I had made up my mind. As I got up from my
desk at noon, for a split second, my hand hovered over the pen. Should I leave
a note, a letter? Should I explain? No. There was no need for that. The reasons
were clear enough. I didn’t want to seem even more pathetic by attempting
flimsy excuses. Without another glance, I strode out of the office – my steps
surer than they had ever been. Maybe that would draw attention. I slowed down
my pace.
For once, I didn’t have to wait for the
elevator. Was it a sign that things weren’t as bad as I thought? Or probably a
sign that I should follow through with my plan? That seemed more plausible. The
liftboy nodded absently at me. We saw each other at least twice a day every
working day. Yet, the half-nod was all that ever transpired between us. A soft
ping announced our arrival at the ground floor. Once more, I faltered. Was I
really doing this? Shouldn’t I have apologised to all those I had let down?
That would be a long list… no, all this was pointless now. For once I had made
up my mind. And I intended to follow through with my plan.
And anyway, I didn’t want any reassurances.
I didn’t want to be told ‘everything will be ok’. I knew things would be
better. When I was gone. They will be grateful I did this. Maybe not
immediately. After all, social mores would require them to go through the
grief-anger-disbelief cycle. Eventually, they will come to see this as a
blessing, I am pretty sure of that.
I made my way through groups of people
huddled over coffee, cigarettes and more. My destination was a couple of lanes
away; a newly constructed high-rise - largely unoccupied - overlooking an empty
concrete courtyard. My plan was simple. I was going to dive headfirst from the
terrace. I was going to put an end to this misery. I was going to free my wife
and my parents. Nobody else mattered anyway.
I decided to climb up the 20 odd flights of
stairs. Somehow, that seemed very important in that moment. I was probably
convincing myself that this was a well thought out decision; that I was willing
to make the effort. Or perhaps I was just buying myself some more time. Some
more time for what? To chicken out at the last moment? No. I am not sure why it
was so important but I was convinced I had to do this the hard way.
The first few flights went by easily. I
felt calm and confident. It got tougher as I climbed higher. My feet hurt as I
continued upwards, breathing harder, sweating. About halfway up, I decided to
take a break and sat down to catch my breath. It amused me to think that even
though I was going to hurl myself to a painful death, I still wanted to give my
body a few moments of comfort. With a chuckle, I got up and continued.
I imagined how my wife would react to the
news. Her first reaction would be disbelief. I wonder if she would feel any
remorse for not responding to my I-love-you this morning. She was a practical
woman though. I am sure she would find a rational explanation for my behaviour
and move on. She could finally realize her dreams. My negativity or I would no
longer hold her back. My mother would probably blame herself first. She is the
kind of woman who is capable of making practically any incident sound like a
personal failure! In this case however, it would not be so far fetched. If I
could, I would want to let her know that this wasn’t her fault. That she had
believed in me innumerable number of times. That I had let down her belief time
and again. I had no delusions or hopes of an afterlife. This will be it. The
end.
My father would help her cope. He is a
sensible man, with no patience for emotional fools like my mother or myself. He
would probably see this as an act of ultimate cowardice – proving that he was
right all along – that he had fathered a good-for-nothing son. I was thinking
of different occasions over the years when he had told me as much, as I reached
the door to the terrace. The last time I came up here, it was locked. But it
was a flimsy padlock that gave way to a swift tug. Evidently, no one had been
up here since, so I walked out. Another sign.
I checked my watch – a minute to 1pm. That
had taken longer than I expected! Well, it’s not like any one would notice how
long I’d been gone. Would they? Brushing aside these thoughts, I made my
way towards to other end of the terrace. I did not want to delay this any more.
The final moment was near.
I would probably make it to headlines of the local
papers. Something like “depressed man jumps to death” perhaps? Maybe they will
add some non-existent spin to the story. Just to make it a little more
interesting. My real story had nothing worth reporting. I had done nothing
note-worthy in the 37 years of my life. Even my failures were petty. Nothing
grand about them! Such a life was pointless. I was not doing this out of anger
or spite. I was not doing this out of hopelessness or depression. I was doing
this because it felt right. Some people might see it as a selfish thing to do.
Some people might pity me. But the minute they put down the paper, I would be
out of their minds. So how did it matter what they thought.
I hoisted myself up on the three-feet
protective wall between the terrace and the ledge, and gently slid down to the
other side. The ground seemed closer this time. And welcoming. I knew this
would hurt. I told myself that the pain would be momentary. And then, there
would be peace. I realized that my sweaty palms were clutching the wall behind
me. Letting go was harder than I had imagined. No time for second thoughts now. I
did it all the time. I heard my wife’s voice in my head ‘you can never stick to
a single decision you make’. Time to prove her wrong for once.
With an awkward jerk, I let go – hurtling
towards my death – much faster than I had imagined. No…an involuntary scream
escaped my lips. Stop! I was panicking. I wanted to turn back time. Frantically
hoping for a miracle as the ground raced towards me. Hands and legs flailing, I
desperately tried to slow down. Looked like I was going to fail, one last time.
Thud. Crack.
