People have a tendency to hide their weakness. They disclose their troubles only when they find someone afflicted in the same profundity by which they are themselves suffering. Then they seem to be the perfect companions both in joy and sorrow. Variety is the spice of life. True but, there are other aspects of life which remains mostly hidden from the mainstream.
The winter season in Rehalpur is a pleasant one, though everybody may not agree. Houses which have glass pane windows collect dew in the early morning and the reflection of the sun on it delivers a fair beauty. The touch of the cold dew and the warmth of the glass give birth to a diverse feeling. Nothing seems to have changed for a retired Brigadier of the 37 Rajput Battalion. Nothing should have changed really. I know I never deserved such a change. My wife’s call from the kitchen bought my senses back. “Abhay, where are you, coffee is ready?” said Shanti, my wife. Age did not snatch away the sweet and tender voice of my wife. Not only me but my friends also share the same opinion. My wife Shanti was working as Principal at a private English medium school in Rehalpur. She took voluntary retirement two years ago. The day our only son Bhargav passed his M.Sc in Chemistry, I went to Agra to bring him back home. We were scheduled to come back by train in the afternoon. Bhargav wanted to surprise his mother. He insisted me to travel by bus so as to reach quickly. After half an hour later, I saw Bhargav was asleep. He had this habit while traveling by bus. Suddenly, the bus in order to avoid a cow herd on the road swerved sharply on the left and fell in a small waterway. In that journey my son like many others lost his life and I, my vision, my future support. Even today, the cries of the helpless passengers echo in my ears. From that day Shanti left her job and stayed back at home to be my constant companion.
“What happened? Your coffee is untouched, and what are you thinking? Do you have fever? Are you feeling unwell?”, said my wife. This is the expected behavior of a typical Indian wife. Too many questions to answer for me; But then again that is the way I like it. “Nothing, I am all right”, I said. Not satisfied with my answer Shanti touched my forehead and cheeks with her palm to see if I have caught cold. While sipping coffee I lightheartedly said, “Shanti you have not changed a bit. Still the same like the college days.” “I have not changed! Maybe, but you haven’t changed either”, was my wife’s quick reply. I was sipping my coffee as the conversation stopped for sometime. “I can not bear anymore changes……………” saying this, she started to weep. I tried to console her knowing that it is of no use. The unbearable pain of a mother losing her son. She sits in front of Bhargav’s photo and cries profusely. I have heard that time heals injuries. This rule perhaps is not always applicable. During my training days at the NDA, our trainer used to tell us ‘Men don’t cry.’ Maybe that is why my tears have dried long ago, only the pain in mind remained. This has been more or less the daily routine of my wife for the past two years. Regaining my composure I said, “I have to leave now or I will be late.” Shanti said, “Be careful on the footpath. Do not step down on the road. Walk slowly.” These precautions are hurled at me whenever I go outside alone.
The winter season in Rehalpur is a pleasant one, though everybody may not agree. Houses which have glass pane windows collect dew in the early morning and the reflection of the sun on it delivers a fair beauty. The touch of the cold dew and the warmth of the glass give birth to a diverse feeling. Nothing seems to have changed for a retired Brigadier of the 37 Rajput Battalion. Nothing should have changed really. I know I never deserved such a change. My wife’s call from the kitchen bought my senses back. “Abhay, where are you, coffee is ready?” said Shanti, my wife. Age did not snatch away the sweet and tender voice of my wife. Not only me but my friends also share the same opinion. My wife Shanti was working as Principal at a private English medium school in Rehalpur. She took voluntary retirement two years ago. The day our only son Bhargav passed his M.Sc in Chemistry, I went to Agra to bring him back home. We were scheduled to come back by train in the afternoon. Bhargav wanted to surprise his mother. He insisted me to travel by bus so as to reach quickly. After half an hour later, I saw Bhargav was asleep. He had this habit while traveling by bus. Suddenly, the bus in order to avoid a cow herd on the road swerved sharply on the left and fell in a small waterway. In that journey my son like many others lost his life and I, my vision, my future support. Even today, the cries of the helpless passengers echo in my ears. From that day Shanti left her job and stayed back at home to be my constant companion.
“What happened? Your coffee is untouched, and what are you thinking? Do you have fever? Are you feeling unwell?”, said my wife. This is the expected behavior of a typical Indian wife. Too many questions to answer for me; But then again that is the way I like it. “Nothing, I am all right”, I said. Not satisfied with my answer Shanti touched my forehead and cheeks with her palm to see if I have caught cold. While sipping coffee I lightheartedly said, “Shanti you have not changed a bit. Still the same like the college days.” “I have not changed! Maybe, but you haven’t changed either”, was my wife’s quick reply. I was sipping my coffee as the conversation stopped for sometime. “I can not bear anymore changes……………” saying this, she started to weep. I tried to console her knowing that it is of no use. The unbearable pain of a mother losing her son. She sits in front of Bhargav’s photo and cries profusely. I have heard that time heals injuries. This rule perhaps is not always applicable. During my training days at the NDA, our trainer used to tell us ‘Men don’t cry.’ Maybe that is why my tears have dried long ago, only the pain in mind remained. This has been more or less the daily routine of my wife for the past two years. Regaining my composure I said, “I have to leave now or I will be late.” Shanti said, “Be careful on the footpath. Do not step down on the road. Walk slowly.” These precautions are hurled at me whenever I go outside alone.
Contd...P/2
No comments:
Post a Comment