I walked around the hall, slowly observing the people coming in. Dressed in simple mostly white clothes. The air around is filled with incense and flowery smell, accompanied by the monotonous but ritualistic chanting of the purohit(1). The environment is filled with an empty silence, laced with grief.
I look at the picture in front of the purohit, draped in thick garlands of white flower. The centre of today's event.
Father.
He passed away 2 weeks ago. An unceremonious heart attack. I watched as they rushed in, and loaded him on the ambulance. I sat outside the emergency room for 15 minutes in silence, and when the doctor appeared before me with a fallen face, I already knew it.
After living with him for the 19 whole years, and with only him for the last 5, it won't be surprising the way I feel an empty that just wouldn't go. Looking at the rooms that suddenly seem much more bigger, and maybe the sudden absence of a voice that filled my every day.
For the last few weeks, I grieved. But to be honest, I didn't cry outwardly. I missed him, more than anyone, but the grief was a silent pain that just can't be expressed through tears or actions.
He's gone. And that's the truth.
But today's not about him only. And saying that itself makes me hate myself. I'm a bad daughter and bad human for being excited for something, be it anything at all, on the day of my father's sraddho(2).
And yet, I can't help but be excited. After all, if this whole thing has any silver lining, it's that he's coming! After 5 long years, I will meet him again.
I look at the door in impatience, peering into everyone entering the hall with the expectation that it's him!
The door. It stands between me and him. 7 years ago, there was also a door that stood in our middle. A closed door. Inside it was me. And on the other side, him.
"Can you give this world another chance, be it only for my sake?"
I hadn't told anyone for that matter. My parents, teachers, or even friends. Not this. Not a thousand things that led to this. Cause if I did-
"You are just overacting!"
"Too sensitive, aren't you?"
"Huh? You just want attention."
I knew it all. Or at least I thought I knew. So, if there's no one to listen, there's nothing to say either. I simply spent that day as any other. Okay...maybe not completely. Cause I remember cleaning my room and mom saying, "finally you have up that pigsty lifestyle" or when I gave away those dolls I treasured since childhood, and father said, "finally you are maturing up to your age"
But to me, it was just giving away what I won't be needing, and maybe cleaning the place where I chose to rest. At night, I slowly walked to my room and closed that door, the last of the doors that connected me to this world.
Now all that was left for me, was to discard all my pains with this body and be free.
But then, there was a knock on that closed door. He didn't enter forcefully and tried to stop me, or berate me for my selfishness. Looking back, either would be totally reasonable reactions to my stupidity. But he stood there, I don't know for how long, and spoke to me.
He didn't bullshit me with "everything's gonna be ok!" Or "think about our parents!"
"There's nothing wrong with you. You are just wounded. And a wound needs care, not chastiment "
I don't know what tipped him off. Was it my choice of words, my sudden morning hug, or my sad smile, if there was one. But when, no one noticed, he did.
"We will overcome this together. If you can't trust anyone else, just put your faith in me. I promise you, this pain won't last forever"
That night passed, and I woke up to the rays of the sun and the song of the birds. I looked at my face, marked with dried streams of tears, and slowly opened the door.
There he was, asleep beside the door. That entire night, he didn't leave my side.
That was 7 years ago. And I still am here. Everything just didn't magically change. But since then, it became more bearable. Maybe because I had someone to share the burden with?
Some of the guests came forward as I was reminiscing. They say "We're truly sorry for your loss" and I respond with kindness. These last two weeks, I have gotten quite used to this.
My eyesight still peers the door. The same door that 5 years ago, he walked out of. A week before, mom had suddenly announced at the dinner table that she and father were getting a divorce. It was sudden, and yet it was not. Sometimes we ignore those small cracks until they become something more severe. Their relationship, however ignorant we tried to be about it, we still knew, had cracks.
So, none of us protested. "I will remain with dad!" I said. Afterall, it made all the sense. My high school was here, my friends were here, and so did everything else. And father needs someone by his side, doesn't he?
And him? He chose mom. Again. Makes sense. His college was nearer from there, and it would make the commute much easier. And mom also needs someone by her side, doesn't she?
And so, it followed. I remember joking with him while loading his luggage on the back of the car, and laughing at his quirky replies. After they left, the house felt similarly bigger as it feels now.
*****
They say time is the greatest healer of all, it heals all wounds. But that's not what time really does. What it does, is simply make you forget. It's like a river that flows. Of course it washes away all the muck, but that's not all. It washes away all that falls in its path, without discrimination.
For the first month, we shared our daily details over messaging as if we're talking sitting next to each other. Then a year had passed, and the only messages we exchanged were happy birthdays or festive greetings. Onto the next year, only when mom or dad reminded us. And even then, slowly those small connections were washed away by the flow of time.
And since it has been 5 long years between us. But now, he's coming back. A lot has changed, mother got married again, father's dead. I am a college student now. We've long left behind those days; that dark room that night, or the dinner table where we ate together for the last time. I have changed; he must have as well.
I am nervous. What will I say to him when we meet? What should I say? Should I give him a hug and say how long it's been? Should we talk about how he's doing? I am nervous, but in a good way.
Afterall, no matter what, today is the day I get to see him again! I-
That's when I see him. Dressed in plain white clothes, a little older. But it's the same person. As if my breath stops, finally he's here-
"Dada-!"(3)
"Be careful now." He softly says to the girl to his side. It's then when I notice, the little girl beside him, holding his hands tightly. Glancing at him, she is not shy or afraid, but comfortable.
Who is she? A cousin? A family friend?
Before I could reach to a conclusion, someone approached him. They smiled at the girl, barely eight or nine, and asked him who she was. As if God replied to my curiosity.
"She? Oh, she's my little sister"
I hoped God hadn't created that opportunity. I was happy never knowing the answer.
I look at him as he walks, his 'sister' beside him, to the front with his palms pressed together. He silently bows to father's garland draped picture, and watching him with keen eyes, the little girl also joins her hands in silent prayer.
As I step back, and feel myself lost behind a sea of grieving guests, I remember it. Mom married someone with a child. I heard it years ago, and somehow it escaped my mind.
I see, now he has another little sister.
I quietly leave the room. The pain daggers my heart in silence, robbing me of all feelings. As if I'm numb. The clatter of the hall dies down to my ears, replaced by an odd stinging quiet.
Only one word comes to my mind.
Replacement.
I have been replaced.
The one I'm waiting for so long, doesn't long for me anymore. Cause he already has a replacement. A substitute.
I picture the kid beside him, standing so comfortably clutching his hands, warmly glancing at him. As if she's sure to be next to him forever.
What I once thought.
That place, who does it rightfully belongs to?
No....that's not true, is it?
Regardless of the present, he was the one who stood by my side that night. Who shared my burdens. Who heard my silent cry and extended his warm hands.
I'm not...I simply can't be.
Can't be what?
Can't be replaced....
But if that's true, what am I then?
Yes....a closed chapter. A finished book.
That's what I'm.
It's selfish to want him to be tied to me forever. Not when in 4 years I never once reached out.
He is still the guy who saved me. But that's not all that he can be. That he should be. That part of him was necessary for me, but that's not what his entire existence is all about.
And there he is. Alive and happy. Yes, he moved on. He changed priorities. That's natural. But he is happy.
And me? I'm still here, standing. Regardless of the storms that wrecked my heart, ever since that night, I'm still standing.
We are not tied to each other, and that's good. He didn't replace me. He learned and grew through me, sharing my experiences and burdens.
And neither did I stop growing, free of the comfort of him. Underneath his sure shadow, I would be safe and happy, but not grew up to be the one I'm today.
He learned to face pain through me, and I learned to breathe through him. Even if we don't see each other, even if we are not as important to each other as we once were, that doesn't change the truth.
Not all people that save you are meant to stay. That doesn't deny their acts of love for you.
That deny the 's 's true...
Yet, my heart stings.
As if I was denied something only I was entitled to. Someone who's rightfully mine, stolen under my nose.
Can't I be his? And he mine? Forever?
"I am not replaced." I say to myself. Yet, the word forms, ever persistent in my heart.
I can't go and meet him. My fears won't allow it. I know, I should go and talk to him. To our new little sister. Yet my legs won't move.
For the first time in 7 years, silent tears roll down my eyes.
They say time heals all wounds. And maybe this will also be, washed away along with all the muck with its eternal flow. The wounds, they would heal.
They would...they definitely would...but...
It's just that the scars won't go away.
I love him. And I'm sure he loves me too. The truth is that he simply outgrew me, before I could.
Sometimes, we realise that we alone aren't entitled to whatever we hold as special in our heart.
It's normal.
It's the truth.
It's the truth, yes...yet...
Yet it still hurts.
*******
FOOTNOTES:-
1. Purohit: Hindu Priest
2. Sraddho: Hindu Funeral
3. Dada: Affectionate Way of calling one's brother13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX9mthW1nJK
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmfTnFUaNrU
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