Tag Archive | death

‘Paradise lost’

Sheela parked her car and came inside. The door was locked from inside. ‘Again Amu has left the key at the door itself’, she thought to herself. As she banged the door again and again but there was no response and Sheela could sense that something was amiss.

She summoned up her neighbours and together they banged open the door. There was an eerie silence. Sheela ran to Amu’s bedroom and the sight she saw left her breathless.

Amu was hanging from the ceiling fan.

—————————————–

Amu had left a suicide note. The contents of which made Sheela and Akash die a million deaths. Amu was having an affair with a boy for the last three years. Which was a shocker no doubt vbecause Amu as just 15. An affair which had crossed all limits. They would meet when her parents were away in office, in their home on their bed. But then recently she had understood that what she had been doing wasn’t apt and she should focus on her studies and so she had bid the boy adieu. But the boy was not ready to break their relationship and instead had started blackmailing her. He had said that he would release her pictures on the web. Afraid of the consequences, she had hanged herself.

—————————————

I am nobody to judge. You may say sex education is necessary. You may say that is what happens when both parents are busy in their careers. You may say that is the effect of TV and cinema and so on.

A number of things which have bothered me and made me morose for the past couple of days.

Is 12 years the time to start affairs. Where has innocence been lost?

Secondly,why didn’t the girl have faith in her parents. Why couldn’t she confide? Wasn’t there nobody she could turn to?

____________________________

Yes it has shaken me up. Are we so busy providing comforts to children that we forget to be friends.

When I deal with my students, I try not only to teach but also be a motivator and from now on I will try to be a friend too. Teenage is such a precarious stage, when they need some guide, I hope I will be there for them.

—————————————

I try to be same with my child too. Yes I am strict, yes sometimes I raise my hand, but then he knows that whatever happens I am there for him, I am there with him.

Take care people, take care of your precious children. Provide for them, protect them, nurture them but also make them strong physically and mentally and no matter what happens let them know; that you are there for them ALWAYS.
*based on a real incident. Names changed to protect privacy

Happy moments, sad truths.

I was raised amidst lot of love. Though we were far away from relatives, friends of my parents, neighbors played a very huge role in my upbringing.

Birthdays, festivals people would just drop by without invitation. Some would come with sweets, some with cards. There were limited means those days, so there were no fancy gifts but there was abundant love. We learned to love Indian cuisine, Bengali, Gujarati, Punjabi and of course the different cuisines of South India.

When I think back;Bhilai of those times was indeed Utopia. I don’t know how it is today. It has been almost two decades since I went there last.

Now I just hear news of someone departing the place or the body.

Yes, I know the soul has to leave the body sometime or the other. But is difficult to accept when your own loved ones are involved.

When we are young we discuss about games and school, a lit older and its about love and passion, then it is the turn to discuss about kids and still later discuss about pills and illness.

In the past four-five years, news of some or the other dying trickles in. A teacher,a neigbor,a well wisher…and today an uncle i.e. my father’s friend. One who was with us through thick and thin. I remember him bringing kalakand on our birthdays. The one who carried our luggage when we returned from our vacation. I stayed with them when my parents had to go on an emergency to our hometown, those fifteen days he and his family treated me like royalty. SO many happy memories. And today I am left with those memories and he is gone.

———————————

Somedays back before the new academic session, I was covering the books with brown cover. My son sat with me looking at the whole process intently. He kept on telling do like this, like that. I remembered similar times when my father sat doing the same and I sat with him.

Every cut had to be perfect. There would be no wastage. and then he would put handmade labels on each book. After that he would take out his pen and write my name with a flourish.

Today when I go home, he asks me to write something or the other for him. As I hold my hand to give him support when we have to climb stairs I remember his strong hands ever ready to shield me from harms and my eye well up with tears.

Two months back we came to know he has paraganglioma. He had been hospitalized. I wanted to rush to him but his advice, ‘Don’t leave your family and come. If you do come both we and you will not be at peace’. I remember 10 years back when I myself had to undergo surgery, how weak he had become. Days he had spent sitting in front of the altar; praying. My father had been the one who had fed me when I was small. And after my surgery he did the same for I could not see properly.

However much advanced we become in technology, there are four things which we cannot conquer-birth, death, old age and misery. That is the only truth.

————————————————–

Long back I had decided that my blog will reflect only positives. But today I am in a blue mood and I needed to vent it out.

Finale

I was wheeled into the Operation Theater. They checked my vitals. The anesthesiologist had already spoken to me the previous day.  He came and smiled at me and started his procedure. I knew it was my last day there. There meaning; the  end of my misery, the pain and  the medications.

I settled down nicely. Happy and content that the wait was over. The anesthesia started its work. I became drowsy. The team around me got active.

As I slipped out of consciousness, I felt I saw someone with a noose.  and I knew it was my last day anywhere.

_____________________________________________________________________

Written as a part of 100 words on Saturday 7 at Write Tribe. The prompt being I knew it was my last day there.

100 Words on Saturday - Write Tribe

Gowramma

Gowramma lovingly checked the flowers before plucking them. Everything had to be perfect for her Krishna, isn’t it? Her flower basket full of flowers, she moved slowly to her house and then to the deity room. Sat down slowly taking support of the walls and began making a garland.

At 82 years of age, Gowramma was quite active. Mornings were devoted to tending her little patch of land which had some flower bushes and some vegetables. Cleaning the house and then the altar room. Looking after her Krishna, making garlands for Him, some simple food for Him and looking after Surabhi. Surabhi, her cow and her companion for many years. She looked after Surabhi and Surabhi looked after her.

‘Mayi..Mayi…’, it was Harish, her neighbor.

‘Harish, I am in the altar room’, she called out.

‘Mayi, I am dirty, cannot come in, can you please come out’, he said

Gowramma slowly got up, again taking the support of the walls.

‘What happened Harish, you fell down somewhere, why are your clothes so dirty?’

‘Mayi, it  is because of the urchin Madan, he was stealing some milk from the kitchen when I found him and chased him away.But the scoundrel was too fast for me’.

‘He must be hungry Harish’, said Gowramma

‘ He can ask, Mayi, why steal?. Anyways here are some roses from my garden, use it for your Krishna, so saying he waved a bye and left.

Gowramma stood there for some time. ‘It was good that Harish failed his 10th. See he is such an enterprising farmer. And look at my son he was good at studies no doubt but then he became a software engineer, left to USA and sold our acres of land to Harish. Yes, yes he had taken me with him but I could not adjust there. Is it a place worth staying where even if I offer aarti to my Krishna, the fire alarms ring. Nah, US is not for me’.

Surabhi heard her patiently mooing her yes and no at the appropriate places.

It was in the evening when she was going to the grocer’s that she saw a boy hiding behind a cart near her house.

‘Are you Madan?, she asked.

‘Speak in a low tone or Harish will listen’, he said

‘Come to me and he will not beat you’, she said

But he refused to budge. after a lot of persuasion and a bribe of milk payasam he agreed to come out.

From then on, Gowramma nurtured him. Madan was an orphan. No one knew from where he came, but he always loitered around Harish’s farm, more precisely the erstwhile land of Gowramma. Harish always saw to it that he was given food and clothes and yet Madan loved to steal from Harish’s kitchen.

But everything changed after Gowramma started taking care of him. She even started teaching him. He would help her in all the chores but never in the altar room. He would look at her fondly when she cleaned the room, made garlands or made prasadam but never took part.

‘Madana, why don’t you join me. The Lord will be happy if you help me’, she would say.

‘Nahh, that is your job’, he would say with a mischievous smile.

Gowramma would back off. Bhakti and Seva  are qualities that should  not  be forced on anyone.

———————

Gowramma was tired. She could not string the flowers. She knew her end was near and she was worried. A tear flowed down from her eyes.

‘What happened? Why are you crying?’, it was Madan.

‘I am going to leave you soon, my dear’, she said

‘So why are you crying? You will be freed of this body’, said he.

‘I am worried for my Krisna and Surabhi’, said she.

‘Harish will look after Surabhi and your Krisna, he can look after himself , don’t worry’.

She looked at him then, taken aback by the sharp tone of his voice and then she smiled.

Harish came running. He was tilling his land when Surabhi’s mooing reached his ears. It meant that something was not right. He found tears running down Surabhi’s eyes, he rushed inside to find Gowramma bowing down at the altar. He touched her to find that her life breathe had gone away.

The idol of Krisna was missing.

Neither did he see Madan ever again.

* fiction