Short Story: The Man with Bottles. (Full Story)

Year - 2007

After a tiresome journey, we were about to reach the place I hated the most. When we came here last time, I was a small kid. I don’t have any memory of that time and I am not interested to take any such pain to remember it. I only know that I can’t create any memory here. I have to just adjust for few days before we head back. I plonked my bag on the platform and read the name of the platform in my mind – Firozpur (my native place).

Our relatives or people only known-to-my-parents came to received us at the railway station. When we came out of the station, I instantly liked the place. It was not that bad what I thought of! I expected plain ground where children would be playing cricket, and crop fields all around. But I was wrong because the town was developing. The city was in construction and few apartments where already established. As our car moved, I explored more. I wasn’t disappointed until I entered a way which consisted of only plain fields. At the end of the lane, I could to see a house. I quietly assumed that it wouldn’t have proper sanitation facilities. I was making up my mind for a hard week here. When I got out of my car, I saw my grandmother and touched her feet. I imagined how much I missed her? Or was I too selfish about my comfort that I never visited her? I felt guilty, immediately. There were many unknown faces staring me as if I looked like an alien. Simple fact was: I was new to them and they were new to me.

Then came the most boring part, one by one, I was introduced to everyone and I couldn’t help myself from smiling. It happens with everyone, I thought. They were new to me but they were also my family. After a loud welcome, I thought of taking rest and everyone insisted us to do the same. Travelling from Mumbai to Firozpur in train (though AC) was hectic and everyone was aware of that fact.

Night:

One thing that I like the most in villages is – peace. People living in Mumbai can never find such peace. After a noiseless nap, I felt refreshed. I ate Aloo Parathas with extra butter on it for snacks, and Sarson ka Saag was also delicious for dinner. It was a typical Punjabi treat and I enjoyed it. Suddenly, I started feeling lonely. Everyone started chatting with each other: my mother with my aunties, my father with my uncles, and kids were too small in the house. I could only see my grandmother lone sitting on her unique rocking chair. That rocking chair lasted for almost 5 decades and my grandmother was still using it. For some reason, I felt that I should apologise to her for not coming here quite often. I went up to her and touched her feet. She gave me blessings and indicated me to sit beside her. I sat comfortably on a Charpai (Wooden Handmade Bed).

            “If I am not wrong you’re in college, right?” My grandmother asked.

            “Yes!” I replied.

Afterwards for half-an-hour, she asked me some basic questions regarding my likes, what I do, hobbies, etc. I sat there answering her questions. She told me some important things about our family, our culture, and how much she got bored in this house. I was listening to her joyfully and also observed that she was proud of our culture and her past.

It was quarter to 12 and still, everyone was busy chatting. One of my aunties instructed me to help my Daddi (grandmother) get to her bed. I wished her a good night sleep and turned around to leave, when I saw many story books lying down on the table. I asked her if I could take one and she granted me the permission.

I loved the calm environment around me as I opened one of many story books I had piled up in front of me. I was not feeling too much sleepy and I couldn’t stop myself from starting with anyone of them. Books I had with me, consisted of short stories. I started reading stories from one of the books and complete within half-an-hour. When I was flipping through pages, something fell down from the book. It was an old envelope. I opened it and saw there were some pages with something written on it. It was written in a clumsy handwriting. Looking at the format, I couldn’t predict anything so I started reading it.  

Pages:

I don’t know why I feel like writing today or maybe my mental health is disturbing me too much. Today was my 65^th birthday, and I should be the happiest man on this planet. I have a nice family with my partner still alive with me. One would die to live my life but I am dying every day I’m living. I don’t know if I want to live this life. My life is not so beautiful, though it seems so from outside. People who look beautiful from outside, actually are the ones broken from inside. No, I am being sentimental. I am just thinking about myself, maybe for the first time, no, second time. Yes, second time.

To be honest, I have a great life. I cannot demand for anything more. A man who was once a healthy working honest banker, turned into a bottle collector, in which he only stores water. There are some rumours in our family that I have gone mad. Yes, anyone would say a person mad if he or she is so obsessed with bottles. Not only bottles. I. . . I also fill water in those empty bottles. When I took voluntary retirement, people in my house were angry on me because I had 5 years of service left. I told them, my pension was enough for our needs and I proved out to be right.

Before retirement, particularly, I was the busiest man in my family, and after retirement it was the other way around. My wife kept on taunting me about this and I don’t blame her. She was right I shouldn’t have taken retirement before it was due. I should’ve worked more and I also had a chance for promotion.  My days went listening to her slightly abusive taunts and ended on bed with the same woman. Still, I pretended to be happy. There was one incident when she said something about me in front of her rel. . . . I should skip that part, I guess.

During my free time, I concentrated on household work. I failed, miserably. When it came to making tea for me, I was very comfortable but, my condition would get worse when I was instructed to cook a meal because my wife sometimes wouldn’t work or housemaid was on a holiday. She told me, I was good for nothing. I accepted it. I should have learnt to cook a meal while I was working day-night for their future. Many such incidents took place during the initial years of my retirement. I used to lie down on my bed thinking about what I should do to utilize my free hours and I can say free day. If my wife used to see me lying down, she would again say something sharp and bitter as rum.

So, for the betterment of everyone I decided to help my child with his studies. I had a son who was in 12^th standard and I desperately wanted to help him secure good marks. It was back then, my second year after retirement.  I tried helping him out but he ignored me sometimes or he would go out to his friend’s place to study. Whenever I used to ask him about his studies, he would say, he was way ahead of his syllabus. I wondered how? One day, I got angry on him and slapped him because he was watching idiot box whole day and was not ready to study at night. I didn’t want to slap him but his board exams were less than a month away! Earlier the scenario was different. After working for whole day, I never looked up to his academics but now it was completely different. So, coming back to slapping, I slapped him after which he went up to his mother and said, “Earlier when Papa (Dad) used to work, everything was fine and now he is so dominating. I don’t like him staying home all day.” His comment was followed by his mother’s acidic words. I apologised and vowed I would never come between his matters. He got a decent percentage in his 12^th class but not a good percentage for which I was preparing him. Still, I pretended to be extremely happy but things didn’t go well.

“Empty mind is a devil’s workshop”, my wife always said looking at me. I had nothing to do. I was almost lost in my own world of emptiness. My decision of retirement was . . . actually troubling others. My presence was a problem to others so, I decided to open a small shop of toys. I used the amount of my fixed deposit to set up a small shop. I always liked kids though my own son hated me for staying near him. Six months later, I realized my shop was running on loss and unfortunately, I had to close it. Whatever decent investment I made to set up and run that shop was now no more. My wife got one more reason to blame me. Her words turned more acidic . . . after getting informed about my failure. I thought she would show sympathy towards her defeated husband but, she did not. I did not get any support from her.

That defeat stayed with me for a long time, maybe I am still not over it.

After failing terribly, I did not feel like doing anything. I was alone and broken. I fought enough but couldn’t win anything. I removed the emotion of happiness from my life. I stopped looking for peace. Actually, I stopped feeling anything. I felt as if I was an emotionless man. Well, I became one. I wanted to express a lot but couldn’t do it. After a month, I got to know I was suffering from – depression. Time stopped for me.

I started visiting a psychiatrist who helped me a bit. He told me to be myself in front of him. But the truth was – I had forgotten myself. He asked me about my problems, and shamelessly I uttered my failures to him. He advised me to be in control as if I was not normal anymore. I’m not, I know.

One day, while drinking water from a bottle, I got an idea. I was thrilled by it. From the very next day, I started collecting bottles. I collected bottles from almost everywhere. From roads, from my house, from other’s house, from my old office and I also used to buy bottles from scrap dealer. All I wanted was lots and lots of bottles. After collecting bottles, I used to fill water in those bottles and keep in my garden.

My wife started having problem with this activity of mine. I ignored her and kept my things on. I enjoyed collecting, filling and staying with bottles around me. I knew without bottles around me I would feel uncomfortable. Once again, I started behaving normally. This habit of mine increased and soon went viral in my family. Even my neighbours started assuming I was mad. Anyone would feel I was a lunatic after watching my love for bottles but only I know the significance of these water bottles in my life. Honestly, without these water bottles, I won’t behave normally.

Bottles outside my garden aren’t filled with water; they are filled with my emotions. Whatever I had within me, I transplanted into those bottles. My fears, anger, joy, sadness, disgust, trust and expectation are all in those bottles. I can’t express my emotions and if I do, I am sure I will break all ties with my family. I have so much to say that I can’t but if I do; everything will be finished. 

It all started from there. From the day I retired. I shouldn’t have retired. I should have worked for some more years. I did not take voluntary retirement because I wanted to spend time with my life. I took retirement because I was tired. I was done. I worked in that bank for almost 30 years, from 8am to 9pm or 10pm; I lived half of my life inside a small cabin, I wanted freedom from it so, I quit. Yes, I was selfish but I was also tired. After 30 years, don’t I deserve some rest? I am writing this today because I don’t know what will happen tomorrow?

Tomorrow my wife is going to clear the garden because it’s full of bottles. She doesn’t love these bottles like I do. Once these bottles are gone, again I would feel empty or maybe I would turn mad or maybe I won’t be able to write again. I don’t know. But one fact won’t change ever: I am mentally ill. I know it because no normal human being ever collected bottles to store emotions in them.

The Man with Bottles  

After a week: Departure

I tried not to think about that story but I couldn’t take it off my mind. Emptiness in life can affect a person’s mental health. How empty he must have felt without any support? I had one more thing to do before I could go home. I went to my grandmother and apologised to her. I forgot to say it that night. I thought about my Daddi, she was always alone. No one is ready to hear her thoughts and finally she would have to bury those thoughts inside her. During this week, I noticed she was happy with me because she knew I was her support and only I listened to her, quietly. I decided to come to my native place every year.

I thought I won’t create any memory here. I was wrong. But now I was happy to be wrong.

If you don’t have someone to convey your feelings with, it can become a major problem.