Two years! How do I count it? Do I use my fingers and toes to calculate it in terms of months and weeks? Or do I use calculator to calculate the exact number of hours since you left us in that pre-dawn darkness.
No, I don’t want to count the days that’s gone by. Nor do I want to remind myself of that unfaithful hour that robbed me off.
All the people I talk to, tell me, they understand my grief. But only my heart knows that no amount of understanding can actually wade deep into the gorge of my grief.
Some might say a prayer or perhaps offer butterlamp but no prayers will mend my broken soul nor any butter lamp dispel the darkness I’m in.
Many frightful dreams I shudder in, wallowing in whirlpool of remorse. If only I had kept my heart open. If only I had looked closely at your fragmented spirit rather than basking in your youthful radiant skin. If only I had seen through the fake wall of strength you had build around us.
Many ‘ifs’ remain. I can’t offer any ‘buts’ in return. Many questions remain. I don’t have any answers.
So I sit in solitude, scrolling down the contact numbers in my phone.Your number is still right on the top of the list. But I’ve stopped dialing your number now. I don’t like that computerized sound reminding me that you no longer exist in this world.
But what do this voice know? You have not ceased to exist. Never. You’ve evaporated into every cell of my soul. How can you not exist then?
I’ve those,” I miss you terribly ama” moments. I shed silent tears. But every time a drop trickles down, I remind myself of the strength with which you carried yourself around even when things were all wrong with you. Then I stop crying. I know you would never want me to be a weakling, for you never were one!
I fight a battle each new day. A battle with my spirit. And I think I am winning ama. Yes, indeed. I see myself stronger, way more confident and above all so sure of where I’m headed in life. And I know this is possible only because your soul has transgressed into my being.
Often times, I rebuke my weak heart and lo! I find your strong heart sitting next to it and that makes all the difference to my existence.
So you see ama, you are not gone. Then why am I counting the days and saying that today it will be two years since you left me? You’ve not left me, for you are very much alive in my soul.
write
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
The Choice
The cars are zooming by outside, I hear them. People are moving around, I hear them too. But more than these loud sounds,there is another sound far more louder than all these sounds put together. It is the sound of my heart thudding in my chest. NO! I've seen no ghost. Neither have I just come in from some heavy physical work. I'm just sitting in my room. Oh! yes! I can even hear the soft snores of my son sleeping beside me.
Why is my heart beating in this manner then?
Well, my heart knows that just as I'm sitting here, trying to gather the beats of my heart, my daughter must be in front of hundreds of her friends in the Assembly ground. She might be holding out a new silk Rachu and talking about it. Today it is her turn for the "Show and tell" during the morning Assembly time. In her school, unlike the other schools which have morning speeches, they have this 'show and tell' where the children bring an object to school and tell their friends about it.
I know had I not resigned, I would be another spectator, listening to her with tears streaming down my eyes. This has little to do with a mother's nervousness over her daughter's speech turn. I'm confident my daughter would give in her best!
What is making me feel that dripping feeling in my tummy is what she must be telling about that Rachu.
2012, a month before my ama left us, she called my daughter near her bedside. She was very weak and her hair had started falling out in clumps after the first round of chemo therapy. Her bony hands sliding into her black duffel bag, she fished out the silk Rachu. Handing it to my daughter, holding it firmly between their palms, which remained like that till she finished talking, my ama said," This is your Abhi's gift to you, Angie."
My Angie had just turned six a month ago but she always has been too mature for her age. She thanked her Abhi and came running to me. The first thing she had to ask me was,"Mama, is Abhi gonna die?"
I had tears in my eyes. I nodded first, trying to find words from the lump that had suddenly blocked my voicebox. Finally in a weak voice I told her," But I don't want her to."
Angie held me in her small arms which barely made a full round around my huge body and she told me,"Don't worry she won't die."
My ama expired a month later. Angie knew she had been wrong. But she didn't accept defeat. Calmly she told me, "Abhi is in heaven now mama, stop crying!" It was as if my little girl knew that she was gone to the better world than this earthly world of sorrows and griefs.
Yesterday, she came to me and said,"mama, can I have the gift my Abhi gave me." I just looked at her, stunned, why she was making this absurd request.
"I want to take it for my show and tell," she informed me. I stood dumb-founded. Just the other day I had given her the option to either take her IPod or the kindle which she uses every moment of her time at home. My daughter had once again proved her maturity with the choice she has made, leaving me spell-bound.
p.s I can almost hear her," this was a gift from my late abhi......."
Why is my heart beating in this manner then?
Well, my heart knows that just as I'm sitting here, trying to gather the beats of my heart, my daughter must be in front of hundreds of her friends in the Assembly ground. She might be holding out a new silk Rachu and talking about it. Today it is her turn for the "Show and tell" during the morning Assembly time. In her school, unlike the other schools which have morning speeches, they have this 'show and tell' where the children bring an object to school and tell their friends about it.
I know had I not resigned, I would be another spectator, listening to her with tears streaming down my eyes. This has little to do with a mother's nervousness over her daughter's speech turn. I'm confident my daughter would give in her best!
What is making me feel that dripping feeling in my tummy is what she must be telling about that Rachu.
2012, a month before my ama left us, she called my daughter near her bedside. She was very weak and her hair had started falling out in clumps after the first round of chemo therapy. Her bony hands sliding into her black duffel bag, she fished out the silk Rachu. Handing it to my daughter, holding it firmly between their palms, which remained like that till she finished talking, my ama said," This is your Abhi's gift to you, Angie."
My Angie had just turned six a month ago but she always has been too mature for her age. She thanked her Abhi and came running to me. The first thing she had to ask me was,"Mama, is Abhi gonna die?"
I had tears in my eyes. I nodded first, trying to find words from the lump that had suddenly blocked my voicebox. Finally in a weak voice I told her," But I don't want her to."
Angie held me in her small arms which barely made a full round around my huge body and she told me,"Don't worry she won't die."
My ama expired a month later. Angie knew she had been wrong. But she didn't accept defeat. Calmly she told me, "Abhi is in heaven now mama, stop crying!" It was as if my little girl knew that she was gone to the better world than this earthly world of sorrows and griefs.
Yesterday, she came to me and said,"mama, can I have the gift my Abhi gave me." I just looked at her, stunned, why she was making this absurd request.
"I want to take it for my show and tell," she informed me. I stood dumb-founded. Just the other day I had given her the option to either take her IPod or the kindle which she uses every moment of her time at home. My daughter had once again proved her maturity with the choice she has made, leaving me spell-bound.
p.s I can almost hear her," this was a gift from my late abhi......."
Friday, July 11, 2014
I can Write
Don't let the title mislead you! This 'I' has nothing to do with me. This 'I' are the kids I met with, this summer break. READBHUTAN had been kind enough to give me the opportunity to work with children of grade 5-12. Working with them on SUMMER WRITING PROGRAM has brought tremendous shower of blessings in my heart.
I have always believed that there are stories in every heart and the writer who is going to write these stories aren't anywhere far, it is right there dwelling in our heart, right beside our stories. Working with these kids, nudging them to bring out the writers hiding inside them, I truly felt what my heart knew was right. Always!
Reading their stories and seeing it come alive, This particular thought came in my mind and I heard the silent screams from their little hearts saying this:
I can write
Of prince and princesses
In a faraway land
Jostling with life
And eventually living happily ever after.
I can write
Of broken families
And lovelorn lasses.
Of sporty kiddos
And humanly animals.
I can write
Of life’s journey
And the stops in between.
Of living and breathing
And the destination
Of death and beyond.
Yes, I sure can write!
I have always believed that there are stories in every heart and the writer who is going to write these stories aren't anywhere far, it is right there dwelling in our heart, right beside our stories. Working with these kids, nudging them to bring out the writers hiding inside them, I truly felt what my heart knew was right. Always!
Reading their stories and seeing it come alive, This particular thought came in my mind and I heard the silent screams from their little hearts saying this:
I can write
Of prince and princesses
In a faraway land
Jostling with life
And eventually living happily ever after.
I can write
Of broken families
And lovelorn lasses.
Of sporty kiddos
And humanly animals.
I can write
Of life’s journey
And the stops in between.
Of living and breathing
And the destination
Of death and beyond.
Yes, I sure can write!
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