Note : This is like an aftermath to a post my friend Abhinav Kukreja wrote ( the post is here -> http://abhinavkukreja96.wordpress.com/2014/08/07/there-is-something-odd-about-odd-numbers-2/ ) 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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. “
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.
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.