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<\/p>\n\u201cBlank. Sterile. Vacant. Virginal. White. Pale. Empty. Void. Bare. Still\u201d<\/p>\n
She uttered each word loud. Well-enunciated. Rolling her tongue, hitting the roof of her mouth. The sounds bouncing back and falling on her ears. She raked her mind for more words. More words to bounce on the walls. The four white walls surrounding her and closing in on her.<\/p>\n
\u201cScant. Unoccupied. Cavity. Bleak. Barren. Arid.\u201d The words filled the room and the sound of her own voice modulated echoing from the walls irritated her. She tried thinking of more words to describe the walls around her. The perfect white walls without a blemish or a scar. \u201cDover White\u201d \u2013 the shade was called. \u201cThis room calls for a holi celebration. Splash the Dover White walls with colour and water. Strain it with shades of pink and yellow and green. Blue and red and orange and violet\u201d she declared turning her head towards color.<\/p>\n
The only color in the room came from the blinking red lights from the digital clock on the side table. 5:30 am and she swore quite colourfully. At the alarm clock, the white walls, and the outside world. She giggled as the crude words rang in her ears. \u201cThey definitely don’t fit the place but it does feel good. I should do it more often\u201d she muttered. She listened. For creaks, squeaks, phantom sounds. Anything that signified life beyond the closed doors. A yell, a cry, a fit of laughter, a chuckle, a roar. She harkened her ears with false hopes. She knew there would be stillness. Anything but stillness would have freaked her out. Scared her. Had her dialing 911 for help. Yet she hoped for sounds \u2013 the bells from the milkman\u2019s mobile dispersing unit followed by the shrill whistle from the milk cooker. Reluctant groans from children being roused from sleep and drones of domestic squabbles.<\/p>\n
She craved for sound. Sounds of home. Sounds she grew up with for 25 years. She reached out for the remote for the music system. Something to break the quiet. The oppressive silence. The stillness. Strains of her favorite music filled the room through well-hidden speakers. The music filled her, it was not home but she was trying to fit in. Fit in the minimalist, white, designer world. She stretched out enjoying the luxury of 1000 count satin sheets and the luxury of not having to worry about chores.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have hired a nurse and maid service to help you dear\u201d her husband had crooned. \u201cWhat a great husband my brother makes!\u201d her sister-in-law sniggered her face mocking as they video chatted. \u201cEnjoy it! You don\u2019t know how lucky you are to be off your feet when you are 6 months pregnant. The ER is crazier with all those kids on spring break. Quit being the doctor and think about being a mother\u201d her best friend advised her.<\/p>\n
The voices rang aloud in her ears as she patted her tummy. The baby cooking inside needed her to stay in bed. \u00a0\u201cAt Rest. Still. Inert. Dormant. Immobile.\u201d the Doctors had said. \u201cRemember to enjoy and savor the quiescence. The quiet and the peace\u201d she reminded herself reaching for the dictionary. Words were great companions.<\/p>\n
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