A letter to my first love

“Sleep is a notorious human activity. You see, it is the time when the human soul swings between life and death. Many like you and I survive but some proceed into deep sleep, which extends beyond the physical realm” you said to the five-year-old me who was cuddled beside you. The words ‘soul’, ‘life’ and ‘death’ seemed to be carved out of a mystical book until a year later, when you passed away in your sleep.

For the world we were a family of three, but only you and I knew that only we two were the family. The man who used to share our accommodation. He was my father in the eyes of the world but a stranger in my heart. 

‘ Eyes of the world’ it is a funny metaphor. Everyone knows about its eyes but no one knows about where its heart lies so that it could see how lonely I was without you even when it had just been a few hours since you stepped out of this world which gave you nothing except dejection.

My tiny eyes were swollen up from crying all day. “Give him something to eat. He will feel fine” said a woman with a big belly, “Sleep would help him” said an old man from the other side. Sleep, indeed would have helped me but I wanted the one like yours so that next day I could wake up beside you as always. Alas, I couldn’t. I woke up back again in that tiny room of ours, in that old wooden bed, everything was there but not you.

I expected your side of the bed to be empty, just like my soul was, but it was occupied, no not my soul, your side of the bed. It was occupied by him, that man, your husband. He hadn’t woken up, but tears were trickling down from his eyes. First time I saw his face so close to me. His skin was not as soft as yours, it was withered, it was dry, and it had scars here and there. The distinguished smell of his when he used to come back home at night was no more, but it doesn’t mean it was as sweet as yours my dear Maa.

“We will be having an activity that will be an ice breaker for the new boy in the class” said my teacher when you got admitted to a new school. The thing that was between him and I was not ice Maa, it was stone and to even make a crack in the stone without hurting oneself needs some skills along with the force.

His sudden proximity with me felt like a force without any skill, the pressure built from it was sucking the air out more and more from my lungs, from the home and from my life. 

The chapatis were half burnt, the milk remained cold and curries tasted bland but I ate them without any ifs and buts as you had said “Lucky are those who get roof over head and luckier are those who get both roof over head and food in the belly” the tickle at my protruding tummy would often made me to forget to ask about luckiest ones. Today I will complete it for you ‘Luckiest are those who get roof over head, with food in their belly along with the ones who love them’. With your demise I had slipped down from the luckiest clan to the luckier one.

Like sleep, time is a notorious act of life. It makes you forget things. The essence of you started fading in my fragile mind but the body was still in inertia. I made sure it stayed right there. “See, I have stitched it back, now don’t tear it again” you said, relishing the efforts that you put to obscure that tear. But it got torn again at the same place this time it was worse.

When he saw it, he didn’t say anything but next day he got me a new shirt. I threw it away and ran away from him, he was taken aback. He followed me, taking big steps at a time. So, I ran out, out of the house, alone, wearing knickers and bare-footed. The pebbles on the road were causing piercing pain but that pain was not strong enough to beat the pain that was burning me from inside. At last I collapsed onto the dusty road. The world seemed to be moving around too fast. Round and round, like we two used to do and then fell on the floor laughing. In the midst of unknown faces, a known yet unknown face sprouted out. It was him, the man who lived with us.

When I woke up, I was lying on our same old wooden bed. Besides me he was crying. “I know I am not as good as your mother was, but I am trying to become better than I was,” he spoke as he cupped my face in his burly hands. It was the day when I saw the warmth that used to linger in your hazel eyes.

That day marked the start of another chapter in my life, not with the man that shared our house, but instead with the man who was making efforts to be my father and the stone between us carved into a beautiful bond, from a stranger to a father and then a friend.

It’s been thirty years since you left and every day I wish you could be alive to see how both of us made our lives together and moved on from all the regrets and complaints. 

Today you are now no more just a mother, but grandmother of my son. Yes I have grown old, older than you. 

Hmm…

It’s late. I have to leave now. This time I had decided to not burning this letter like others. It’s going to stay with me. Always. Like that smile on your lips. 

Lots of love.

Your Son.