DISINTEGRATION

The car reels, skids and stops at the edge of the precipice. I jump out struggling to breathe and reveal myself to the blinding darkness. A boom cracks and clicks through my body. My body disintegrates with all its pieces strewn across the gravel of the cliff. Like someone rubbing a dried, hardened pea pod between the palms and unpacking all the lifeless peas within. The gravel, still wearing its cold stony feel, looks unaffected, however. I feel I should jump off the precipice. I am dead after all. What is the point of living now! But where is the blood? The gravel feels as gray as ever. I cannot feel any colour on it. I must collect myself. My arms, my legs, my eyes, my back, my nose, my belly, my ribs, my ears, my shoulders, everything must be around. If it has not fallen off the precipice. I can jump down the cliff and look for the other parts. I am dead after all.

I wake up paralysed. There does not seem to be any way to lift myself. I try to twist to lie on my side. But I cannot feel myself today. Every day, the 5.7-inch Wide Quad HD AMOLED screen would open myself to me. I could feel myself through it. It had sufficient depth and width to give me a picture of myself. It would make me look warmer: my colours more substantive, full-bodied unlike the papery colour that I know I have. The room and the world in my window invited me every day. They woke up on the 12.3-megapixel rear camera, with an f/2.0 aperture, like a person's dead heart jumps up to life through a defibrillator's shock. A crucible where they purged themselves of their deadness everyday. By burning in the heat of Qualcomm's octa-core Snapdragon 810 clocked at 2.0GHz fuelled by the 3GB of LPDDR4 RAM. Their colours are not palpable now; they occupy a haze. I cannot even smell the mustard of the walls today. The 8-megapixel front-facing camera birthed me in the mustard surface of the walls. It granted me love every time I saw my mother awaiting my arrival from the railway station on the gates of our white house with its blue borders. I felt my blood stop only when it showed me by my mother's dead body perched on a bamboo bier. The roar of the Zanskar, the drum of the sea in Betul, the hum of the mountains in Munsiyari. It had made all these mine. The BoomSound speakers never let me lose them. My world and my self are now lost. My phone is lost, it is dead. And I am dead. What is the point of living now anyway!