Escape
Days turn into nights turn into days. I stumble into my shabby, one bedroom apartment at the end of another monotonous day. Tonight is the Freshers’ party. Everyone was talking about it in college. A few of my peers asked me if I was going to come. I told them I’d be there. I probably lied because they were the organizers and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I lie on my bed and go through my notifications. Most of them are messages from my friends back home. Most of them don’t know I have been sobbing myself to sleep every night since I first came to Pune three days ago. I sleep through the Freshers’ party. I am an escapist. I always have been.
Days turn into nights turn into days. I’m zipping in and out of traffic in a rented car. My friends are excitedly talking about our destination. However, I’m solely focused on the road ahead of me. I have to be. The highway is sparsely populated with Lorries and cabs and fellow denizens; all fighting to be first place in a race they can never win. I am no stranger to this particular race. Clutch in. Shift down. Clutch out. I’m in fourth gear and accelerating down Nagar Road. I turn the volume up on the stereo speakers so I can drown out the voices of my tumultuous passengers. Driving is a form of meditation for me and I’d rather do it in complete silence or overwhelming musical harmony. Clutch in. Shift up. Clutch out. I’m in fifth gear and going upwards of 80 kilometers an hour. I zoom past everyone else on the road. I am an escapist. I always have been.
Days turn into nights turn into days. It’s 8 o’clock at night and I’m walking back from our ‘spot’. I’ve just been broken up with. My psyche is shattered and I’m trying my best to hold back the tears. I’m heartbroken, forlorn, devastated and every other synonym for ‘sad.’ I walk upstairs to my bedroom. Two of my friends are sitting on my bed. “How did it go?”, they ask. “It’s over.” I reply. One of them reassuringly pats me on the back. I go over the events that occurred in the past 20 minutes. I cannot fathom what happened. I convince myself that if it didn’t last, it probably wasn’t meant to be. I pack a bowl and ask my friend for the lighter. I am an escapist. I always have been.
Days turn into nights turn into days. It’s Valentine’s Day and I just got off the phone with my dad. I’m pacing up and down my balcony, reading and rereading the words on the offer letter. I cannot believe it. Was it really this easy? I hadn’t even prepared for the interview! I feel like I now know how people with impostor syndrome must feel like when others think they have outdone themselves. Moreover, I cannot face the immediate reality that both my parents want me to stay in Pune simply because I got a job here. I don’t want to. I never did. I wanted to go back home after graduation and travel and write and sleep on my own bed. I want to take some time off and figure out what I want to do with my life before becoming yet another cog in the capitalist paradigm of our society. I cannot take it anymore. I put on my running shoes. I am an escapist. I always have been.
Days turn into nights turn into days. I see myself through a third person point of view. I am in Canada. It is early June and the weather is pristine. I am driving my Tesla through snaky mountain roads with no destination in mind. I am in the company of a few, close friends. The roads are barren and the crisp mountain air is refreshing to breathe. I pull over at a rest stop, adhering to the request of one of my friends. Outside, the view is breathtaking. There are mountains and valleys as far as the eye can see. Cedar and pine trees adorn the precipitous landscape in every direction. Up above, the morning sun is plastered against an azure blue sky; lightly beating down on me like a warm embrace. I close my eyes and etch this moment in my mind forever. I am no longer escaping.
Writer: Harshit Sarin
Editor: Vedika Agarwal
