The Wedding Bells.

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Early morning madness. Men drinking cups of tea while laughing raucously. Small children running helter-skelter. Women scolding them and then laughing it off. Inside the room, the atmosphere of silence prevailed as the girl stared at her made up face in the mirror. “Didi, you’d have to wear you lehenga now, if you want to reach the parlor at time.”

“Diya, don’t forget your big gold necklace, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers nervously. Her heart beats faster as she steps gingerly into the perfect red lehenga. She feels a thrill of excitement as she looks at herself in the mirror. Ajay will be star struck.

*

The afternoon sun shines magnificently above them as they rush their way on the rickshaw to the nearest court. She sobs quietly in his shirt and he pats her head soothingly. He knew that that it was her only option and that it hurt her. Her parents would never agree to her marrying a lowly office clerk.
“It’ll be all right, Ganga. Don’t cry, please, it’ll be all right,” he murmurs quietly in her hair.
She whispers back, “Don’t worry, Krishna. I won’t let his men get to us, our happiness, and our marriage.”
“I know you won’t. I trust you.”

*

“No sir, not my daughter,” she cries as she clings to his leg mercilessly.
“A deal was a deal. Five years ago, you promised, didn’t you?” he shook his leg. Not hearing a reply, grabbing her hair, he yelled, “DIDN’T YOU?”
“Yes sir,” she screamed. “But sir, she’s my daughter. My only daughter, you can’t just marry-“
“I can do. You didn’t pay you money, did you?” he said, suddenly quiet. “So, now you have TO LET HER GO.”
He wrenches his leg free from her grip as his men tackle her daughter, who was too little, too scared to understand what was happening. She lies on the ground begging, crying as they drag her daughter, her dreams shattering, and her hopes drowning. Only the flat truth before her, she’d never see her beloved daughter again.

*

The veranda air was silent and somber. The woman’s sob were disguised with quick motions. She hardly notices the quiet whispering as she efficiently removes her jewelry and puts it in the box, never to be used again. She hands her a grey gown and lifts her up. She carries her across the veranda, to reach the door that just escapes the morning sunlight. She pushes her inside, and shuts the door just as the banging starts.
“He was my husband mother. I can’t do this mom, please,” she shrieks from inside.
She replies, wiping her tears and turns back, “He was my son.”

Abstract.

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 For days, the fire spread ahead, 
 Leaving nothing in its wake. 
 She came and destroyed and hurt and burnt,
 Everything in its way.
 The glass that broke seared through her skin, 
 Which made her breath go shorter.
 Blood now colors the floor red,
 So severely her leg bled.
 The heart that spew the thread of love,
 Is now broken beyond repair. 
 The shattering sound that shouts first,
 Gets quieter layer by layer.
The lips that kissed your sweat soaked skin,
 Are now cold and blue. 
 And no one leans on the body, 
 As no one has a clue.
 The amber sky goes topaz gold,
 To black and blue then yellow. 
 No bird that flies in this sky,
 No one to walk on the meadow.
 The quiet murmur in my ear,
 And the gentle wind that blew.
 We swayed so lightly on the grass,
 Beneath the mistletoe that grew.

Life Goes On- An Obituary.

Naani and Us. About 2007-2008. She was too sick later.
Naani and Us. About 2007-2008. She was too sick later. One of the last snaps I have with her.

The heart wrenching reality is that people, they go, and they never come back. We wait for seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years before the finality that they are never going to come back crashes on us and that weight… That weight at that moment is the heaviest on our shoulders.

My grandma passed away yesterday evening. She died. We knew she would but it was so sudden and so quick that here I am, typing what comes into my mind. And truth be told, you know what bothers me? It’s not that she’s dead, but the honest realization that I’d never see her again.

That there would be no person who’s huddled in the corner of the room when I enter my naana’s room. That their would be no person who prompts the multiplication answers. That there would be no person to scold me without any fault of mine. No one to call be dead in the noon when she knows I’m asleep. That my naana would have no reason now to not come to my house. That is what bothers me.

My naani had Alzheimer. Her’s was so bad for the past one year ten months, she had been bedded, and was fed through a tube in her belly. She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t walk. In fact, it would be a treat if she ever even grunted at your calls.  So, we knew that day would come sooner or later. We knew and we struggled with the fact that each passing day lessened her life. And now, she’s gone.

It’s cliche to here that someone’s absence means more to us than someone’s presence. Unarguably, its true. As I said, I’m more saddened of the fact that I’d never see her again, than of the truth that she’s dead. That’s pretty mean but that’s what I feel.

If there ever was a person as courageous as her. And she was an ever smiling person. She was one of the most kind and sweet persons I’ve known. And she didn’t like sleeping late. I remember, when we were younger and used to stay at her house in the winters, we’d stay up late, talking to each other meanwhile she used to sleep at 10 sharp, The next morning, she’d open the doors of the room, letting the cold, biting air of a January morning bite your flesh and crawl at your skin. She’d take away the blankets as well and would serve all of us half slept children hot tea. We’d curse and she’d chuckle at our sleepy faces in delight.

She means early January mornings-half asleep eyes-cheerful while others are angry- hot tea to me. Just tea. Every person means something different to all. I may be a blogger to some of you, a sister to some, a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend, an enemy, a stranger, or simply a sixteen year old to others. Identity crisis, right? She simply meant early cold January mornings tea to me.

This was my first death among many more to come. We have to face the truth. We’d all die, there’s no use denying it. Yet, it has affected me deeply. It’s taught me something that even elders have to struggle with at some time in their lives. It’s taught me the basic idea of all lives. And I know when my time comes, I’d find it difficult to accept too, but I’ve learnt. It’s been a day,  but I’ve learnt. I’ve learnt that people leave. But life goes on…