I'm not quite sure how I should refer to well, um..it. Was a girl I think, but I'm not too certain. 'It' seems most appropriate, I guess. It lay there. The baby. Lifeless. Serene, almost. The last traces of a faint smile still on its face. The mother picking up its motionless little figure, arms wrapped around ever so tightly even as her eyes poured endless streams of tears. The father, pain writ large on his face, still reeling, watching the nurse write "Brought Dead" in big, bold letters.
And then out of nowhere, unexpectedly, my own memories. Flashing through my mind like a film reel. Those images I thought I had erased forever, suddenly as fresh as ever. Memories. Two figures, perfectly still, lying next to each other. Together even in this one last experience. Dad hugging me, Ma standing there as if turned to stone. And the countless relatives. Offering condolences.
And yet others, happier ones. Dadaji's imitations of a chortling, 1-year old me. Dadi's letters to me, offering her pearls of wisdom, as always.
Some experiences leave you at a loss for words. For a moment, you stop breathing, stop feeling and exist in this state where you are completely emotionless. Blank. Witnessing the dead is one of them. It leaves you with something more than just morbidity. Like an impression in hot wax. Deceptively permanent. And yet, it changes you. In more ways than you ever realise.
That's how life goes on, I guess. It's these strange experiences which mould us. Play ever-so-tiny a part in making us who we are. And so we live on, hopeful as always. Tomorrow will be another day. And the new sun will bring new life and new experiences.
R.I.P. little one and my two stars.
No comments:
Post a Comment