Diary

Three days have passed since his father had passed away. After the boisterous mourning remain only silences. Without an utter, Nirmala kept the dinner plate in front of Abhay. For the first time, the mother didn’t put her playful scold to her drunken son. Alcohol was not trespassing inundated hearts. Abhay tried his best to look at the food but he could only see memories of his father forcibly making him eat. Pushing back the chair, lingering he started to head towards the drawer where he used to hide his cigarettes between the drawers. It was his father’s desk where not even his father could doubt about the secret storage of nicotine.

He managed to take out one, took out lighter from the back pocket before he could lit it, his eyes fell over the red colored diary embossed with “life is beautiful”. He had seen it every day and had even asked his dad what you had been scribbling in these pages. He used to smile and say, “At one point you stop looking at the mirror, you make one”. Abhay was dying to see his father’s reflections. He quickly picked up the diary, went on the corridor, parked himself on sofa and lit the cigarette. The first puff flipped the cover when he saw the photograph of dad, mother and Abhay of four years old. He could feel his fingers bringing innocent smile on his face. Then he started to unravel his childhood memories, his birthday celebrations, his dad taking him on his shoulder to school, dushehra fairs, his reaction when dad gifted him the cycle. He could feel his emotions being absorbed and put on the paper. His father had been working hard to run his grocery store, face numerous difficulties but he wrote what he wanted to remember and penned down only beautiful moments with Abhay and Nirmala. Like flashes, he lived his life again through the mirror you can see your past. With chirping of birds, he flipped the last page. Neither alcohol nor tears were left in him.

Next morning, when Nirmala woke up to make breakfast for his son, she could see a sandwich and juice already kept on dining table. Taken aback she looked for Abhay in his room, washroom and on the terrace. When she looked down, she saw Abhay’s bike parked but her husband’s scooty was missing. Her emotions were obfuscated between grief and ecstasy. A sense of heartfelt delight could not control the watery eyes. She looked around to ensure that no one looked at her. With light steps, she returned down, freshen herself up and ate the breakfast after four days. After a few hours, she revived her affection she had for preparing lunch for her husband, and cooked delicious lunch accompanied by a sweet dish for her son, packed nicely in tiffin box and sent Ganesh to carry it to the shop. After a few minutes, ganesh returned with the message that Abhay would be coming late at night, he had told her not to wait for him.

Nirmala heard the opening of the door, but didn’t want to interrupt his son immediately. Abhay didn’t want to interrupt her mother’s sleep. Both were trying to brief the grief. After fifteen minutes of hardest wait, Nirmala went to check if his son had dinner or not. He was sitting on the same chair where her husband used to sit, entirely engrossed with words to be written beautifully in the diary. Nirmala walked with no preparation of words to put and asked, “Did you have your dinner?” “Will have after some time mom”, replied Abhay with his genuine smile. She could not resist asking why he was writing his father’s diary. He softly turned, holded hands of her mother and said,” Mom, one day every son has to come into his father’s shoes, I have decided to come into my father’s diary, and how can I let my father’s mirror be dusty”. Nirmala smiled, gently crossed his hair with her delicate fingers and left. Abhay engrossed himself again with “life is beautiful”.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: