I remember the winters of my hometown. Sambalpur always felt colder after 6 hours long train ride from Bhubaneswar. It was always a journey to look forward to, a way back home, to you, to the fresh ginger tea, warm food and the warm fights.
The walk from the main gate to the living room doorway was not that far, yet every single time I arrived home, I was welcomed by the colorful vista of flowers which you grew in our garden. Each flower welcomed me, the arrays of pink and purple Aster, the bold and sturdy Hollyhocks, the mesh of pink and white Bougainvillea, the silently and subtly growing Gerbera and of course your favorite Roses, variety of Roses.
I couldn’t count how many of other flowers just blurred in the background, but each one vibrant with your nurturing love, the vital signs beaming in their aura, all of them so alive.. So so alive…
I would always remember those fragrant walks home…
~~~
A few days back, I spotted a florist near my usual eat out. It was an afternoon and I had to be back to office premises. I spotted a pink Gerbera flower with few broken petals, sturdy stem, hidden. The option was loud and clear, I had to buy it.I got it to my flat, neatly put it inside a glass bottle I had rinsed after emptying milkshake.
That flower brightened up the not so pretty looking corners of my temporary abode, felt sweet to look at, stayed silent in my absence, and gradually, started to wither.
It was the silent withering that took me back to the ICU bed, of how hopeful I was when your vitals were intact, while the machine still displayed a zigzag line.
I changed water, added salt and sugar, and the flower bagan to rise again, just like my hope on that day.
That pink Gerbera is now dead, like that day I saw you on the ICU bed, on a summery March, after a week long struggle between life and death.
Uprooted flowers eventually die.
~~~
I wish, I so wish with my regretful heart, for one more chance to do all I could with my all of my possible strength, to see you again, smiling, while you soak the wintery heat on your aged skin, to see you cook my favorite meal, to see you taking care of plants, to laugh together while we fondly watch cat videos, and most of all, for you to respond, while I call you Maa..
Now that you are gone and I feel short of words for how terribly I miss you, I try to keep your memories as fragrant and alive as that wintery day…
Sleep with that calmness I saw before the last nail was hit. But should I lament on your withering, I should also feel calm as your sufferings ended. We will meet again, till then, rest to this.
I will. Thank you.:)