The End A life's Farewell

A life farewell

​(From the pages of Nolan's diary - An autobiography of a broken soul)
​When age crosses the milestone of 72, every single joint in the body doesn't just ache; it screams that your utility in this world has ended. My name is Nolan. Amidst the heavy and suffocating humidity of Tamil Nadu, I have been reduced to an unwanted shadow in a corner of my own house, a shadow everyone tries to avoid. Today, when I look back, I remember the days when I sowed the seeds of my dreams on this very soil with my sweat. Back then, the sunlight had a brightness to it; today, that same sunlight pierces my old eyes, and I wander within my own home searching for a cool patch of shade.
​I have two sons. My eldest son-Vijay. When he came into this world, I felt like all the happiness of the universe had laid at my feet. I raised him pressed against my chest, sacrificing my own desires to fulfill his every wish. I handed over every drop of my youth for his education and upbringing. When he got married, Ramya entered the house. Initially, Ramya came as a daughter-in-law, but gradually every key to this house, every decision came to rest in her hands. The wheel of time turned in such a way that my own eldest son, Vijay, is now left as nothing more than a puppet dancing to Ramya's fingertips.
​The reality now is that before sitting on that expensive sofa in the living room-the one where I once sat with complete authority and dignity-I have to think ten times. If I sit there, Ramya's sideways glances make me feel as if I have usurped someone else's property. Now I am confined to the very edge of that sofa, or tucked away on an old plastic chair in the veranda.
​And my younger son-Rahul. People say blood relations are everything, but Rahul was an adopted son. From the day he was brought home until he grew up, I loved him more than my own biological sons. I never felt for a moment that he wasn't my own flesh and blood. Whenever he fell ill, I stayed awake all night stroking his forehead. I had hoped that in the cold night of my old age, this adopted son would be my greatest pillar of support.
​But time turned the tables in such a way that today, that very Rahul has become the cause of the deepest wound in my life. Now he has changed too. Perhaps the suffocating and selfish atmosphere of this house turned him into this as well. Whenever I try to say something to him, or bring up memories of the past, he immediately snaps and says- "Papa, you won't understand. This crying of yours is an everyday thing." Those words pierce my chest like a dagger.
​My days now pass like a punishment. The moment my eyes open in the morning, a strange suffocation surrounds me. Whenever a guest visits the house, Vijay and Ramya make me feel small in my own eyes. I am quietly pushed into the inner room, or told- "Papa, please rest inside, there's no need to come out." They do not want any outsider to see that an old, helpless, wrinkle-faced father lives in their house.
​Ramya's daily taunts hit my heart like hammers. She often raises her voice while standing in the kitchen and says, "God knows how long we have to carry this burden. He is old, yet has no shame about his eating and habits." And Vijay? He acts deaf even after hearing everything. There is no respect left in his eyes for me now, only an irritation and helplessness that he can neither throw me out nor keep me comfortably.
​Now I have no complaints against anyone. Nor do I expect anything from anyone. The sole purpose of my living has boiled down to just one thing-waiting for death. Every morning when my eyes open, a single sigh escapes my lips- "Oh God, why did my eyes open again today? Why didn't these breaths stop?" My body is tired, but my soul is far more exhausted. I wish for a night that has no morning.
​Today in Tamil Nadu, the sky is covered with dark clouds. It is pouring heavily. There is a strange chill and dampness in the air. The atmosphere inside the house felt even more poisonous now. No one was even willing to look at me. I wrapped my old, torn shawl around my shoulders and quietly walked out of the house without saying a word to anyone. Not a single person looked back to ask- "Papa, where are you going in this torrential rain?" Perhaps deep down, all of them were praying that I wouldn't return.
​Dragging my feet with trembling steps, I reached the public park near my house. There is dense silence all around here. Heavy raindrops are striking the leaves of the trees and falling down. Right in the middle of the park sits that very same old wooden bench-the bench where years ago I taught Vijay and Rahul how to walk holding my finger, where I sat and spent countless beautiful moments with them.
​Today, I am sitting alone on that wet, cold bench. Rainwater trickles from my grey hair down my cheeks. The cold wind is freezing my bones. There is an unbearable heaviness in my chest, as if someone has placed a massive stone over it.
​It is good... everything is coming to an end now. This pain, this humiliation, this loneliness... is all erasing forever.
Vijay, Ramya, Rahul... all of you are finally free from this burden. Be happy.
​My eyes are growing heavy and closing. My breaths have slowed down drastically, about to stop completely...
This is the final edge of my life.
The End.
​Written by Abhishek Kashyap