Void

For the last few weeks life has pretty much been 'living out of a box' for Sabyasachi. He had moved into this rented second floor studio apartment on a humid afternoon with nineteen boxes, a tv, a fridge, a washing machine, a leather couch, a wrought iron bed, a laptop and an acoustic guitar. While he was shifting, the city heat had given him the worst possible sunburn he could imagine. To top it all, when a dozen boxes were the last items to be neatly stacked outside, waiting their turn to be moved in, the sweaty, sticky weather had changed into a moist breezy one, and within a couple of minutes it started to rain. Sabya, as his friends often called him avoiding his mouthful of a name, scampered up and down, trying to save the boxes from getting wet. It was chaos. At the end of it all, the evening was a pleasant one, except for two casualties. Sabya had a bad muscle sprain and water was still dripping from his box of graphic novels, that he had so painfully collected over the last four years.

The second last box was full of his books from his college. The green, blue covers with angular scribblings seemed alien to him now. On his makeshift bookcase they found the bottom shelf. The last book was set in place. Sabya looked at the last box sitting in the corner. He imagined the box looking back at him. As the sense of relief started spreading, he stood up massaging his shoulder, went to the kitchen which was pretty modern judging by the in built chimney, and started boiling some water for his coffee. Putting it on simmer, he came back to his last box. The box sat pretty, the cardboard was a bit thicker with a layer of gloss on it, taped with green tape, thick marker stripes read 'etc' on it. Rolling up his sleeves, pen knife in hand, Sabya eased his hands through the cover.

There were wires, chargers, plugs, plectrums, pen drives, wrist watches and what not in that box. The box was confusion personified. Sabya scrambled through them, making a mental note of who, when, where and how for each of the items inside. Neatly stacked at the bottom there seemed to be a bunch of cards/photographs, which was quite unreachable because of what seemed to him like junk at the moment. He stopped, craned his neck to listen to the boiling of water in his kitchen, which seemed calm, put his hands inside the box in a gathering manner and started piling all the stuff on the floor, until finally he reached the papers at the bottom.

There were pictures, cards, invitations and a couple of notes in the bunch. A picture of his best friend from school whom Sabya has not been in touch with for the last couple of years. Another one of the girl from college whom Sabya did not find the courage to propose. One more of an office party where he had danced his knees numb. A couple of pages of poems he used to write back in college, one of the pages even containing apparent chords in D-minor. A couple of get well soon cards from his jaundice days. Three wedding invitations, two from his friends in college who are still in touch, one from an office colleague with whom Sabya had hooked up once, but it did not work out. Sabya was amazed by the kaleidoscope of nothings that had somehow gathered in that box. From within this unruly bunch of memories, a photo dropped on the floor, smaller in frame than the rest, but still bright and vibrant. Sabya picked it up with shaking hands, his eyes welled up, his throat hurt as he felt it form knots of pain. Of all the things that Sabya wanted to bring to his new home, her memory was not even on the list. The photo smiled away with warmth as Sabya started sinking back towards the wall.

As a burnt man cowered looking at flames, in the kitchen, water boiled seamlessly into a fine flickering trickle of steam. Sabya did not have coffee that evening.