It was raining a lot that night. Asha was sitting by the window.She always liked big windows, the ones that could let in the air, sunshine and rain. She had turned off all the lights to feel the dark. Sitting in the dark by the window made her feel less cluttered. But there was something uneasy about the rain that day. Every other time it used to rain, she had never felt so connected to it. The raindrops encroached in through the window and broke into many little droplets on her arm. They felt uncomfortably cold, but she did not feel the need to brush them aside. Finally after around an hour,she got up and walked in to what used to be Chitra's room. Every time she did, she felt a strange ache rise in her heart.It was something so deeply tragic, something so unbelievably painful that she had stopped trying to control how much she missed her daughter. She felt so alone in that house.She looked at the perfectly made bed in her room, and suddenly remembered how she used to scold Chitra for leaving her bed unkempt.She walked to the study and took out her diary and wrote something down at a go. Not a single scribble, as if it was all so clear in her mind. She finished writing, left the diary open and went out to walk in the rain.Falling of the skies
A hundred reasons and thousand names
all rained down from the sky,
as she turned her back on all of them
with a long silent goodbye.
A million stars hung their heads
and sunk themselves so low.
As if they all want her to stay
never wanting to let go.
One less pair of shiny eyes
shall look up to them at night.
And they'll all miss her silently
and glow a li'l less bright.
The winds in her hair shall now run free
and find new corners to go,
to new places and faces
and to people they did not know.
The lament of the moon,
the lament of my eyes,
were sung out loud that night
with the falling of the skies.
It had been three years now. Chitra had passed away in that very room. The surgery never happened, because the leukocytocis had become too aggressive. One sunny winter morning, she did not wake up.
The previous night, was however, unforgettable. She was feeling quite better suddenly.Active and willing to do things. She had asked her to call Viren home that night.He had come rushing. Very nonchalantly, she did something which both of them had secretly hoped for in a long time. As he came to sit at the edge of her bed, she smiled at him and asked him to tell her stories like used to when she was a kid. By the end of an hour, she started feeling drowsy again. She didn't say much, but looked at him, and whispered quietly "Goodnight Baba."
That moment Viren could feel his heart beat right out of his chest with his love for her. All the fatherly love and concern he had hidden somewhere behind those steady and cold eyes, came out all at once with his tears. Everything went back to the sight of her in that pink frock, and the way she used to sway it.
Next morning they went to her room to find her dead. What happened next was a blur. Things moved fast. People came and went. Phonecalls were made. Condolences were offered.
But what remained was what she had left behind. The empty room that was still so full of her, the drawings behind the doors she had made as a child, the silent afternoons and evenings. These, and one more thing. The parting gift she had given to her father. She had finally called him Baba, after all these years.
Asha and Viren never repaired their marriage. They hardly talked after her death. With their daughter now gone, the only link that could have brought them back together was just a strong memory in their minds. But maybe that's how it is. It is okay, at times, to not go back to how things used to be. Even if what you have now isn't what you really want. Maybe life is more about the moments, rather than the people. More about the parting gift, rather than all the angry years in between.
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The previous night, was however, unforgettable. She was feeling quite better suddenly.Active and willing to do things. She had asked her to call Viren home that night.He had come rushing. Very nonchalantly, she did something which both of them had secretly hoped for in a long time. As he came to sit at the edge of her bed, she smiled at him and asked him to tell her stories like used to when she was a kid. By the end of an hour, she started feeling drowsy again. She didn't say much, but looked at him, and whispered quietly "Goodnight Baba."
That moment Viren could feel his heart beat right out of his chest with his love for her. All the fatherly love and concern he had hidden somewhere behind those steady and cold eyes, came out all at once with his tears. Everything went back to the sight of her in that pink frock, and the way she used to sway it.
Next morning they went to her room to find her dead. What happened next was a blur. Things moved fast. People came and went. Phonecalls were made. Condolences were offered.
But what remained was what she had left behind. The empty room that was still so full of her, the drawings behind the doors she had made as a child, the silent afternoons and evenings. These, and one more thing. The parting gift she had given to her father. She had finally called him Baba, after all these years.
Asha and Viren never repaired their marriage. They hardly talked after her death. With their daughter now gone, the only link that could have brought them back together was just a strong memory in their minds. But maybe that's how it is. It is okay, at times, to not go back to how things used to be. Even if what you have now isn't what you really want. Maybe life is more about the moments, rather than the people. More about the parting gift, rather than all the angry years in between.
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With this, I call it a close folks. The story I wanted told, has been told.
