Ravi Mangla
Alone is redundant. The a an unwelcome guest at lone's party of one. But even lone is a conundrum. The Lone Ranger, for one, was never alone. He had Tonto, his steadfast companion, by his side. Tonto would call his masked partner kemosabe, translated erroneously as "trusty scout" by the show's makers. Myself, I feel most alone during a pandemic that has claimed thousands of lives and augurs to claim countless more before the ledger is closed. Alone is a homonym of a loan. A loan is what my aunt extended to me when I made the down payment on my first house, which was paid back in full within the agreed upon time frame. My aunt lives alone, in the house where my uncle took his own life when he couldn't quiet the voices in his head. (Because when are we most alone than when inside our own heads?) A loan shark is someone that lends money with exorbitant amounts of interest. Loan sharks prey on people with the least. This is not to be confused with a lone shark, the sharp-toothed prowler of the deep. A lone shark won't break your legs but it might bite one clean off. (No amount of aloe can salve that wound.) A mass shooter is sometimes described as a lone wolf. Keep in mind, this moniker applies only to white men. There are different names for those of us with richer skin tones. (Hint: it's not kemosabe.) A group of wolves is called a pack. Like cigarettes. But unlike tobacco, wolves don't come with doctors' warnings. Some years ago I saw a documentary called The Wolfpack. I saw it in the theatre alone, as I am accustomed to doing. Six long-haired boys with Indian given names are raised as shut-ins in a Manhattan apartment. Their only pinhole to the outside world are the films they watch on repeat. Films like the ones that hum and flicker on a floating TV screen, in a hospital room that no one can visit, playing for an audience of one.