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//ओ रांझना वे तेरी सांसो पे
थोडा सा वतन का भी हक था
ना देख मुझे यूं मुड़-मुड़ के
तेरा-मेरा साथ यही तक था
ये तेरी जमीन तेरे खून से ही
तो सजती सँवारती है रांझे
तेरे इश्क कि मैं हकदार नहीं
तेरी हीर तो धरती है रांझे//
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30th May 2019, Chandigarh
9 PM
Dear Diary,
25th May 2019
A day I'll never forget! A day that will forever haunt me!
I am a heavy sleeper, have always been one. My mornings began after 8, while Kabir, a soldier through and through, would wake up every day at 5.
I still remember the day Kabir was supposed to leave for his duty the last time. The night before had been a night of love and laughter as we stayed awake until the unholy hour of 3 AM.
And then, the next day, the day he was supposed to leave, Kabir had started to wake me up at 5 to watch the sun rise with him. He loved watching sunrises!
I didn't wake up, and we missed the sunrise. He was irritated, but calmed down, when I had promised, the next time he comes home, we'll watch the sunrise the very first morning.
On the 25th, I woke up at 5.
I tried a lot to get back to sleep but I couldn't.
Five days before, I had a brief talk with Kabir, he was exceptionally happy, after coming to know about my pregnancy. And, so, my spirits were high.
I went and stood at the balcony, the same balcony where Kabir had asked me out for the first time. I was instantly reminded of that day. And just like that, I relived mine and Kabir's journey from that day to today, flooding my senses with love and nostalgia.
All of a sudden, the clock struck five thirty, breaking my trance, and I could hear birds chirping and the morning sun in hues of orange and yellow shining from behind the clouds.
I, for the first time, watched the sunrise that day.
I clicked pictures so I could show them to Kabir the next time we meet.
Later, I sat on a chair on the balcony and switched on the radio.
I could hear one of the classics "Aaoge Jab Tum, O Saajna, Angna Phool Khilenge...", and I again remembered the man I was waiting to come back with bated breaths.
"Anjaane Hi Tere Naino Ne, Waade Kiye Kayi Saare Hain..", I remember, I had once complained to Kabir that he spent very few days with me. I want to go on a trip with him, but how his service never allows us.
He had laughed and said, "I promise, once I retire from my duties, all my time will be yours. And, then, not one, we'll go on a lot of trips together."
Remembering this promise, a faint smile adored my lips.
Suddenly, the newspaper hawker threw the day's newspaper towards the balcony.
I picked it up and saw the big headline.
There was little improvement in the situation at the border.
My smile widened.
Later that day, I couldn't bring myself to go to work, so I stayed back at home.
I spent the whole day lying on our bed, mom and dad kept calling me outside, but I just didn't want to leave the bed.
I got up to eat my breakfast and lunch, but then again, dropped myself on the bed, feeling a different kind of warmth, which I began missing as soon as I left the bed.
The evening soon fell, and I was still lying on our bed, thinking about Kabir and our little one, when, abruptly, my phone rang.
It was an unknown number.
Thinking it might be something important, I picked it up.
A man's voice came from the other side,
asking, "Are you Capt. Kabir Sethi's wife?"
I answered a shaky yes.
And then he said something, the words that shattered my soul, pierced my heart.
"I regret to inform you that Captain Kabir Sethi has made the ultimate sacrifice for the country. He is no more."
Kabir was no more.
My Kabir was no more.
I couldn't believe it.
I irritatedly asked the person from the other side if he was joking.
He again repeated the same thing.
I broke down on the floor and shouted, calling for the man I loved.
My in-laws came running to me. Dad took the phone and talked to the caller. He, too, slumped down on the floor.
And, just like that, I became a widow.
My child, even before coming to life, became an orphan.
Everything around me crumbled.
The whole day, a deep numbness settled over me, as if my emotions had been replaced by a vast, empty void. The news of Kabir's martyrdom played on a loop in my mind, each repetition driving the knife of reality deeper into my heart.
The next day, I shook off my pain as I got ready in a pink kurta.
Kabir, during our dating days, had once commented, "You look so lovely in pink." And from that day, I had filled my wardrobe with pink.
As I tied my hair into a bun, my gaze remained fixed on the sindoor box resting on the table-a stark reminder that it's bright colour will no longer adorn my hairline.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, as I wiped my tears and tried to smile. That's how Kabir always wanted me to see - smiling and glowing.
I rushed off the stairs as we waited for Kabir for the last time, to welcome him on his final visit to his home. This time as a lifeless body in a box clad in the Indian Flag.
The moment I saw his body, I felt my heart breaking, shattering into pieces I will never be able to collect.
Kabir would always ask me to be strong. He reminded me even on that last day we spoke.
He hated my tears!
All through our relationship, he kept repeating it, sometimes teasing me for being a crybaby, sometimes copying the Rajesh Khanna's dialogue Pushpa, I hate tears and sometimes getting angry when I cried.
"Meera, you really wanna break my heart, hai na?", he had once asked.
"Aree, Kabir, why are you speaking like this? Why will I break your heart?", I had questioned.
"Then, why do you cry every time I leave? Your sad tears break my heart into pieces, yet, you always cry like this?", He had said, wiping my tears.
Kabir's colleagues, who came with his body, told us about the whole situation. They told us how bravely my husband fought, but later succumbed to his injuries. A few bullets were pierced into his heart.
At that moment, pride swelled within me, like a fierce, unyielding river. It coursed through my veins, and I couldn't help but admire my husband for his boundless bravery, his unwavering dedication, and his resolute valor.
In that instant, I made a silent vow to myself-I would not succumb to tears, nor would I allow the shroud of gloom to envelop me completely. My husband, my hero, had fought and given his life for our motherland, and I was determined that his sacrifice would be eternally honored and remembered.
I, the wife of the valiant Captain Kabir Sethi, would stand strong, a testament to his strength and resilience. My hero had fought, and though he may have fallen, his memory and sacrifice would endure.
The brave Captain Kabir Sethi's wife was not weak, and I would remember his martyrdom with unwavering pride.
I sat beside his body, staring at him.
Relatives from near and far, Kabir's friends from school and college, my friends, my colleagues from work, all came to offer their tribute to my brave soldier.
Evening was near and we uttered our last goodbyes to Kabir. I, for the last time, looked at the man I love, touched and kissed the coffin, whispering that our child and I love him and are very proud of him.
And then we made our way to the cremation ground, the journey felt like a painful pilgrimage, a path I never wanted to walk on, a final path I walked with Kabir by my side, crossing the streets we had first met at, the cafe he had proposed me at and the gurudwara where we had promised each other a forever.
The tricolour-draped coffin, bearing the weight of my husband's sacrifice, seemed both sacred and unbearably heavy.
The procession was led by his fellow soldiers, their uniforms a testament to the brotherhood that Kabir always cherished.
Their salute, crisp and unwavering, paid homage to a comrade who had given his all for the nation.
Each step felt like a march through the annals of grief and honor.
The military band played the mourning tune that seemed to resonate with the collective sorrow of those gathered. The sound of its notes, haunting and sad, pierced my heart like a thousand daggers, echoing the ache I felt within.
They handed over the tricolour wrapped on Kabir's body to me, it's vibrant colours standing in the stark contrast with the darkness that surrounded me.
As I held it, I knew that it would forever serve as a reminder of the hero I had been blessed to call my husband.
The rituals began. Kabir's old dad, solemn and composed, performed the last rites of his young son with unwavering devotion and pride.
The scent of incense and the chanting of prayers filled the air, creating an eerie juxtaposition with the heavy silence of our grief-stricken hearts.
And then came the moment when they began to lower the coffin into the pyre. My heart ached and I found it difficult to breathe.
I could not stop my tears then. They flowed freely, a torrent of emotion that refused to be contained.
I watched as the flames began to consume the wood.
The crackling of the fire seemed to carry his spirit upward, a final ascent to the heavens. The smoke, thick and billowing, danced with the wind, as if carrying his essence to a place far from me, beyond my understanding.
As the flames subsided, leaving behind only ashes, I felt a profound sense of emptiness, as if a part of my very soul had been consumed in that fire.
And just like that, everything ended.
Our story ended.
I, for the first time, had watched the sunrise that day, but my life's sun had set forever that day.
The days that followed blurred into a haze of sorrow. Pain has become a constant companion, a weight on my chest that refuses to lift. Each morning, as the sun rises anew, it serves as a stark reminder of his absence, casting long shadows of loneliness throughout my life.
My once vibrant life is now filled with melancholy. His death left a void that can never be filled.
Condolences from friends and family are well-intentioned but feel insufficient in the face of my grief.
They say that time heals all wounds, but time, it seems, moves at a different pace when you're grieving.
Every moment without him is an eternity, and I find myself replaying our memories like a broken record, seeking solace in the past.
Our home, once filled with his presence, now echoes with the silence of his absence.
The nights are the most challenging. The empty space beside me in bed is a stark reminder of the dreams we had for our future.
The anticipation of our child's arrival, a symbol of our love, now feels bittersweet. I am determined to be the best mother I can be, to honor Kabir's memory through our child's life.
In these dark hours, I revisit the letters and messages he left behind. His words are a lifeline, a testament to his love and unwavering support. He believed in me when I couldn't find faith in myself, and I drew strength from his enduring belief.
Two days after his cremation, I found myself faced with the box filled with Kabir's uniform and other personal belongings, each item bearing his presence.
As I carefully opened the box, a wave of emotions washed over me.
The scent of his uniform, a unique blend of earthy cologne and the unmistakable essence of his being, enveloped me like a warm embrace.
It was as if he was standing right there beside me, his presence lingering in the fabric, a lingering reminder of his strength and dedication.
I ran my fingers over the uniform, tracing the familiar insignia and patches that represented his service and commitment to our nation. Each button, each seam, held a story of duty and sacrifice, of the countless hours he had spent in service to his country.
Among his belongings, I found photographs of us together, capturing moments of laughter and love frozen in time.
A faded picture of him in uniform, his eyes filled with determination and pride, served as a poignant reminder of the man I had fallen in love with-the man who had dedicated his life to a cause greater than himself.
In that box of memories, I found solace and pain intertwined. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life we had shared, a tangible connection to the man I loved and had lost. I cling to them, hoping they can bridge the gap between his world and mine.
Each item held a story, and as I sifted through them, I could feel Kabir's presence, his spirit, and his enduring love, reassuring me that he was still with me in some way.
I mourn the loss of my husband, my rock, my confidant, my love, but I also celebrate the hero that he was, a hero who gave his all for his country.
I pray that Kabir's spirit finds eternal peace and that his sacrifice is never forgotten.
Kabir, when I saw your body being burnt to ashes, even though I got devastated at the thought of never seeing you again, my heart and soul cheered on the love we found.
It is my life's greatest pride to have met you, found you, married you, loved you, and been loved by you. Loving you was the scariest, loneliest, hardest, craziest thing I have done, but nothing makes me the happiest.
Ours forever didn't last long, but I am and will forever be grateful for you.
I will always love you, Kabir.
Meera Thapar Sethi's heart will continue to beat for Captain Kabir Sethi until her last breath.
Kabir, I will live for you, with you in my heart, as no one can take you away from there, not even God.
Meera