Pritam's Blog
I Hope Against All Hope
“I am a pessimist. I hope against all hope that things will go wrong,” I told my therapist.
“The optimistic thing about being a pessimist is that it prepares you, at least mentally, for the worst,” she responded with a smile. “I shouldn’t be saying it. But knowing you, that seemed like a more suitable response.”
“No. I agree. Being a pessimist usually works for me. It’s because of that I have very little expectation from life. From my career. My relationships. But I don’t give up just because I am a pessimist. In fact, I try harder. If it works, good. If not, no hard feelings.” I paused. “Maybe I don’t try much in my relationships. That’s what my parents, relatives, and even Pallabi would say…”
“What’s bothering you, Pritam?”
“I am not sure… You know, recently I got a promotion. I have literally worked my ass off for this. But now, I am a bit sceptical. I always find it difficult to believe it when something good happens to me. And as if to prove that my scepticism is justified, the second wave of Covid hit us. A part of me started thinking that maybe I will die. So, I went out one day, bought medicines, groceries, and even cigarettes for the next 15 days. And I didn’t go out once after that.”
“See, that’s a good thing. You are prepared to whatever extent it’s possible to be prepared. As for the fear, it’s not just you. All of us are living with this constant fear… It’s OK.”
“No. It’s not my ‘fear’ that I am talking about. I am comfortable with the fact that I am scared. I am no Superman and I shouldn’t be pretending to be one. What bothers me the most is the fact that my fear and agony were too me-centric.”
“What do you mean?”
“Except my colleagues, I talk to like three people on a regular basis. You, Pallabi, and a friend. And all three of you are positive now. It hit me the most when Pallabi tested positive. I couldn’t sleep the entire night. I had panic attacks. And all I could think of is what would I do… like literally, how would I spend my life if something happens to her…”
“How’s she now? Her condition is stable?”
“Yes. She’s stable. No serious symptoms till now. But then again, all these stories that I see on Facebook and all… It’s disturbing.”
“She will be fine, Pritam.”
“I hope so… You know there’s one more thing that I realized. I write a lot. Sometimes, I exaggerate things in my writings. Like these conversations with you. Sometimes, I write it like there’s some sort of subtle romantic tension between the two of us. Pallabi laughs at these things. Says that in my writings, I am a little womanizer, a little adulterous… Maybe I am… Men are assholes by nature. But that sleepless night and bouts of panic attacks have made me realize one thing. That I cannot imagine a life without her. I never did…”
“Well, that, I guess, everybody knows.” She smiled. “Do you feel guilty about writing what you write?”
“I don’t. I am an unapologetic asshole.”
“Good. Don’t think too much. Just stay indoors. Things are really not good.”
“I know. I am sorry to bother you…”
“Hey, it’s fine.”
We hung up.
I checked my phone. Somebody had tweeted - I just lost her.
The me-centric part of me remembered a poem:
“If in forty, fifty years I am not there to say — “Look baby we made it.” Know that I would have rather stayed, and frayed, and greyed, and turn silver with you. Watch the sun set on us, our veins drained from our youth.”
Fuck!