from the inside, like a cancerous growth. I want to suppress it in its benign state. There is no removing it. It will only be cured when I get back to the life I had.

As I keep wandering on, trying to find that support, I have to slowly start accepting my fate. I have to tell myself I might not see her or any of my loved ones anytime soon. Maybe never. I can’t rule out that possibility. Rationally speaking, it can be true. I refrain from being one. I want to be this hopeful wanderer looking out for his wife and ways to bring her back. She anchors me. Today I realize how strong of an anchor she was.

There is a lot of talk about how beautiful life is when you have found your soulmate. You become one and help each other grow to their full potential, making your connection deeper as the days pass. There are a lot of mystical theories attached to it. One of them is you start seeing recurring numbers in your life when you have the one. I don't believe in this. I believe that we are infinitely complex creatures. We have this feeling within ourselves that we know who we are and what we are. But that is just an illusion. We really don't know ourselves to be honest.

I don't know myself. There is a lot of me that still surprises me to this day. I am discovering them myself as the days pass by. So I feel this lifetime is not enough to figure out who we truly are. We die without a complete picture. Maybe our death is the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle. Maybe it is revealed to us in those final moments. There is a common saying that our life flashes past us as we die. Is it really that or is that the moment when everything is revealed to us? This statement is made by those who have had near-death experiences. Well, they aren’t dead. They are alive. So things weren’t revealed. You have to die for it to be revealed. Hence people see it as a flashback. Maybe that is what precedes the great moment. It is our fate to take it to our graves, finally resting in peace.

When we took our vows and exchanged rings in front of our near and dear ones, our focal points became each other. I can say this on her behalf because I know it and I have felt it. I knew our lives had become like two binary stars in a collision course towards each other, going round and round and round. Today I realize it is much more than that. She was doing a lot more for me. She anchored me and gave me the courage I lacked. She motivated me to strive for what I want in life. She supported me unwaveringly in tough times. She questioned me truly and taught me how to accept the truth and live with it. She is more than my wife. She plays all the roles of every woman I have come across in my life. I never thought anyone could be as such. Yet she is.

Her void has left me purposeless. My actions and thoughts had a direction on her arrival. Now they simply lack meaning. Nothing makes sense now.

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I keep on driving ahead. The steady sound of my scooter and the sounds of the birds and dogs are the only ones around me. The wind plays its tune from time to time. It is not a windy season. They come as a quiet breeze and leave as such. The only place where I will be able to hear more than this would be the beach. The lapping of the waves dissipates the silence and blends into the environment seamlessly.

On both sides of the road buildings of colleges belonging to the Kerala university can be seen. University College is on the right while Sanskrit college is on the left. They are really old establishments that started before our Independence. The trees on these campuses are as old as the institutes, maybe older. The atmosphere they create is a beautiful calming one. They extend out into the road, providing much-needed shade.

I wanted to go on rides with her through empty roads. There is nothing better than driving on empty roads carefree. I want to take her on a really long road trip across the country. I want to take her to all those places that I have visited and that have intrigued me. Secretly I want to sit behind her as she rides a motorbike. She doesn’t know how to but I think I can teach her if I have empty roads like these. Then I would sit behind her, hug her tight and enjoy the feeling. I really don't know if she will agree to all this, but I can give it a try.

I am saying all this to feel good and take things in the best sense under these horrendous circumstances. The situation would have been way better if she hadn’t disappeared away like everyone else. I would have been more composed. More than that I would have been more rational and taken things the way it needs to. With her beside me, I would be highly motivated to figure out what has happened and how to solve it. She is my rock and my strength. She doesn’t know this though. I haven’t told her. I wish I had.

I pass the college premises and approach the secretariat. The junction is empty. The police barricade lies in front of the entry gate. A police bus lies next to it. All are empty. The shops on the right are all closed. I take the left turn at the junction. It reminds me of the time when I used to take this road on the way to drop my mom at her office. It is situated behind the secretariat complex and its ground. The cantonment police station lies just ahead. I see a police jeep parked right in front go it. I overtake it and stop in front of the entry.

I enter the station. It is empty. I have to get used to this. The station is bigger than the previous ones as it has to serve the needs of the sensitivity in the area. I call out loudly. My voice echoes inside the corridor leading to the other rooms. There is no reply. The place has an eerie feel to it because of the emptiness. I don't know whether I should check it out anymore. I take a few steps onto the corridor. I peek inside one of the rooms on the left. It has a couple of desks arranged at the corners. They are stacked with files and a PC. On one side I see a couple of guns hanging on the wall.

I step inside the room and walk toward the guns. They are the ones carried by the policemen that take up duties along the gates and checkpoints of the secretariat. The ones you see on TV or in movies. I look at them for a while. These might come in handy during a tricky situation. But I am not sure even if such a situation would ever come. I hope I don't end up with one of them strapped to my back.

My grandpa had an air rifle with him in our home. He had used it to hunt down birds or critters on the property. He took it along with him when he worked in the high ranges as a plantation manager. When I was a kid, I came across it in his office. The room was adjacent to the one he slept in. He had made it his office room when his business was in full swing. Some of his close customers came here to have conversations with him over a cup of tea and make deals. He had an office adjacent to the workshop also.

I took the rifle and examined it. I marveled at it. I thought it to be a real gun. I wanted to fire it. Grandpa caught me in the act of examining it. He took it from me politely and told me it was not something to be meddled with. I nodded in agreement. I asked him if it was a real gun. He said it wasn’t. I asked him what it was. He told me it was an air gun. I asked him again if you could shoot with it. He confirmed it. I didn’t ask him anything else.

The next day he was fiddling with it in the evening. I went and sat beside him, eagerly looking at what he was doing. He was cleaning the barrel. I asked him if he could shoot. I wanted to see it in action. He took a few minutes and then agreed. I was excited. He went in and brought the pellets. He loaded one of them, locked the barrel, took aim at a piece of withered cardboard, and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the surroundings. I ran to have a look at it. There was a hole in it. I was so overjoyed. I lifted it and showed him the hole. He asked me to keep it where it was and come to him. He loaded a pellet and gave me the gun. It was heavy. He held my hands and taught me how to hold the gun. Then he showed me how to aim. I couldn’t hold the gun steadily. He supported it in the barrel and asked me to to take aim and shoot at the cardboard. I took aim and pulled the trigger.

I never expected the recoil to be so hard. I winced right after the shot. It took me a while to get my act together. Grandpa took the gun and rubbed my shoulder. I became okay in a minute. I rushed to see if my shot had hit the target. It didn’t. I had missed it. Grandpa followed me and looked at the cardboard. There was only one hole in it. He looked at the surroundings. He found where I had hit. A look of dismay came upon him.

I had scratched the trunk of a rubber tree. Soon the rubber sap was flowing from the cut I had made. I would get a good scolding from my dad. I had spoiled the tree. When father came to know, he laughed at the incident and dismissed it. Grandpa didn’t say much. How could he? He was the one who gave me the gun to fire. Grandma scolded us both when she came to know about it.

He still has the gun. It rests peacefully on the wall of his room. He can’t fire it. He has become frail. I can. It seems like we have switched places. Strange how life is!