I still ask “how selfless can someone be?” I say look at a mother, the epitome is she. Each time when fever crept; Sleepless nights, by our bed she wept. Dear Mother As a little boy I was scolded, I roamed teary-eyed; You took me in your arms, as I complained and cried. Each pain…
Standing at the door of his room knowing that it’s the last time he would be there, Rumi closed his eyes while a drop of tear rolled down his cheek. A slideshow of the orange diary and its flipping pages flashed in front of his eyes. The orange diary… his book of memories of his college
Life prevailed when we were together. Her nagging, caring, fights, love, everything had its own beauty. Coming home was colorful. She would always be ready and together we could talk for hours about anything and everything.
It was the 25th of December and I was waiting for my Santa to arrive on his sleigh, although I doubted he will. I was 12 years old then and he had not come. The other kids were buying candies and new clothes as I wiped the fog off the windshield when they stopped at a traffic signal. I wondered that the kids have everything. Good food, good clothes, an easy life and most importantly a bright future.
After an inordinate length of time, he finally decided to glance through her suicide note!
Years back, that day, nobody was aware when she started choking. The aroma was tender. It felt like every object in the room tried shouting at her to not to kill herself including that little diamond earring lying on the bed, which he gifted her on her birthday.
Dinner dates with friends were awesome but the home made food was always missed at the back of her mind. After a long hectic day, when she was tired, she wanted her mother to pamper her with good food and settled room with blend of love by her father, showered in form of those priceless memories through those gifts she wanted and his experience sharing stories.