"Yes?" An old man with a trembling voice stood there. He wore a shocking white kurta and pajama.
But of course he's wearing white. And he's just the cook.
"Baba! May I come in?" She asked softly.
"Umm.. Beta.. You know.."
"Yes. Yes I know baba! I need to be a part too."
"You're here for the funeral?"
"Yes. I'm here for.. The funeral.. Yes.. Yeah probably for that."
And for one last goodbye.
Tears filled his eyes as he opened the door wide to let her in. She ignored him, as her lips trembled. Taking off her chappals, she entered the house, smoothing out her own starched salwar-kurta.
The scene hit her hard.
A lady lay on the bed, yelling and screaming, sobbing at a loud volume. Several other ladies weeped along with her and tried to comfort her. The men were huddled in the verandah, except for one, probably the father, who stood in the garden, his arms wrapped around him.
She dared not look towards the hall, where the body was kept for the final rites. Her heart caught in her throat.
"Namaste Auntyji!"
The women stared at her, but the lady kept on crying, oblivious to her surroundings.
She spoke further, folding her hands together, "I am.. Was.. His friend.. I'm here to.. Umm.. Pay respects to.. Umm.."
One woman narrowed her eyes at her, and spoke through a choky whisper. "What do you want beta?"
"I.. Umm.. I'm here.. I was.. I was his friend."
He was my friend. He was my love. He was my life. He's the reason why I'm still here.
But he's no more.
How can I explain it to you????
The women ignored her. The man in the garden beckoned her to him.
"Namaste uncle ji!"
"Namaste beta! May I help you?"
The warmth exuding from his voice reminded her of his son's. The way he would whisper 'good night' into the phone, or yell at her to stop drinking, or teach her some new theory in maths, the voice she had spent 8 years listening to, the voice she had hoped to listen to for her remaining lifetime.
"I was his friend."
The man uttered a name.
"Yes, the very same," she answered, slightly comforted by his familiarity towards her.
"I'm sorry beta!" The tears finally escaped his eyes as he put a hand on her shoulder, and left.
She walked upto the door of his bedroom. So many times, she'd walked up to that room like she belonged there. Now she didn't feel the same way.
Entering, she felt a sudden hollowness, like the walls were closing in on her. She closed the door behind her, sat down on his bed, and broke down.
She spent a few hours in there. Everyone was mourning. No one disturbed her. She went through his closet, fingering his clothes, taking in the smell of the very familiar cologne. She went through his baggages, toying around with every item, shedding innumerable tears at every nostalgic reminiscence. Something had ended. The feeling of emptiness clawed through her heart as she sniffed at his handkerchief.
She opened the drawer of his table, and rummaged through the clutter of infinitely dysfunctional pens and stationery. She liked the sound of objects clinking against each other, and was shuffling a little bit more when she found a small crumpled piece of paper. She immediately recognised his microscopic crawly handwriting.
Something about you, sweetheart, reminds me that we have forever.
So I'll love you.
Forever.
She folded the note back as a tear fell on 'forever' and blotted the ink.
