18th April. He did remember this date. Was it even humanly possible for him to forget this date?
He would call his office and let them know that he wouldnt go there as he was sick - down with tearing nostalgia. Of a date that he hoped would be wiped off all calenders. For an event which he could never delete from his mind.
In general, days were not particularly tough on Ishan, it was the nights that he dreaded. The thought of coming back home to an eternity of solitude gave him shivers.
He was alone not by choice. He was alone because he had to be.
Tonight - for under such agonising pain, the world blacked out for him - was no different from the plethora of such nights, indistinguishable from each other, marked perhaps only by the strain involved in keeping himself from thinking about alternate histories. "What if he had heard the weather forecast for the day.." , "What if he had joined Trishna, Iti and Tarun that day?", "What if..."
Trishna liked to let her hair out to dry. Iti had started copying her mother and would always call out " Dad, look.. I have hair like Ma."...
Ishan hated life, the day, and the entire world. Of what use are these objects if they can not bring any comfort to a troubled soul? This bed, this laptop, this cupboard, this pen stand - actually, this one was Tarun's favorite. As Trishna used to remark, he was getting ready for "throwing olympics". Given that he threw everything that he could lift, who knows - he might have indeed gone for the olympics. And yes, might is the operative word.
For we will never know, and he will never have a chance to prove himself. Nor will Iti.
In the end, the fact that he had the bottle of sleeping pills in his hand was not surprising at all. The resolve with which he opened the lid was a bit surprising. The speed with which he gulped down almost the entire bottle was pretty surprising. But perhaps the most surprising was the shrill voice that said "Daddy.... we are home..."