the tittle of the blog came about as randomly, as the rain that day,with every drop on the windscreen the vision got blurred,and in an instant it became a metaphor for life!

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

…Courting him …

The dichotomy of death is evident in its ability to brood life almost instantaneously.

Ishani Doshi lost her husband of 45 year’s to a singular whim of his heart; the obstinacy of it to breathe one more time. Death enwrapped Mr. Doshi in its gargantuan arms leaving his soul to be born again to Mrs.Ishani Doshi.Papa was born again albeit in her memories and continues to breathe, nurture, grow and shall persevere till the time, she goes about the usual business of living herself. He is nestled in her memoirs and she would never be able to abandon him ever, not even for an instant.

It’s been almost four year’s now, on each and every day of these long years, I have heard the singular echo of my mother’s heart reverberating the plurality of my fathers heart beats. The sudden spurts of tears that slip through her hazy eyes are as frequent in occurrence; as a summer sun. The melancholy gestating in her is all too audible in the sad cadences of her voice.

Her face though, invariably lights up shedding the despondency when the conversation more often than not is related to papa. The revelry with which she talks about his varied traits is swathed with love and care; which for some reason she never expressed when he was with us. So now when she elicits the countless nuances of his persona, the plethora of stories that laced his simple staid life, I am truly befuddled and in so search the reasons of her not talking about him with such passion earlier, perchance, she is living a more intense life with his memories, than she could ever live with him!

There are good days and there are bad days and there are days that lie somewhere in between, on these days the realities of life catches up with mum, although metaphysically papa is there, there is a certain urge for him to be there physically too. As she splits the strips of prescribed medication one by one and assembles a dose for herself, it appears that she strips life in fragments and searches for the reasons to keep on living, her eyes well up, her shoulders droop, and the aimlessness of life without papa weighs on her. But then she surprises me with her resilience again, she summons the kids (her two grandchildren) embracing them ever so tightly, showering them with kisses, lavishing sweets and gifts and pampering them to the hilt. As if papa whispered in her ears, and imposed on her the belief, that the smile on her grandchildren’s faces is worth living for.

Though not conservative or orthodox in terminology, I always revered my parents; to me they were too puritan and hence I could never congregate the courage to trespass into their collective lives with an array of question that a kid may put up. that’s the reason when one day, mum, in an impromptu narration blurted, about, how papa courted her, after seeing her for the very first time and finally married her; admittedly! I was shocked at her revelations, but was pleased to see the glint of frivolity in her tear laden eyes as she spoke about it all.

I am intrigued by that sight of hers till date and somewhere in my heart I am sure, that it’s mum who is courting papa now and he is the one who is playing hard to get!

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