My fingers busy flipping the pages continuously to the month of January. It sheds light on my memories. But a lot things are mentioned differently than my actual experience. The same feeling one would get, if their biography is written by some other writer in his own fictional thoughts. Like someone else has lived my life differently with different judgements. I stopped tossing pages, when I saw the date January 18.
Journal Entry
January 18, 2011
I reminisce this day every year, my father was in the crew of five men led by Ashraf Ghani during the Cold War period on Saturday, January 18, 1950, relations between the Republic of India and the Imperial State of Iran suffered due to their different political interests. Iran's continued support for Pakistan and India's close relations with Iraq during the Iran–Iraq War impeded further development of Indo–Iranian ties. My father was arrested in the attack and was hidden for years by the Indian government authorities mistaken for a Pakistani terrorist and being tortured him for eight years in a room, trying to extract the plans of the next attack, which he never knew. He died one day, unable to bear the torture; they didn’t know what to do? Left his body as prey to wild animals.
Both my elder brothers have joined terror groups to avenge my father’s death. I chose to live a calmer life instead, away from my family and this history. But fate has planned something else. I lost my job within few months because they found out that my family has terrorist background. My mother died of heart attack when she learnt that my brothers died during a terror trail. I lost everyone in my life. The only hope, I had was my wife, Aditi. She left, saying I only love her body now and not her anymore and she feels suffocated around me. She disappeared from my life, leaving me alone. I feared, being lonely, which turned into hatred and gradually transformed into violence and now I don’t desire to wipe it away.
I had no other choice. I joined a group of people who work in clusters; clusters of people with different personalities driving with hunger for revenge. If the victim ever efforts to make the egotistic abuser accountable for being a decent human being, they will lash out in rage, control and power from a narcissistic means going to war with the language they used against us. I was finally assigned on a mission to avenge my father’s death and found a reason to be alive.
Rahim Razak
The room dims in the echo of the diary. I rest my back on the floor, turning the pages.
I scrunched my eyebrows ‘Is this really happening?’ I said to myself
There is an impostor who is using my name? How did this diary get into my briefcase? The hat I thought wasn’t mine like this diary. So, the entire luggage isn’t mine. It belongs to Rahim, who wrote this diary. I went back in time, jogging my thoughts. Replaying the bits again and again to find out, when and where could my things have got exchanged. Then I recall the instance that took place mid-air the other day.
The plane was few miles away from Mumbai Airport, metallic seagull diving into thick cover of clouds, lost the turbulence gushing in the middle of nowhere, everyone around started praying their god’s and some passengers quickly caught hold of their oxygen masks and sticked on to their faces to escape death. Meanwhile, my thoughts were to meet Aditi. One last time, before I die. My head bounced back and forth in pressure. The entire plane was quaking in middle of the empty sky. My body has lost its weight all of a sudden. My presence felt like a feather in the emptiness like I saw on the TV, the other day where people float in Anti-Gravity. Everything was normal in two minutes. Gently unwrapping my eyes, I realize that I’m replaced with the seat behind me. I don’t know how I changed my seat unknowingly.
I checked ‘How did I get here? When did we switch our seats?’ with the person next to me.
‘You are in your place this whole time since we boarded the flight,’ he informed. ‘And you were drinking the whole time.’ he gave a hateful sight
But I don’t drink. I thought.
Without poking him more. I offered my prayers to Allah that I’m alive and ignored the incident as it didn’t matter then. Now, it all make sense.
This sounds strange and unbelievable ‘I got exchanged with Rahim Razak who belong to this universe and my country Runisia don’t have an existence here.’
But how will I prove this? I cannot show them this diary and expect them to believe me. Even I wouldn’t believe such nonsense. Picking up the thoughts slowly, I belong to a similar earth paralleling this universe. In the world where I belong is some other country here. While the flight entered some strange medium either magical or galactical, when the turbulence hit us both hard, we somehow swapped our places in mid-air. This is the only explanation I can give of my existence here in the place of another Rahim Razak. I have none other than this supernatural theory.
*****
Nineteen hours later…
Minutes gradually stretched to hours as one of these rambles led down my way where I am lost within Hindi inscribed shops boards, road signs etc. glowing the small streets of Mumbai and I’m drained out of energy, without a clue of destination; disguised in fear of getting caught by police, wearing that black round hat which isn’t the same as mine. I never understood, why there is a big debate on inclining population in India. But as
