HIJR

Chapter 07

• I was grateful for someone today •

[ Inhal ]

Life isn't easy to live; it never was. But every time Amma was gone, it got harder and harder.

Everywhere I turned, all I could see were the reflections I was trying to avoid. So, I decided to stay out all day.

Apart from the hospital and the shifts, I spent the rest of my day at the temple. Uncle Ram was, at last, feeling better. The cough was slowly disappearing, and the fever was gone — just like everything leaves. But the farewell of an illness is the only farewell we humans celebrate.

I hadn't had a day off in what felt like forever, but I did today. I went to the temple every day, but this time it was in the afternoon. Today was also different in another way. Aariz showed up because he had the day off as well. Walking beside me, like the trees shade you from the sun's heat.

"When is your mom coming back?" He brought me out of my thoughts.

"Probably next year, or maybe never? She has settled there now and has forgotten her daughter."

He grinned and said, "Just tell her that you're having a hard time without her, and she will run back to you. That's what mothers are like."

I softly turned to look at Aariz next to me and saw the look on his face. It was always present whenever he spoke of Amma. Instead of envy or longing, it looked like a request. An unspoken desire.

"You know what else mothers love? Finding new kids and forgetting their old ones. Come home sometime, and give Amma the opportunity to forget about me."

He smiled — that warm, gentle smile.

We came to a stand under the streetlight that had been switched off. "Well, ma'am, this is your destination."

The temple was just a minute away from here, but Aariz never moved an inch further from this spot. He never asked me any questions about the temple. It seemed to be a silent acceptance. It seemed to me that he was encouraging me to keep these parts of my heart to myself. He was not going to intrude.

My conversations on our walks now tended to center around him. But I didn't have the courage to search for answers.

Even though the sun was shining in the afternoon, the temple felt cold. As I climbed the stairs barefoot, my feet burned a little. Maybe loneliness has a coldness to it?

The old door of Uncle Ram's room stood as a silent bridge between the past and the present. His room's walls had layers of chipped paint that told stories of eras gone by, revealing glimpses of forgotten colors that had once adorned its surface.

I knocked on Uncle Ram's door but didn't hear his sleepy voice reply. He often napped in the afternoon, and I hardly ever went to see him then. Or maybe he wasn't at home.

I carefully moved the rusted metal handle on the door so that the noise didn't wake him up. The creak of its hinges echoed loudly through the surrounding open space. The noise subsided as the door swung open, and with it, my mind.

There, on the floor, was Uncle Ram, his frail body stretched out. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, an indication of the life force that remained within. People say your world stops in such situations, but I thought mine had always been stuck. But there was an eerie silence at that very time, which hyperacusized me.