In His Memory

It has been years since he let but every part of the house still remembered him, reminisced in the memories of watching him transform from a boy to a man, the corridors haven’t forgotten the reverberations of his voice.

Since the day the residents of the house heard of his arrival, they felt elated. They knew his things were going to be theirs soon. He had been gone for so long yet the fear in their hearts of his return have not yet been subsided, they had dreaded the day when he would take over everything that they had hoarded that was rightfully his. However, not all were rejoicing in the material gains of his return. There was a soul, heartbroken and distressed. She knew what this return meant, the day she had heard the news, her heart had shattered in a million pieces, and the passing days hadn’t provided her with the strength to somehow piece them together.

She wasn’t a diplomat with her feelings, she didn’t know how to restrain from speaking out her heart, this has led to several disputes between them; him not wanting to return, her not ready to survive without him. She was not the stubborn one but that was the only demand she couldn’t back off from. The news of his arrival had however made her let go of all past remonstrance and complaints, the only thing she remembered now that was keeping her sane until his ingress was to fulfill the promise of cooking his favorite dish for him.

She recalled how he used to request for his favourite pilav every time he accomplished something. It was like his happy food, a delicacy only reserved for celebration, something without which his victory wouldn’t be complete. The other residents of the house disliked the aromatic rice dish, the abhorred its smell as it wafted through the halls heralding the news of his success. That never fazed her though, only he mattered for her and she was willing to face everything to pave his happiness.

Alone, she would prepare the dish. The harsh retorts of the other residents who would lambaste her for making such tedious efforts to spoil him never stopped her and were not going to stop her today as she took out a portion of rice to soak in the water bowl. “A good soak beforehand is the key for perfectly cooked rice”, she remembered telling him as he sat on the counter watching her, questioning everything. Oh how she had soaked up her tears for a hearty meetup and farewell with him now. He had always wanted to learn the dish but over the years had finally given up when it couldn’t taste like hers.

She began prepping for the stew now; the cinnamon sticks, the cloves, the bay leaves changing the colour of the water gradually forming a vortex of its own transfiguring in his melodious voice as it was making her promise to cook his favourite pilao on his return. She had laughed then about how he only cared about the dish and not her. The boy had however made her miss him more by telling her of a future where they both would be together. The water had turned copper now diminishing the recollections.

There was a lot to do but she had to remain calm, she knew how irked he got if the dish wasn’t cooked perfectly. She had planned to close the gap of the never ending years between them with this, she couldn’t afford to mess it up. She had spent a major portion of her life perfecting the recipe, facing many trial and errors yet finally hitting the jackpot. It all required patience and persistence like with him.

The other part of her life was spent nurturing him, step by step, assisting him to become the best version of himself. The pilao dish had become her story now.

The stew was brewing, its smell drifting and floating again. She had already prepared herself for the backlash she was going to receive or preparing a meal for him. She was ready though, she was not going to withdraw herself from fulfilling his last request to her.

She heard the doors close as the residents came out, cursing her for making such an extravagant meal on such a day. They critiqued her or forgetting the traditions, tainting the family values, she listened on silently.

The pilao was going to be ready soon. The dish smelled the same way it used to. She just wished, she could watch him eat and savour every bite the same way. It was hard to make peace with the fact that this time it was going to be different. She had made a vow with herself that she was not going to make this dish again after today but yet today remained to be passed, suffered, tolerated.

As she dribbled her special scented syrup in the pilav, she heard the noises, rising from outside. It seemed like the time had arrived, he had returned finally. Oh, how she had longed for this moment. She waited, hoping the fragrance of her dish would drive him in the kitchen like the old days, a minute passed then another. The time had stopped, cruelly testing her, unforgiving for the day. She sighed and made her way outside, goodbyes demand to be made, however painful they may be.

There he was, her beautiful boy. She had spent her life cherishing him and she would have gladly spent another doing so if given a choice. He wasn’t like her though, the patient type, the submissive sort, maybe that’s why he had wanted to break the bonds of deception and deceit that housed in the hearts of the other residents. He wanted to fight for a better world, free from the norms and restrictions of the present one that limited her to the white drape she was destined for.

He wanted to build a perfect sanctuary for them but how could she tell him that she didn’t need any safe place, she could have tolerated all pains if only he had been with her for the past years. He was the sanctuary that she needed. She had hoped that the split between them could be bridged back with his favourite dish, as it wasn’t the money he sent or the hopes of a better future or the ultimate plan to escape the miserable life of a widow her solace but to find peace with him. She didn’t crave for the change her son desired. She had transitioned herself in the role society required, like the pilav rice she had shifted from the unyielding whites to the compliant yellows.

Her son was different, he was unforgiving in the heat of the challenges thrown at him. All in vain now, clad in white, he didn’t look his himself laying down, eyes closed. Her heart had crumbled seeing him like this but her eyes remained strong. They didn’t shed a tear, he said he was going to return soon and he was here. She didn’t want him like this; so silent, so cold, so distant. She knew she would never be able to witness the shine of his eyes now, his infectious grin that was her strength, his promises that melted her. He had made her weak and helpless now.

She thought she could spent an eternity sitting there, staring at his face, waiting until he answered her questions, heard her silent pleas but the residents of the house were going to have none of it, legal processions mattered more to them then this unnecessary procession. They were only blood relatives for the law. She knew with him gone, she couldn’t stand firm against them, not now, not without him. How would the rice turn the required shade without the needed spices?

The pot was still on the stove, it needed to be cast aside. It had been there for too long now. She rushed to save it, she couldn’t let the last request be left unsatisfactory. It was too late though like with every other thing. She had let it simmer for too long, the rice were mush now. She wasn’t even able to make him the last perfect dish, maybe she had faltered in some step, lacked the vigour without his presence. Outside, the procession had begun, she wasn’t strong enough to face it, and his final return had sapped her of energy and life itself. Her tears began to fall as they took him away.

The meal remained unfinished, incomplete, uneaten.