Tag: life

The Unwritten Reply

The Unwritten Reply

It was a beautiful spring morning. Aditi was determined to clear the clutter in her study, despite the temptations from her garden that was now in full bloom. Like most other women she knew, she had an urge to declutter every time she had to clear her mind off the needless muddle.

She was also tempted to tend to the shrubs in the garden. The place reserved in her garden for the Matura tea tree has never been blessed. The bush always took life and just when there was a promise of a bloom, something killed the plant. She forgot the number of times she had to uproot the shrub. It killed her every time she did it. The place was large and the conditions favorable, but the plant probably was long dead internally, like her.

This time she had planted it in a small patch of soil right outside of her bedroom. ‘The place is too small, and there is no hope for nutrition there. That patch is polluted with concrete dust’, her father had warned. Nevertheless, her precious Avarampoo shrub gave the promise of blossom, and she felt it had found its home.  However, she had not seen it in the last week that she was away. When she had enquired her mother about the plant during one of their phone conversations, all she received was a blatant reply.

She put the garden out of her mind and entered her study. She started with the first rack of her bookshelf. Behind the books on the top shelf lay a beige paper box decorated with shells. She knew what lay inside and was tempted to open it. ‘Later,’ she thought; but soon gave in. She took the box with her and settled on the floor cushion, careful not to disturb the Ikkat patterns on its cover.

She hurriedly let her hands search through the neat stack of letters inside the box. She found the one she was looking for. It was a simple light yellow envelope, now stained and battered from the decades of preservation. She opened it to read the letter for the umpteenth time.

The letter read:

Date: April 2003.

My most beloved Child,

    I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and good spirits. It is increasingly difficult to believe you will be graduating college next year. I do not know though if I would live to see that. My hand shivers constantly and I am writing this letter with the utmost difficulty.

  If there is no further correspondence from my end, know that Nana loves you with all his heart and soul. You gave me a reason to live when I was approaching my twilight years. Yes, there were other grand-children before you, but you were you. You were the only one who sat through when I opened to read a book to you all. You were the only one who was never bored of Mahabharata. You were constantly amazed by the tale.

 I do not know what life has in store for you. I see in you a luminous spark. I wish you find contentment in living, and strength and determination to cross the hurdles that obstruct your path. Always remember my child, no matter what comes in life hold on to your dignity and self-esteem. You have to know that conceit is not a harmful term.  If you face a situation when you have to put your self-respect above everything else, never have second thoughts.

May you find everything your heart wishes for, dear one. You are in my prayers today and forever.

                                                                                  Love and Prayers,                                                                                                                                                      Nanna.  

This was the only letter that Aditi had not replied to. But she read it every time she had to be sure of herself.  She pulled the letter pad from her desk and began to scribble the reply that was long due.

Dearmost Nanna,

   A decade and a half is a very long time to reply to a letter. I write because it is summer and I miss you the most this time of the year.  I miss balancing on your shoulder while trying to pick mangoes in our backyard. I miss falling asleep on your shoulders, and I miss our dinner table conversations.

 I also write because nobody is ready to listen. There is not a single human who is willing to see me as I am. They either sympathize or dismiss me as impulsive and bullheaded.

 All along, I knew marriage was not my cup of tea. I was a fiercely self-reliant soul, and I did not see myself living in harmony with a stranger that I had never met until a year before we were destined to live our lives together. Yet, I obliged.

 I thought I could sail through the storms that were aplenty. As I tackled one high-tide, the other one emerged, stronger and fiercer. Yet, I swam with the tide.

 It was idiotic of my family to believe that a lovebird could come out of a vulture’s stick nest or crevice. My life might have been destined with an Agapornis; nevertheless, the loving bird was groomed by a deadly vulture. How can a lovebird be any different when it is nursed by a vulture? I lived in a dark, unkempt cave of those birds that feasted on the living and sometimes took me for a prey. Yet I made room while offering myself.

The birth of the twins brought-in all the light I needed within the dark cave. Least did I know, my light would kindle the worst kinds of resent in the Dowager (A demon of a woman). Through most of my postpartum days, I went to bed while the acids in my stomach consumed me. Yet, I rolled with it.

I stood up to defend myself on several occasions, only to be accursed and tagged as hot-blooded and hasty. Yet, I put myself out.

True, my ex-spouse was not an alcoholic, nor a smoker. I was never assaulted physically, ever. But the wounds my mind endured are deep and intolerable. I am still healing, and I have a long way to go. Yet, I tolerated.

My palatial mansion was rather a den that longed for some light. My luxury car only wanted a companion and nothing else. My glittery jewellery longed for some honest smiles. The more I enthralled in opulence, the more lonesome I became. Yet, I fit-in.

As the girls grew, I knew I did not want them to become desolate beings. I wanted them to be the woman that Nanni was- confident, independent, strong-willed, resilient and joyful. I knew that a den is the last place to look for joy and optimism.

 Together we walked out, one beautiful morning tackling the attacks from the beast. Yes, we have scars for life. But, they are the lessons we will carry onto eternity.

  As you would say ‘Conceit is the quicksand of success.’ I do not know in the future, but it helped me overcome an enormous demon.                                                     

                                                                                   Yours (no more in distress),                                                                                                                                                     Aditi.

As she opened the window of the study, the bright, glowing buds of the Matura tea tree spread their radiance as the grey clouds converged.

Also published here (  https://www.womensweb.in/2018/11/marriage-was-not-my-cup-of-tea-nov18wk5sr/)

A Reverie and Memories of Her

A Reverie and Memories of Her

Eighty years is a long time to live. As he sat on the cane chair reminiscing his achievements in the last two decades and the turmoil he faced in the recent past, all he wanted was to enter the dark tunnel and find that bright light. At least, that is how those who had near death experiences described the journey.

Memoir

Nostalgia is a dangerous thing. It can evoke the kind of feelings that are hard to construe. He felt her presence in the thick, frosty air he breathed. With the density of her memories and the oxygen almost choking him, how he wished they succeeded.

Like earlier times, it was difficult to bury her vision and thoughts deep within and focus on the task at hand. There was no task, no errands to run and nothing to supervise. He tried to take a walk and reached for his shawl. The paleness of the soft fabric reminded him of her touch.

When the mind’s eye refuses to shut

It was only a vague memory, yet it has haunted him all his life. He remembers the sound of hooves that night and the way he and his siblings were whisked away to her father’s house. He recalls every moment of that fateful sundown hour- her partly opened eyes, the mild curve of her lips and the way she held his hand.

He was carried away shortly, and he never saw her again. Or, did he?

He always dwelled upon her thoughts and sometimes found solace in conjuring up those visions buried deep within the subconscious spirit.

Her dark brown eyes and the way they lit up every time she laughed- which was too often. Her pale pink, Caucasian- like complexion, her soft curls, the tenderness of her touch, her chiseled chin and broad jawline- he was surprised by the mind’s ability to recapture every single detail.

While he looked at the hill eastwards, images of her fetching water in the mud pot conjure up. The whole house was alive in her presence. She would tell him and the siblings endless tales of the woods, spirits, and Gods. Those tales were not fixed in his mind, but the vivid movement of her eyes and her spirited talk were.

In all these years as a father, entrepreneur, and grandfather, every time he felt he was falling into an abyss, it was the feel of her warm embrace that cheered him up. His favorite memory was the walks to the nearby stream, her firm grasp and the way her arm tightened around his wrist every time they stepped into the ankle-deep water.  The vision of both their feet beneath the crystal clear bubbles was still lucid.

Pie in the sky

It was almost near, he could feel it. But all he longed for was those piggy-back rides, the herbal scent of her hair, a place on her lap, the feel of her strong grasp, to rest on her shoulders and to call her Amma (Mother) one last time. Just One Last Time.