They say it feels better when you cry, but it actually doesn’t. It just feels barren, empty, a sky devoid of clouds, soulless.
Now, as other things have fallen into place, grief knocks at my door, like a sullen visitor, who wants to come in, take a seat in my hearth and share its tale with me.
It’s strange that none of our rituals celebrate innocence.
There are days when emotions leak out of everywhere, seemingly every pore of your body, from your very soul. It’s the rainy season for your soul.
In a way, we change every place we leave, also the person who leaves is not the same as the person who came. But it’s not just our physical remnants we leave behind. At times, we leave behind a part of our soul as well.
I don’t know what she saw in those final moments, whether she was comforted or not, whether she saw the light or her loved ones. But I hope that wherever she is, she is happy and at peace.
And just like I carry a bit of my parents within me, I also carry a bit of Calcutta within me. It’s soul knows mine even though I tried to escape from it. It will always remain my home, a place to come back to, no questions asked.
Mom’s journey from life to death,
From ‘is’ to ‘was’,
Spanned six decades and just a few seconds…