Dil Jaanta Hai | ✔

sixty

(I do not own the video, or the song. This song is from the movie Talash, by Ram Sampath.)

||CHAPTER 60||
《¤》

She had died due to a heart attack.

Going numb wasn't something new that concerned me. Feeling helpless was.

I had not planned what would happen if she was gone, because I wanted to stay innocent and pretend that wasn't going to happen. She was aged, but she wasn't that old. She was supposed to stick around for a long time. She was supposed to be my support system, my ally. She was supposed to be waiting for me to come back from school that afternoon so that we could dance on the songs that would have been playing on her favourite stereo system. She was supposed to feed me karele ki sabzi during dinner while I fed her on the latest high school gossip.

She was supposed to be alive.

Early evening that day, her body was taken away. I had been holding onto her palm so tightly, feeling her bangles making indents on my skin, but she had gone anyway. I didn't want her to leave. She was supposed to open her eyes. She didn't though. I didn't want them to cover her nostrils with cotton, but they didn't listen.

I missed the wrinkles on her skin. I missed the comforting smell of her. I missed her daily taunts. It was painful to watch them lay her on the pile of wood logs and cover her with a white sheet. It was painful to watch them light the logs with fire. It was painful to immerse her ashes into the river.

I had thrown many tantrums since that day. I couldn't believe this was happening. I wasn't ready to accept this. Every passing day was a freaking punishment. I wanted to see her. I wanted her ghost to haunt me. I just wanted to sleep on her lap and forget this bad dream.

Our friends had come many times to see us. The cold war between Vansh and us was momentarily forgotten. Arnav was handling this better among us two. I would just stand by the window, waiting for her to come back. Wasn't the world keen on miracles? But I didn't want to talk to anyone. Talking about this made me cry more. 

For the past three days, I had barely left her room. I didn't want to. Her bed sheets had been changed, but her smell still lingered. I could feel her touch on the buttons of the remote. The framed family photograph on her bedside table was a mocking gesture. I didn't want her to rest in peace, I just wanted her to come back to me.

I slept on her bed, it made me feel closer to her. I wept on her pillows because they made me feel so close to her, yet so far away. Where did people wander off to after maladies?

I had often hugged her favourite stereo system while sleeping. The memories flooded my vision. Of me dancing with her on her favourite tunes. Of her running her hands through my hair. Of us gossiping about the cranky neighbours.

How was she gone?

I knew Dad had gone back to work after the customs were over. Immersing himself in work was his way of coping. Ignoring the outside world was his way of dealing with pain.

Many people had come to greet us. Jolly Bua attended to them. No one was emotionally stable, but someone had to step up.

On the fourth day, mother finally made an appearance. I had been drifting in between the horrible dreams in which she was dead, and the sweet haze of reality where everything was waiting for me to come back from school, when the door tfo Daadi's room opened.