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Painful Parting

Painful parting:
I am about to leave, the cab has already been called. There is a buzz all around the home regarding the preparations of me leaving the home but somewhere inside, I am reluctant and wants time should stop here. Mommy is stepping up and down the home to check that I should not forget any of my thing here and I know she is doing it deliberately as she also doesn’t want me to leave. How ironical I don’t want to leave, she doesn’t want me to leave but we can’t stay together. I want her to accompany us as I don’t want her to stay here anymore. I don’t know for whom she is living here taking the responsibilities of all the household chores. Papa has already left for heavenly abode, bro stays out of town and me who visits her once a year is also taking her to leave. Shubham for whom father’s arms are always like haven also wants to come out of them and wants Nani should carry here, somewhere that three years old kid is also sensing departure. Suddenly chacha shouted, “ Hurry up, the cab driver will not wait for long”.This final call to rush has actually rushed the heartbeats. Perplexed, mommy brings the Pooja thali to perform the parting rituals and stands in the centre of the courtyard. Shubham stands holding her orangish pinkish flowery saree in which she always appears extraordinarily fair and pink but today things are just contrary. She is looking pale underneath the sunrays of the very hot day, coming from the iron mesh and falling on the wall to her left in a crisscross manner. Her twirling cheeks and folded chin reveals her internal suffocation in fact she is trying her best to suppress it instead of releasing it. I stand in front of her trying my best not to exchange glances to get the tilak done, it feels someone has choked us. Finally, she puts the red coloured mark on her forehead which reveals her wishes for a Happy and safe journey, I bow, she utters “Khush Raho” and literally turns my back towards the door. Carrying my handbag I sit in the car busy taking care of my luggage. Within few seconds tears also start rolling as the wheel of the car rolls and flow increases with speed. I know she is standing in her bedroom in front of papa’s photograph sharing her pain and tears.

2 Comments

  1. Areetra Halder

    I really don’t know what to say. I’m in tears while writing this and its strange of me. Personally as a sibling, I was never attached to my elder sister in an informal way. She had this insane and absurd gravity which made me visualise her as a second mother. I used to hate her for being “evil”. She always scolded me. Just like a cat who is in near death changes behaviour becoming more active, friendlier and frequent interactions, I never realised when my sister became so friendlier to me before her marriage. I still remember the time she inaugurated me to the world of alcohol with Tuborg and Red wine. But inspite of every fun we had that day, she still held that motherly affection and behaviour. The day she voyaged her way to in-laws, I was the one who cried the most yet I was the one who hated her — the most. She looked at me and said, “Bhalo bhabe thakish and Maa Babar kheyal rakhish” (Stay well and take care of mom and dad) Till today I see her as my second mother and yesI still hate her sometimes only for this attitude. But I’ll never forget the glass of wine I shared with her or the non-veg songs I sang with her on that day with my cousins. Thanks Shweta Maheshwari for giving me flashbacks. You made my morning resplendent with ambrosian memories.

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