365 days since she left us

When spring padded in on soft feet, I forgave her capricious arrival because we’d long awaited the warmth on our skin. But somewhere in the midst of her unfolding, an unmistakable melancholy washed over me. I’d been so beguiled by her colour and whimsy that only then did I notice the precious cargo she carried in tow: Ma.

Around this time last year, as spring was awakening, Ma was taking her last breaths, eyes closed, preparing for rest. Her departure will forever punctuate this season, teasing me like fragrant fruit hanging from a branch just beyond my reach. The scent of fresh blooms taunting my senses with a bittersweet ache.

And everyone here has simply moved on, as though we hadn’t lost something irreplaceable. I suppose it’s the same irreconcilable reality faced by anyone who has grieved someone they loved.

Sometimes I’ll wander mindlessly into her room and open her almari just to feel close to her. Those cold metal doors feel like gates to another dimension, one where time is suspended and memories are trapped.

Her neatly folded sarees still carry the faint scent of her perfume.

It’s as though she’s right there and, if I close my eyes tightly enough, I can make her appear beside me.

I run my hands over everything because inside that closet are the most tangible connections that remain. Her purse, her scarves, her jewellery box, her makeup tray. I twist open the last remaining lipsticks still sitting in their holder, patiently waiting to kiss her lips, not knowing they’ll be waiting forever.

I smell them. They haven’t spoiled yet, but they’re on their way, and they’re taking the last traces of her with them.

I worry that it’ll be this way forever. That every spring, when the birds sing, my heart will sink. And at the same time, I’m worried that it won’t. That with each passing year, she’ll move further away.

Grief takes its time with you. There’s no fighting it, so I surrender, and through it I change into something else. What, I don’t know. I’m less somehow. There’s an impossible void inside me that begs to be filled. An insatiable thirst that goes unquenched. And beyond these almari doors there is no solace, only caged pain, fading memories, and echoes of what once was.

On this one-year anniversary, I can say that the passing of time doesn’t make it lighter. It only fortifies you with the strength to carry it another day.

N xo