75% - Part I

"But yours— its 75%"

I woke up with the sun. Deep orange, it was a ball of fire on the horizon. As light infused the sky, darkness retreated.

A soothing scent spread through the room as my herbal tea took on a deep, green color. With every sip, the tea’s warmth lingered at the bottom of my throat.

Today, at 10 am, I would have to go for my test. 10 am was still hours away, yet, I woke up at dawn, my mind filled with imaginings of moments leading up to 10 am. At 9:30, I’d leave the house and start the walk. At 9:45, heaving up the steps, I’d cross the overhead bridge. At 9:55, I’d enter the testing center. I liked being early.

The morning had elongated, somehow, that day. Each second vied to be noticed, as though waiting for my permission before passing. I spent the morning juxtaposed between the slow passage of time and the rushing anxiety inside my chest.

Even when my son woke up and called to me, I wasn’t released from the trappings of time and anxiety. As though I inhabited a different dimension than him. My mother, who perhaps sensed my anxiety, whisked him away to his room, saying she’d read his favorite story out loud.

At 9:30 am, I left my house and started walking eastward. It was Saturday— there were not many cars on the street. The lush, green sidewalk trees cast their shadows on the pavement forming a series of shadow steps that I walked atop. The spring blossoms perfumed the air with a subtle, sweet fragrance. I hoped I wouldn’t pass by anyone I knew. Not today.

The testing center, too, was surprisingly empty. I had anticipated a long line and hours of waiting. At the reception, I presented my ID to the jovial girl, who smiled at me. While she checked the details on the computer, I glanced around the immaculate reception area, across which lay a set of beige sofas.

“Wait there,” she said, pointing to the sofas and handing me back my ID and a small booklet. A sticker was pasted on the front with my details.

Age: 34

Gender: F

Address: Residential Complex 12

“Someone will be with you shortly.”

When a medical officer arrived, wearing a white coat, I stood up, instinctively, and followed her wordlessly. The testing room was sparsely furnished, with a bed, a table, a cupboard and a notice board where someone had pinned calendar images of nature landscapes. The flowing waterfalls, the majestic mountains, the flowering rhododendrons— none could soothe my anxiety.

“Lay down on the bed please. I also need you to open your blouse,” the medical officer said. From inside the cupboard, she retrieved a machine which looked like a typewriter. Wires emerged from its sides— wires which were carefully wound and tied lest they should entangle. Placing the machine next to my bed, she began to unwind the wires. One she attached to my thumb. Another, which had soft, sticky padding at the end, to my chest. The final one, similar to the second one but flatter, to my temples. Through the soft padding, I felt the cold metal touching my skin.

When the officer turned on the machine, it sprang alive, announcing itself with a dull, mechanical whirr.

“Just close your eyes and relax,” she told me.

I don’t know what happened next, except that time stretched on, even more so than the morning, and my mind was occupied by the feeling of cool metal on my temples and the droning, mechanical sound of the machine.

Then, “Ok, we are done.”

She removed the wire attachments from my body.

At the desk, placed the booklet before me. She had jotted down a series of numbers.

“Jyoti-ji, your grief measurement is still too high. At the end of two years, the normal range is between 30-45%. Even at 50%, we sometimes let patients return to their life before. But yours— it’s 75%,” she paused, and took a deep breath in. “I hope you know what this means, Jyoti-ji. You will need to be institutionalized.”

Time, suddenly, decided it no longer wanted to be with me. It sped up, and I couldn’t keep up with the dizzying pace.

Part 2 is now available here

75% is a part of a triad of short stories— three conceptually linked pieces of fiction exploring interconnected themes. Discover the other two stories below:

Nayan’s Visions

Lyrical