Saturday, October 2, 2010

The inheritance of loss. . .

When I first read Kiran Desai's 'The Inheritance of Loss', it depressed me to no end. Sai and Biju's stories are equally - if not less or more - depressing. The book won the Man Booker that year (2006) and I wondered if it really was worthy of the Prize. But I digress.

I look around me and I see disrepair. Peeling wallpaper. Chipped paint. Closed windows. Utensils gathering dust. Cupboards filled with stuff that's never used. On the enclosed window grill, potted plants had a burst of life these past monsoon months. With the rains gone, the soil has dried, cracked even. And the plants have died a natural death. The inheritance of loss is all around me. And it overwhelms. At times. I can't seem to do anything about it. I try. I really do.

Once again, the sleeplessness is killing. Three nights in a row. I lost that prescription to those sleeping pills yet again. 1 am on the countdown charts, and I've got an aching head. The night is dead. And something within me died a long time ago.

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