The Other Side of the Moon

Sometimes in life we reach a stage where time, nature and everything surrounding us are at our disposal.It is just so much of just the inner self that, we are afraid of the thoughts that come by and it is so overwhelming. We are given the freedom to love or hate or cry or laugh, without an explanation; without a reason. And at this pure moment of nothingness I realized that I did not feel anything, I was just contented being with me. I did not long for my children, I did not long to pamper my grand-children, nor did I wantto go back to the warmth of being with my mother. This freedom inspite of being bound swept me off my feet. Now, I did not "belong" to anyone, I do not have a surname, I was not recognized by a family or my education. I was me. However self-centered it sounds, I'm certain that all of us welcome this freedom just like how I have.

Ten days ago the red vermillion was done and dusted from my forehead, the green bangles broken, and the chain that reminded me of that day stripped off my neck. Any sign of being happy externally snatched from me, without even asking me. A lot of men and women of my age sympathized and told me that I have been deprived of any socio-religious presence henceforth and I might be regarded to be a bad omen. I remained deaf to their false comforts and cry. For, if they did know me, they would have seen my heart and innerself at peace. From as long as I can remember, we have shared a life that I don’t remember how I was as a child. He knew smell of my wrist and the warmth at the root of my hair. I thought I would be devastated ifhe were to leave me, for we have been together like a tree and soil. Now I realize that nature tends to make us understand that we might not really be who we think we are and makes us unbelievably ready for the magnanimous loss. And I looked at him as he left me, feeling sure that nothing could have replaced him even if he were alive, and thought this was nature again; knocking at my door when I was praying for ourhealth and life. Irony.

Things going on for past ten days have been for him. Cooking, cleaning and praying like never before.The house packed was with people, that there were women sleeping in the kitchen. I slept peacefully,feeling him comfort me and making me ready for the next morning. I heard him say in silent whispers,about his promise of never making me lose my strength. And I refuse to fail him. So much confidence, that my little Meenu asked me if I weren't feeling anything at all. I smiled and they feared my sanity. I just knewthat they would understand someday.

Everyone left home late last night. I bathed early this morning, and as I was taking the sari out I noticed  a particular cream and yellow and cream cotton fabric sticking out from the bottom of the rack. I remembered the day he bought this sari and I knew of the particular mango stain which refused to budge. I pulled it outand when I wore it, I remembered the first time. He was looking at my reflection in the mirror as I wasgetting the bindi right and just smiled.

It’s just the stillness of air, the lingering smell of withered flowers and incense sticks and the rains that remains. I did not make the mistake of boiling extra milk or remember to not add sugar in his coffee. I wonder if he really did like his coffee that way, or if he just gave in to my concerns. I sipped my first coffee,with just myself to share. And while this worried me, I noticed something. The last rose we planted together flowered for the first time. I saw it come out of the bud and slowly turn into a flower. As the soft wind caressed my hair I heard him read to me,

"I carry your heart with me; I carry it in my heart

I am never without it

Anywhere I go, you go my dear;

And whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling

I fear no fate, for you are my fate, my sweet

I want no world for beautiful you are my world, my true

And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

And the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

Higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide

And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart; I carry it in my heart."