Is there something odd about odd numbers?


Note : This is like an aftermath to a post my friend Abhinav Kukreja wrote ( the post is here -> ) i won’t call it a sequal, because it’s not half as good as the post he’s written. Also, the protagonist is different, the writing style is very different and i don’t know why i wrote it. Read his post before this to understand it tho. Also read the rest of his blog. Okay shameless promotion over now.


The whole family was gathered in the living room, with distant mourning & precedented expression of loss, everyone looked like the walls to me – white & omnipresent .

I decided to walk away from that and entered a bedroom the kids were in. They always do that to the kids , put them all in a different room to play & watch tv. Why bring them in the first place.

My despise of the freshly born aside, one of them was fidgeting with a book- a diary, of sorts.

It was a record journal of the year 2001, my grandma wasn’t the only one who kept them despite the dates , then, I thought to myself.

I flipped through a few pages & they were all filled – with journal entries. I took the book to another room & scanned through it shamelessly.

A few grabbed my attention more than the others.

” January  20th , 8:48 pm

Got married yesterday. She has beautiful eyes.

They’re as disturbed as beautiful though.

I love her disturbed eyes. “

This made me smile. I continued reading.

” January 24th , 8:48 pm

My bed’s split into two.

Nothing in my room is the same.

She’s changing everything.

I love the change. “

Confused, I scanned through further.

” February 2nd , 8:48 pm

Two toothbrushes. Two eggs for breakfast. Two chapatis with veggies split into two bowls. Two bean bags.

I observe a pattern. Or maybe I’m going crazy.

I’m oddly crazy for her . “

By this point, my mother had called me twice and the kids in the room were switching through cartoon channels, which was oddly disturbing.

” March 12th, 8:48 pm

Her nocturnal ritual was annoying at first.

I’ve grown accustomed to it.

I’ve grown accustomed to her. “

There weren’t entries for a couple of months, except one.

” April 4th, 8:48 pm

There is something odd about odd numbers. “

And as i flipped through, the number of entries increased. I didn’t know if that was a good thing.

” June 26th, 8:48 pm

Her medication’s not as efficient as it used to be. Or she can’t get any better.

Or she doesn’t want to get better.

Note to self – buy ONE egg on your way home. “

” June 28th, 8:48 pm

Loving her isn’t easy. It’s incredibly hard to be specific.

I love her idiosyncrasies. “

” June 29th, 8:48 pm. ” 

The date and time were scribbled and crossed out over and over again. I knew what happened that day. Everybody did.

I also know it destroyed him. Loving Natasha destroyed him. And he was like a compact bottle of reactants waiting to self destruct. She was nothing less than a catalyst.

The entries after this one weren’t exactly journal entries as much as haphazard doodles. There were pages with numbers all over them. Even numbers. Written and scratched out repeatedly. If I didn’t know him any better, I’d call him crazy.

Amidst all the doodles, I saw another entry.

” June 31st, 8:40 pm

One of the possible side effects of Valproate is fatal liver failure. The advised dosage is about 50mg a day. 200mg had a fatal effect on a patient in 16 minutes. 400mg should work in 8 minutes. “

The only thing I could think of was how stupid he was.

How he was stupid enough to fall in love with her.

How stupid he was to keep loving her despite her constant vagary.

Clenching the journal, I walked towards my car, and drove to the courtyard. I was the last one to reach.

Right there, about 20 meters away from me, were two huge piles of wooden logs.

I guess there was something odd about odd numbers.





A point is in a single dimension.

A drawing on a sheet of paper is in two.

A real life object is in 3 dimensions.

The ‘ adventure corner ‘ of a local shopping mall with moving seats & water sprays with surround sound music is apparently in 4,5,6 dimensions .

But what is time.

Is it just a mere concept created by humans to track the progression of events throughout their existence?

Is it a non dimensional concept that can’t be materialised?

Maybe it is .

Maybe it’s not.

Time is what tells us how far we’ve come in life, to have achieved something significant or wasted the entirety of our existence is another debate, but it makes us aware of ‘progress’.

More than that, time is the wrinkles you start noticing under your eyes when you smile in front of a mirror.

Time is the clothes you have to give away because the sleeves are too short & the shoulders too narrow.

Time is the changing faces in your birthday album every year.

Time is the name flashing on your phone screen at 2 am that brings a smile to your face in 2012 and making you roll your eyes in 2014.

Time is change.

Sitting with my grandmother in the balcony , watching her travel back in time with anecdotes, i saw time.

As figurative as it was, though.

Growing up with working parents & a mildly alcoholic father , I was raised by my grandmother.

If you call her leaving me home with the maid while she gambles my parent’s hard earned money in multiple games of 21 cards ‘ raising ‘ me .

I like to think she was there to tuck me in for my afternoon nap & peel apples for my evening snack to make myself feel better.

My desperate longing for a lounging care taker aside, my grandmother was my confidant.

And I was hers.

” I’m not saying there is no god , just that I don’t believe in the idea of conveniently blaming all your bad luck & crediting all your good luck to something you don’t even know is real “ She said,with an indifferent expression.

We often talked about whether god exists or not. She had always taught me to stay away from the concept of luck,fate,chance and even faith.

“ Maybe people just need to believe in something that gives them peace. Have faith in something for tranquility and the social conventions lead them to the god their parents pray to na,dadi. “ I said.

I wouldn’t call myself an atheist, because i didn’t know enough to believing that god doesn’t exist. But i was against giving millions of rupees to temples and spending time with gurus and thanking god for your achievements you have worked hard for and blaming god for bad luck when you did nothing to make it better.

“ There is no god, Aria. That is all i know. “ she said. “ Why do you always keep saying that,dadi ? “ I finally asked.

She turned towards me, keeping the plate of peas she was peeling aside and said “ I will tell you why god doesn’t exist. I will tell you why going to temples is worthless. I will tell you why praying to different idols at 5 am is pointless. I will tell you why there is no ‘supreme power looking after us’ . “ I stared back into her teary gleaming eyes and listened carefully .

“ When i was 14, my parents used to move around the country because of my father’s job. I was the oldest sibling with one younger sister and two younger brothers and i had always been closer to my grandmother and the only one of us four who wanted to study and do something in my life, and that’s when i shifted to New Delhi to live with my grandparents and finish school and college in the city. My grandparents were very religious people, as most of the elderly are in our community, and they used to take me to the temple every morning before school and spend their whole day there until it was dinner time,while i used to stay in school and then go to a friend’s house afterwards. “

“ One day, entering the temple at the same time we always did, i tripped and my chappals broke, and i bent over to pick them up and throw them away while my grandparents walked inside. When i threw the chappals in the bin and was walking towards the room in the temple with the idols of different gods, a tall man was walking towards me, walking out after praying, with a red dot on his head and red-mustard thread loosely tied on his left hand. He was walking with a smirk and looked like any other 30-something average indian man.

There was nothing unusual about him.

Until i noticed he was actually walking towards me and not just exiting the temple.

Before i could comprehend what was happening, he was a few centimetres away from me, mumbling something like ‘ looking pretty today ‘ in hindi. And as i turned to the left to walk away from him, he pulled my left arm to pull me towards him and strangled my breasts, cupping them in the most disgusting way.

And before i could even get my vocal chords to coordinate a scream, he briskly walked out of the temple and i lost my centre of gravity to awkwardly fall on the floor.

When i lifted my head to get up, i saw everyone staring at me, the guy who collects the shoes at the entrance, the security guard in a dirty blue uniform, two pandits in yellow drapes walking around, and i realised how no one stopped the man. No one thought they should run to catch the man. No one even came to me to ask if i’m alright. “

“ And then i realised how i was on the floor, just a few meters away from the entrance of the hall with all the idols dressed up in the brightest red coloured drapes.

I realised how i was sobbing in disgust, and embarrassment, and helplessness, with all the gods watching me.

I realised how i was alone in a temple , the ‘holiest’ place i was taught there was. “ she continued, turning away from me.

“ If the power of god was strong enough to hold the faith and belief of billions of people all over the world. If the supreme power was actually looking over us, would that man really do what he did.

That man prayed to his god.

He was in the holy place where all the faith rested.

We were at the place everyone came to find their ‘peace’.

And that is when i lost faith in anything related to the universally respected three letter word…god.

The word lost it’s power for me. It’s been 62 years since this incident and i haven’t visited a temple since. Neither have I felt the need to. I’m as peaceful as i can be, i’m satisfied, and tranquil, and happy. And that is all you need to know. “ she finished as she picked up the plate of peas to start peeling them again.

I didn’t know how to react to whatever she has just said, i didn’t know if it was appropriate to hug her, but i clutched her arms and pulled her towards me to hug her anyway. And then we never talked about any god ever again.

Maybe i don’t believe in god because i’ve been raised to not bestow my faith in idols and find my peace in marble floored roofed structures. Maybe the only good thing i’ve known about a temple is the sweet prasad they give you at the end of a chant.

One thing i know for sure is that not believing in god’s supreme power hasn’t changed my grandmother over time. And i’d survive without it anyway.