They say that it happens. Most of them
in their old wisdom told me that it does.
That the cells of the body lose the sense
of affection for someone they once loved.
That one unfeels. That passion turns to apathy.
Perhaps it is a desired state. A happy state.
If apathy is happy. Perhaps I could tell you
ten years later. Make that twenty. If
anagapesis is messy. If it bleeds. If it stops
halfway. Or if it is a clean aseptic cut
that I can anaesthetise. The cells of my body
don’t really believe in anagapesis. That a complete
lack of affection can ever happen.
A-na-ga-pe-sis. Long word. It is a difficult word
to remember. It is easy to forget it. A-na-ga-pe-sis.
I am terribly afraid of it. Perhaps, I secretly
don’t even want it to happen.
Shruti Sareen, born and brought up in Varanasi, studied at Rajghat Besant School, a Krishnamurti Foundation Institution. She came to Delhi to study literature from Indraprastha College. Strongly interested in Indian Poetry in English, her MPhil looked at urban spaces and places, whereas she is currently pursuing a PhD thesis which focuses on Emerging Feminist Trends in 21st Century Poetry by Indian Women in English. She earlier had poetry published in The Little Magazine, Six Seasons Review, North East Review, Brown Critique, Muse India, Reading Hour, Vayavya, E-Fiction India, 1 Over The 8th, Chay Magazine and so on. She also writes fiction, mostly on themes of non-normative love, or on other issues of relevance such as nature and environment. She also likes to teach literature whenever she is able to find a job.