Letters To My Son - AshAangi

The Day Sivu And You Left Me

Hello Makkalae,

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Without much further ado, let's get into the story!

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My heart shattered into pieces. It felt like someone was pricking my heart with a thousand nails. I bled inside. I could not breathe. I became a lifeless body, standing at the gate, waiting for my beloved son, and to-be daughter-in-law to return. I waited till the moon flashed its bright smile. You didn't come back.

Kamesh, our neighbour, a good man by heart, came running with an umbrella and dragged me inside. I was drenched from head to toe. For a moment I was lost. He told me it had been raining for almost five hours. He prepared tea for us and talked about various topics. I was there physically with him, but my soul was not. He went home for dinner.

I was not hungry. I was not feeling cold. I was not listening to the conversation. I was not the one I used to be. Strange.

I heard your voice from the bedroom. Then came Sivu's voice asking for help to solve a Mathematics problem. I ran to the bedroom. I stood bewildered. No one was there. I heard your voice again from the living room, restroom, kitchen, and library. I saw you both, but I could not hold you in my eyes. My head spun. I locked the main door. I blindfolded myself and blocked my ears with bunch of cotton, but I still heard the voices inside my head and even saw you. Really strange. I hid myself under the blanket. I slept in great pain.

For the next few days, I skipped my routine. I had not eaten food properly. If at all I had any, it was because of Kamesh's coercion. The light-hearted conversations with him in the evenings failed to help. I did not find solace even in poetry. Sleep became my distant relative. I ached terribly inside. Intolerable pain. I had no choice but to accept the reality.

You taught me something incredible: the pain of parenthood.

On one of those nights when I was reading Shakespeare, I saw a very old family photo. It must have been hiding there for at least twenty long years. It brought back fond memories of my adolescence. Your mother Mirthulla was just nineteen and I was twenty-one when we posed for that photograph. If my memory serves right, during one of the village festivals, both our families posed together. Actually, we lived in adjacent houses, studied in the same school and, she being a single child, received all the pampering by her parents. Our love blossomed in the backyard of her home. First love. Like every love story of those days, when we revealed it to our families, we faced strong opposition because of the difference in caste. In no time, she was engaged to a relative and, the next day we eloped from our village and got married.

Marriage. Poverty. Baby. Life became tough. We never got a chance to visit our families again. Not even when your mother passed away in that horrific car accident. All I could do was to send a telegram.

You gave me a chance to understand the amount of pain we had inflicted on our parents.

I made up my mind to apologise, and I visited the village. I was in terrible shock. The village was not the same. The public school was closed, as very few students had turned up. The water sources had died, and villagers had dug their own well or bore-well. The greens disappeared. The huts had become small houses. Everything had changed.

I met one of my school friends who broke my already pained heart. Mirthulla's parents had died in a flood that had taken the lives of many villagers fifteen years ago. My mother was also a victim. My father had passed away ten years ago due to a heart attack and my elder brother had died in a deadly fever two years ago.

I cried on his shoulders. He took me to the graveyard, and I wailed at their graves, apologising for what we had done to them. I sobbed on the way back home. For next few days, I reflected on the value of parents. They are living gods. They do everything to make their children happy and expect nothing in return.

Love is painful. Love makes a person selfish. Love binds a family and, in the process, breaks two. Love gives you enormous strength. Love can make you feel weak. Love gifts you scar, beautiful moments, and painful memories.

My love for you and Sivu grew multi-fold. And now all I would do is wait patiently for you to come home.

With Love,

Aarav (12-12-2017)

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Ashwin wept on Sivaangi's shoulder. He lost the strength to read anymore. But, up on her request, he picked up the next letter with the note, 'God's Gift'

To be continued 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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