Then finally, she stands in front of me, with a face absolutely devoid of life. Her hair, once compared to the mane of a pony, is now nothing but a lifeless shade of grey. She looks at me with those very eyes, now tired though; gives me a faint smile and asks “How have you been?”[break]
Stunned for a moment, unable to track the events occurring, I answer her question, “I’ve been good”.
She sits down by the coffee table and I look at her through the coffee vapor. The same face, the same optimistic eyes, the same lips that would curve just to cheer everyone around but now all those traits have a hint of pain in them.
I want to talk to her about it, tell her how sorry I am that she had to lose both her husband and her son within two years. But I am such a coward, that I just can’t gather enough courage to talk about the gloomy day that took her only hope of endurance away.
When her husband died two years ago with cancer, she almost cried herself to death but her son held her hand and said “Aama, I am here for you. This isn’t the end of our world.”
And hence she promised never to shed a drop of tear again for she had her son to take care of. After one and a half years, her son died in a tragic car accident. That day, the neighbors stood there and listened to her heart wrenching scream. Sarita, the next door school teacher, said, “How can anyone be so ill-fated, bichari?”
So, here she is today, merely breathing, holding nothing but disappointment and discontent. With her only ray of light gone, how is she to look forward to her future? I am assured that even after six months she has not moved on from that ordeal. In fact, I had thought she would never pick herself up from the devastated state but what I am seeing today is astounding. Although her face says everything, there is not a single trace of her history in the way she behaves or interacts. Her life is at a standstill but nobody can figure that out.
When she is sitting among her ‘loved ones’ pretending to be all right, I am there contemplating her strength as she takes the last sip of her coffee.
I want to ask what is it that is making her so unbreakable but I’m terrified that very question could break her down again into so many pieces and she could never put herself back together. But I just can’t help wondering. Now that she knows there is nothing to live for, how is she still capable of faking the world as if nothing happened? How does she manage to be perfectly social when she knows that for her, the only thing left to do is wait for her death?
I think, if I don’t talk to my aunt today, I’ll regret it forever. Bitter or sweet, truth has to be confronted. So, I get up, take a long breath, walk towards her and just when I am about to bring up that topic, she looks at me, right into my eyes. I feel a whirlwind of emotion passing right through my heart. I turn around, wipe the single drop of tear in my eye (which I didn’t see coming). Then, I look back at her and say “Let me take that coffee mug for you” and walk with that empty coffee mug into the kitchen.
I write this as a tribute to my cousin. I hope for his soul to rest in peace and even more, for his family to have strength and faith for brighter days.
The writer is a student of computer science and engineering in Allahabad, India.
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