Every day baba calls us up and asks us to get prepared for the worst. But I am sorry. I can’t listen to his advice this one time. I can’t prepare my self for the void that might soon fill our lives. I can’t imagine our house without you in it. I would never be able to go to Calcutta knowing that you won’t be there waiting for us at the door step. Waiting for me to come and sit with you, holding your hands. And feigning surprise at the impulsive kisses that I plant on your cheeks. I can’t imagine my afternoons without listening to your stories of eternal love and sacrifice for the family. And I don’t know who else to look up to for inspiration except the ‘man’ of our house, as baba rightly calls you.
Thaakumaa, I love you so much that the very thought of you leaving us any time is scary. I am not an over emotional person. And yet I can’t control this sudden flow of tears even as I am typing this post. There is dearth of love in this world and I would hold on to the love that I have always had for you and that has been reciprocated with equal intensity. What else would now draw me to Calcutta? Of course Maa and Baba are there for us. But they or anyone else can never compare to the radiance that your presence has. And I would not want to miss the flicker of joy in your eyes when you see us and especially Diya.
I thought of writing this post to feel better with the pain that has been piercing my heart. And yet I can’t write any further. Perhaps when the tide is over and you are fine again, I would write about how our relationship has turned out to be over the past decade. I would like to relive each and every moment that we have spent together, every story, anecdote that you have told me I would like to take pictures of the wonderful gifts that I have received over the years from you. Not for any occasion. But just because you felt like it.
Please don’t go. Please don’t leave us. I don’t want to ever be without the comfort of your presence around.